The air in the courtyard seemed to freeze for a moment.
The harmless smile on Fang Mo's face didn't fade in the slightest. If anything, it grew brighter.
He flipped his wrist, and several pieces of fine silver appeared in his palm as if by magic, their gleam catching the sunlight.
"Honored seniors, I've just arrived. We'll be stirring our ladles in the same pot from now on, so I hope you'll look after me."
He stepped forward and naturally slipped the silver into the skinny old man's hand, then tucked another piece into the arms of the tower-like man beside him.
His movements were smooth as flowing water, without the slightest awkwardness, as though he'd done this a thousand times before.
"I'll be counting on you both to lend me a hand from now on. This is just a token of respect. Get yourselves a jug of wine and wet your throats."
The old man, who had been puffing away, paused. His cloudy eyes swept over the silver, and then his deeply furrowed old face blossomed like a chrysanthemum touched by a spring breeze.
"Oh, the new boss sure knows how things are done!"
The old man tucked his pipe bowl into his waistband. His withered fingers deftly swept the silver into his sleeve, and he even patted the back of Fang Mo's hand. The touch was as rough as tree bark.
"Our Punishment Department may be a small temple, but the demons' winds blow fierce; the pond may be shallow, but it's full of turtles. You've just arrived, and you're willing to give us a bite to eat. We brothers should be grateful."
He pointed to the giant beside him, who had said nothing from beginning to end and was quietly wiping down a huge iron hammer. "That's Iron Bull. He's mute, and he's a blacksmith too. His craft's decent. He fixes weapons for the brothers in the department and earns enough to get by."
Then he pointed to himself. "My name's Yan Wangchou. The 'chou' means even King Yama gets worried when he sees me. It's a lowly name; just call me Old Yan, boss. I spent a few years as a legal adviser in the county yamen, but I offended someone and ended up drifting here to the Punishment Department as a clerk, writing case files for the dead. You could say it's right up my alley."
His introduction was watertight. A mute blacksmith and a down-on-his-luck legal adviser.
Lei Heng had foisted these two on Fang Mo, clearly intent on leaving him without a single useful person at his disposal.
Iron Bull stopped swinging his hammer. He said nothing, only gave Fang Mo a simple-minded nod. Then he took the silver from his arms, bit it to make sure it was genuine, and grinned, revealing a row of gleaming white teeth. Turning back, he resumed hammering the glowing-red iron billet.
The clang of metal rang out again, but it sounded much more pleasant than before.
Fang Mo didn't mind. If they were willing to take his money, then the same principle still applied—if money could solve a problem, it wasn't a problem.
"Our boss is a straight shooter! Just give the word if you need anything from us." Yan Wangchou thumped his chest as he promised.
"Of course, of course." Fang Mo waved a hand. "You two old brothers, I've just arrived and don't know the rules. Where do I go to get my appointment papers? I can't just take up the post without knowing where I stand, can I?"
The night before, Gu Yichuan's soul had explained the Punishment Department's procedures to him in detail.
A Junior Officer taking up his post needed to bring the Hundred Households' warrant to the department's records office to register. After that, he had to go to the armory to collect a standard Waist Knife, a Junior Officer's uniform, and weapons for three Captains. Finally, he had to apply to the logistics office for funds to repair the barracks.
He was asking to sound things out, and to present himself as someone who knew the rules and wouldn't cause trouble.
"Aw, that's nothing." Yan Wangchou tucked his pipe into his waistband. "Lord Fang, come with me. I know this process inside out."
With that, he took small, quick steps, leading Fang Mo across the dilapidated courtyard toward the main hall of White Tiger Hall.
Along the way, Yan Wangchou never stopped talking. He went over the factions and taboos among the Hundred Households and General Flags of White Tiger Hall, mixing truth with falsehood.
Iron Bull followed silently behind them like a shadow as the three made their way toward the department's main hall.
Fang Mo listened without asking a single question.
Once they reached the clerks' office in the main hall, the process went unusually smoothly.
Perhaps Lei Heng had given them advance notice, or perhaps the piece of silver Fang Mo had slipped them that morning had done the trick. Before long, Fang Mo had the appointment papers, stamped with White Tiger Hall's vermilion seal.
Yan Wangchou led Fang Mo to the armory with practiced ease to collect his equipment.
The quartermaster had been about to give him a hard time, but when he saw Yan Wangchou's half-smiling face, something seemed to cross his mind. To everyone's surprise, he gave Fang Mo a brand-new Silver Thread Fish Scale Armor and a Hundred Refined Steel Waist Knife.
"Old Yan, you've got quite a lot of pull." On the way back, Fang Mo hefted the Waist Knife in his hand. It was heavy, and its blade glinted coldly. A fine weapon.
"Heh, I've just worked in the department for a few years and made myself known." Yan Wangchou laughed it off and left it at that.
After all the procedures were complete, Fang Mo gazed at the appointment papers stamped with their vivid red seal, feeling rather wistful.
In his past and present lives, he'd been rushing about nonstop. He hadn't expected to end up drawing salaries from three different places after all: one salary from the Heavenly Prison, one tribute from Prison Suppressor, and now an official stipend from the Punishment Department.
"Old Yan, what sort of duties does our Seventh Squad usually handle?" Fang Mo asked as they walked.
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