Doing Business Starts with Burning Contracts

Outside the Land of Birds Underground Money House, torches crackled fiercely, and several new dents had appeared on the refined steel doors.

The fat boss knelt amid the floor full of scraps, clutching a mess of land deeds to his chest. The blood on his forehead had already congealed into a dark, hard crust.

Iron filings that had broken off the bolt rained down onto his shoes, but he did not even dare raise a hand to brush them away.

A hidden door beside the vault opened, and cold wind swept coal ash inside, blowing the candle flame sideways.

Three men dressed as members of the Land of Grass Trade Association stepped over the rubble. Their iron boots crushed porcelain cups on the ground, grinding the shards into the cracks between the bricks.

The middle-aged merchant in the lead, wearing a fur coat with a sable collar, lifted a suitcase and slammed its bottom onto the golden-thread nanmu table. The candle on the table flickered twice.

The clasp sprang open on its own, revealing neatly stacked serial-numbered new banknotes and gleaming silver beneath the lamplight. The fat boss's breathing halted for half a beat.

"If you want to leave alive, sell me the mining rights, promissory notes, and mortgage contracts. All of them."

The ANBU leader tapped the suitcase lid with his knuckles without even raising his eyes.

"One-tenth the price for the lot. Cash payment on the spot. Wait any longer, and you will not even keep these scraps of paper."

The fat boss did not even consider bargaining.

Several thousand people outside were smashing down the doors and demanding lives. This suitcase of silver was his final way out in this life.

He scrambled to the table, his hand shaking so hard he could not grasp his private