The first knock did not come from an enemy.
It came from order.
At precisely 6:40 a.m., as Beijing's sky softened from indigo to pale gold, three black vehicles stopped one street away from the Fang family bookstore. No sirens. No insignia. Even the license plates were ordinary.
Yet the air around them was unnaturally still.
Inside the lead vehicle, a man opened his eyes.
"Confirmed," he said quietly. "This is the place."
He did not need instruments.
The pressure lingering in the area—faint, disciplined, perfectly restrained—was unmistakable.
This was where the alley had been erased.
Inside the bookstore, Fang Ze was already awake.
He stood behind the counter, sleeves rolled neatly, kettle steaming beside him. The scent of tea leaves blended with old paper and wood polish. On the surface, it was a peaceful morning.
Underneath—
The city was holding its breath.
"They're early," Fang Ze said calmly.
The guardian remnant stirred, uneasy.
Fang Ze poured tea anyway.
When the bell chimed, he didn't look up immediately.
Three people entered.
They were dressed plainly—two men and one woman—but their steps were synchronized, breathing controlled, eyes sharp without being aggressive.
Professionals.
The woman stepped forward and inclined her head slightly.
"Fang Ze," she said. "I'm Lin Qiao. Huaxia Special Affairs Bureau, Dragon Division."
No threat.
No arrogance.
Just fact.
"We're not here to detain you," she continued.
"Nor to question last night."
That earned her his attention.
Fang Ze met her gaze.
"Then you're here to ask permission," he said.
Lin Qiao smiled faintly. "Yes."
The word landed heavily in the quiet shop.
She gestured subtly, and one of the men placed a sealed folder on the counter. He did not slide it forward. He did not push.
He offered it.
"A provisional accord," Lin Qiao said. "Unofficial. Unwritten by law. But respected by everyone who understands how the Golden Era unfolds."
Fang Ze did not touch it.
"And if I refuse?"
"Then we leave," she replied without hesitation. "And the next visitors won't knock."
Silence followed.
Not tense.
Honest.
Fang Ze exhaled slowly and finally lifted the folder.
Inside were no documents.
Only names.
Families. Sects. Independent groups.
Some were circled.
Some were crossed out.
One name stood alone at the bottom of the page.
Iron BoneClub — Eliminated (Self-Destruction Imminent)
Fang Ze closed the folder.
"You're late," he said calmly.
Lin Qiao didn't deny it. "We were hoping you'd remain… contained."
"And now?"
"Now," she said softly, "we want to make sure the city survives the next six months."
That was the truth.
Fang Ze nodded once.
"I'll make one condition," he said.
All three Dragon Division members straightened.
"No one touches my family," Fang Ze continued. "Not directly. Not indirectly. Not through protection that feels like surveillance."
Lin Qiao didn't answer immediately.
Then she bowed—lower than protocol required.
"Agreed."
That alone told Fang Ze how serious things had become.
At the same time, across the city—
A private estate belonging to the Murong family hosted a quiet breakfast.
Murong Jing set his cup down carefully.
"So," he said, smiling thinly, "the Fang boy chose silence."
An elder across from him shook his head. "No. He chose dominance."
Murong Cheng's smile widened.
"Good," he said. "Then we finally know where to aim."
Back at Beijing No. 3 High School, Su Qingxue paused mid-step.
Her phone vibrated once.
A single message.
Tonight. Roof. After curfew. —FZ
Her heart skipped.
Not from fear.
From anticipation.
As the Dragon Division vehicles departed, Fang Ze returned to the counter and finished his tea.
The bookstore was quiet again.
But now—
It was no longer invisible.
He looked toward the window, where the city reflected back at him in glass and light.
"Knocking is over," Fang Ze murmured.
"The next ones will test the door."
And for the first time since the Golden Era began—
Fang Ze smiled.
Not faintly.
Not mildly.
But with intent.