The first task arrived without ceremony.
No letter.
No seal.
No official wording.
Just a message.
Gu Wenhai:
You've been registered as an external consultant. Prove you're worth the trouble.
A location followed.
I stared at the screen for a moment before locking it.
"They're testing you," Su Qingxue said calmly, sitting across from me.
"I know," I replied. "They always do."
She folded her arms. "What kind of task?"
"Something illegal enough that law can't touch it directly," I said, standing. "But visible enough that martial rules won't ignore it."
She exhaled slowly. "That's the worst kind."
"Yes," I agreed. "Which is why it's perfect."
—
The building was abandoned on the surface.
Broken windows. Rusted railings. A forgotten factory scheduled for demolition.
But underground, it was alive.
I could feel it the moment I descended—chaotic inner breath, untrained but violent, colliding in a confined space.
An illegal fight ring.
Martial artists, gamblers, brokers.
And in the center—two teenagers.
Barely eighteen.
Forced combat.
"This violates three regulations," Su Qingxue said quietly. "Minimum."
"Five," I corrected. "And one national law."
A man stepped forward, smiling nervously. "Consultant Chen. This is a misunderstanding."
I didn't respond.
Instead, I raised my phone and pressed play.
A recording.
His voice.
Payment confirmations.
Recruitment messages.
Silence crashed down.
"You shut this down," I said calmly. "Now."
"And if we don't?" he asked.
I met his eyes.
"Then this becomes public," I replied. "And the council won't protect you."
The man swallowed.
Ten minutes later, the ring was empty.
By morning, arrests followed.
Gu Wenhai's reply was brief.
Accepted.
—
The backlash came immediately.
Not from martial clans.
From government agencies.
I was summoned again—this time not as a victim, not as a student.
But as a question.
A man in a gray suit leaned forward. "You seem to appear wherever hidden violence surfaces."
"I specialize in patterns," I replied evenly.
He studied me. "Which side are you on?"
I smiled faintly. "The one that doesn't pretend ignorance."
He leaned back.
That was not the answer he wanted.
But it was enough.
—
Two days later, I registered a company.
Not a firm.
A consulting office.
Small. Legal. Transparent.
Name: Mo Legal Advisory
No advertisements.
No public claims.
But word spread anyway.
The first client arrived that evening—a corporate executive whose company was being coerced by a martial-backed syndicate.
"I don't want a fight," the man said. "I want it to stop."
"It will," I replied. "But not cleanly."
He nodded. "That's fine."
—
Su Qingxue's family moved the same night.
She read the message once, then deleted it.
"They want me home," she said quietly. "To choose."
"And?" I asked.
"They don't approve of neutrality," she replied. "Especially when it leans toward you."
I didn't interrupt.
"They think you're temporary," she continued. "A spark."
She looked at me.
"I think you're structural."
I met her gaze. "Then staying will cost you."
She nodded. "I know."
—
The rival revealed himself the following week.
Not violently.
Elegantly.
A man sat across from me in a café, smiling warmly.
"Chen Mo," he said. "I've heard a lot."
"Then you already know I don't enjoy surprises," I replied.
He chuckled. "I'm Lu Jian."
The name carried weight.
A strategist.
Former council advisor.
Now independent.
"I solve problems," he continued. "Quietly. You solve them loudly."
"I solve them permanently," I corrected.
His smile thinned. "You're destabilizing balance."
"I'm exposing lies."
He leaned forward. "Balance exists for a reason."
"So do collapses," I replied.
We stared at each other.
Two methods.
One city.
As he stood to leave, he paused.
"This city doesn't need another ruler," he said softly.
"I agree," I replied. "That's why I'm building rules."
—
That night, cultivation deepened.
True Force stabilized.
My body adapted faster now—pain dulled, circulation refined.
Not power yet.
Authority.
Outside, the city moved.
Martial clans recalculated.
Government agencies observed.
The council watched silently.
And in the middle of it all—
A small legal office lit up its sign for the first time.
Mo Legal Advisory.
No slogans.
No promises.
Just a single line on the door:
"Consultation is binding."
The city would learn what that meant.
Soon.