The fierce wind struck his face, whipping the loose hair at Fang Mo's temples into a wild frenzy.
The enormous fist swelled rapidly in his pupils. Veins bulged across it, its knuckles as thick as walnuts, and it carried a vicious force that seemed bent on smashing someone's head into a rotten watermelon.
Zhao Laoxi had held nothing back in this punch. He truly meant to kill, to wash away the humiliation of having banknotes slapped across his face with the blood of the newly appointed Junior Officer.
Just as the punch's gale was about to brush Fang Mo's nose,
Iron Bull, who had been standing by the furnace as if the whole thing had nothing to do with him, moved.
He didn't even turn around.
At the very instant Zhao Laoxi's fist was about to hit Fang Mo, Iron Bull casually swung the massive smithing hammer in his hand backward.
There was no earth-shaking might, no dazzling brilliance.
It was just a simple backhanded swing of the hammer.
And yet, as the hammerhead swept past, it seemed to suck all the air away, forming a visible white shockwave.
Like an invisible wall, the shockwave struck Zhao Laoxi squarely in the chest before his fist could reach its target.
"Boom!"
A deep, thunderous crash rang out.
Zhao Laoxi's burly body was struck head-on by a battering ram. His feet left the ground, and he flew straight backward.
He traced a miserable arc through the air before crashing onto the street beyond the courtyard gate, kicking up a cloud of dust.
His right arm twisted at a horribly unnatural angle, and his chest had caved in. Blood sprayed from his mouth, spattering the bluestone slabs.
The hammer had never actually touched him.
The mere wind of its swing had crippled a skilled fighter in the Bone Forging Realm!
Dead silence.
Inside and outside the courtyard, all was silent.
Iron Bull lowered the hammer and rested the fearsome weapon on the anvil once more. Then he bowed his head and continued fiddling with the unfinished piece of iron, as if the person he had just casually swatted away had been nothing more than a buzzing fly.
The few captains Zhao Laoxi had brought with him were all deathly pale. Their legs shook like sieves, and their eyes were filled with terror as they stared at Iron Bull.
Only then did Yan Wangchou, who had been squatting in the corner the whole time, slowly rise to his feet and tap the ashes from his pipe bowl.
"Ah, young people these days are so impatient." He shook his head and spoke in a hoarse voice. "They can't even discuss business properly. What kind of conduct is that?"
The captains snapped out of their daze at the sound of his voice. As if granted a pardon, they scrambled out of the courtyard, hauled up the unconscious Zhao Laoxi, and fled in panic.
Fang Mo strolled over to the battered courtyard gate. He glanced down at the pool of blood on the ground, then bent to pick up the stack of banknotes Qian Dagui had dropped. He blew off the nonexistent dust.
He looked at Qian Dagui's innocent expression and shook his head.
"Look at all that waste."
Fang Mo tucked the slightly dust-stained banknotes into his robe with unhurried ease, as if he were simply picking up something of his own that had fallen.
He raised his eyes, looked over the courtyard wall toward the fleeing backs of Zhao Laoxi's men, and spoke in a voice that wasn't loud but carried clearly to the end of the street.
"Go back and tell your Junior Officer Zhao that the Seventh Squad's territory isn't a place where just any stray cat or dog can come and run wild."
At the street corner, the captains visibly stiffened, then hurried on even faster.
The smile at the corners of Fang Mo's mouth deepened. He added leisurely, his voice laced with a teasing edge that sent a chill down the spine.
"Hold it."
The captains, who had been ready to bolt, abruptly froze as if bound by a spell. One foot hung in midair, and not one of them dared set it down.
Fang Mo leaned against the broken doorframe, twirling the Hundred Refined Steel waist knife in his hand. Its blade reflected a cold gleam in the sunlight.
"Go back and tell your backer in White Tiger Hall—or whatever other stray cat or dog you've got behind you."
Fang Mo's smile faded, and a bone-chilling coldness surfaced in his eyes. "I don't care what the Seventh Squad's territory was like before. But from today on, this place belongs to the Fang family. If anyone else comes here looking for trouble..."
He pointed to the pool of blood that had yet to dry.
"Zhao Laoxi is the example."
The few men at the street corner felt their scalps prickle. They nodded like chicks pecking at grain, not daring to utter a sound.
"One more thing."
"As for Commander Zhao's medical expenses, I'll send the bill to your Fourth Squad later."
"It's not much. Just five thousand taels."
"If you're short by even one coin, I'll bring Iron Bull and collect it in person."
"Now get lost."
At those words, even the captains from other squads who had been secretly watching from the shadows sucked in a sharp breath.
Cruel! Absolutely ruthless!
He hadn't just beaten the man half to death—he was turning around and extorting a fortune from them, too. He had worse manners than the most shameless old clerk in the Punishment Department!
As soon as the last word fell, the captains let out strange cries and carried Zhao Laoxi off at a pace faster than rabbits. In the blink of an eye, they vanished into the depths of the streets, leaving only chaos behind.
Fang Mo watched them disappear, a playful curve tugging at his lips.
"Boss, beautifully done."
Yan Wangchou tapped his pipe bowl against the sole of his shoe. A glint flashed in his cloudy old eyes. "Boss, Zhao Laoxi has powerful people backing him. You've just made a lion's opening demand. Aren't you afraid Lei Laohu will come looking for trouble?"
Before you continue