Hu Xian and Old Wan stared, stunned, at Chen Chuan’s silhouette. The scene in the hall was nothing like what they’d imagined. The dazzling sunlight fell upon the blood-soaked floor and the glint of a blade, leaving them dazed for a moment.

As a member of the review team, Hu Xian quickly composed herself. Her sharp gaze scanned the room, searching for Boxing Lion, and she found him with little effort.

He was in the most conspicuous spot and, compared to the others, was relatively whole. His expression was so natural, you could almost piece him back together for a posed photograph.

Her tense expression eased, and she gave a small laugh, amused at her own anxiety.

’This Boxing Lion was quite a character, and his team was formidable. Otherwise, they wouldn’t have been listed as an assessment target.’

’The assessment she had imagined involved preliminary reconnaissance, careful planning, and a final, brutal conflict. Perhaps a smoother execution of the plan, but definitely not... this. Not a scene she could have conceived of even if she’d wracked her brain.’ She couldn’t help but blurt out, "It’s... over?"

Old Wan was silent for a moment, then finally just grunted in agreement.

Chen Chuan had sensed the two of them enter, but he didn’t turn around. He remained standing with his blade, his gaze fixed on the landing above. At that moment, footsteps sounded from upstairs.

Hu Xian and Old Wan noticed too, simultaneously raising their guns and aiming them there.

The footsteps were calm and steady, each one deliberate. Soon, a middle-aged man wearing a fedora descended the stairs.

Hu Xian raised an eyebrow and lowered her gun. "Old Feng, you’re here?" she said, then added with displeasure, "And you didn’t even say a word to me?"

’I didn’t see what happened either,’ Old Feng thought with a touch of helplessness. ’I was still trying to find an observation post in the back when I heard the gunshots and rushed over. How could I possibly have had time to notify her? As for descending from the stairs... well, I have to maintain my image, don’t I?’

Seeing that they knew each other, Chen Chuan smoothed his fluttering scarf and lowered his blade.

Just then, the sound of cars arriving came from outside. Old Feng’s expression turned serious. "It seems our other guest has arrived," he said. "I’ll go deal with it."

With that, he came down the stairs and walked outside. As he passed Chen Chuan, he nodded at him.

Hu Xian walked up and said, "That’s the scorer from our review team, and also a special envoy from the Bureau. He’s the one responsible for your performance score." She turned and looked him over a few times. "Not bad, Brother Chen. You took care of them in such a short time. So clean and quick. Sister Hu here was worried for nothing."

Chen Chuan said seriously, "Sister Hu, thank you." Then to Old Wan, he said, "Thank you, Brother Wan." Regardless of the outcome, the two of them had rushed in to help without knowing the situation, and he had to acknowledge the favor.

"What’s there to thank me for?"

Hu Xian looked around, a look of understanding dawning on her face. "You’ve really been an eye-opener, Brother Chen. No wonder Old Feng is so invested in you. I’ve never seen him give any other candidate this much attention."

Meanwhile, outside, a fleet of blue sedans entered the street. In a stretched luxury car in the middle sat a handsome man in his thirties, wearing an overcoat and a thin mustache.

A man in the front passenger seat looked ahead. His eyesight was excellent; he saw that all the windows on the building’s upper floors were shattered. He turned back and said, "Boss, we’ve arrived. But it looks like there’s a problem up ahead."

The handsome man said, "Send someone to check it out."

Old Feng had already walked into the street and stopped in front of the convoy. The cars slowly came to a halt before him. Men began to emerge; while some secured the perimeter, the rest aimed their guns at him.

Old Feng held his fedora down against a gust of wind, his eyes fixed on the luxury car, completely ignoring the guns aimed at him.

The handsome man didn’t move from his seat in the car, but a burly security guard got out and walked up to Old Feng. He sized him up for a few moments, then lifted his chin. "What’s your business?"

Old Feng reached into his coat. The muzzles of the surrounding guns twitched upward. A chorus of shouts followed: "Don’t move!"

Old Feng’s expression was composed. "Relax," he said. "I’m by myself."

The burly guard watched him intently as he slowly drew a Name Card from an inner pocket and displayed it. One glance at the card made the guard’s eyes go wide. In a hushed tone, he said, "Sir, please wait a moment."

He immediately ran back to the side of the extended luxury car and said a few words to the person inside.

A moment later, the car door opened, and the handsome man got out. He gestured downward, signaling the men around him to lower their guns. He walked up to Old Feng, glanced at the Name Card, then looked at Old Feng:

"Dashun National Affairs Bureau? Mr. Feng?" He looked at the building beside them thoughtfully, then flashed a charming smile. "Is there anything we can help you with, Mr. Feng?"

Old Feng put the Name Card away and slid his hands into his coat pockets. "That won’t be necessary. We’ll handle it. It’s just that Mr. Blue Sparrow might have made this trip for nothing."

The handsome man raised a finger and waved it dismissively. "That’s no problem at all. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Feng."

Old Feng said, "Is that so? But Mr. Blue Sparrow isn’t even willing to shake my hand."

The handsome man brought a hand to his mouth, gave a dry cough, and said, "I won’t disturb the agents of the General Affairs Bureau any further. Farewell." He gave a nod of acknowledgment, then turned and went back to his car.

A short while later, the convoy began to reverse and turn around, heading back the way it came.

In the luxury car, a henchman suddenly asked, "Boss, that man is just an agent from the General Affairs Bureau. Why give him so much face?"

"You believe everything you read on a Name Card?"

The handsome man shot him a look, then said casually, "Besides, the General Affairs Bureau is everywhere. Who knows, maybe there’s someone from the Bureau right here with me? I don’t want to wake up one day with a gun to my head." He spoke to the driver in front. "Ah Xing, don’t you agree?"

Without turning his head, Ah Xing said, "Boss, I don’t understand these things."

"You don’t, huh? It’s better that you don’t." The handsome man smiled, then added with regret, "A shame about that Combat Spider. It was Tayana’s best portable biological weapon."

Old Feng waited for the convoy to leave before turning back toward the building.

Chen Chuan had already sheathed his Snow Monarch Blade. He stood near the window, cradling the sword. Even against the blood-soaked floor, his fluttering ochre-red scarf was strikingly visible.

Hu Xian was inspecting the surroundings. Aside from a few faintly breathing minions and the unconscious Bee Woman, most of the people had been killed with a single strike—so cleanly and efficiently it made one’s scalp tingle.

Seeing Old Feng return, Chen Chuan asked, "Special Envoy Feng, Sister Hu told me you’re the scorer for this assessment. I was wondering if my performance counts as a pass?"

Old Feng glanced at the severed limbs and mangled corpses littering the floor, and suddenly felt his written evaluation from yesterday had been a grave injustice.

He adopted a serious tone. "The specifics still need to be reported to the Assessment Team for final confirmation. However, in my personal opinion, Chen, you have met the requirements by severely wounding or killing all the assessment targets. There should be no problem passing. Perhaps I should be the first to congratulate you."

With his confirmation, Chen Chuan felt reassured. He glanced around the hall. "In that case, Mr. Feng, what should be done with the things these people left behind?"

Old Feng smiled. "All spoils from the assessment period can be taken by the candidate. Chen, don’t feel awkward about it. Our budget may be tight, but we are always generous with capable candidates."

Chen Chuan asked, "Does that include the Combat Spider?"

Old Feng said with great certainty, "That includes the Combat Spider. You can take whatever you need. Someone will come to collect the bodies."

Chen Chuan nodded. He had already retrieved the gold notes from Boxing Lion’s body. They weren’t just his; the other candidates involved in the operation also had a share, so he had to take them back.

As for the other items—firearms, vehicles—he couldn’t deal with them and couldn’t possibly take them. However, he could hand them over to Hu Xian to handle.

He walked over and told Hu Xian his idea.

Hu Xian said, "Brother Chen, I can help you convert the rest of this stuff into cash, but you should take the Combat Spider back with you. It’s too conspicuous to keep with me; it’s bad for business."

"As for turning it in, don’t even think about it. The higher-ups won’t care about this thing. It’ll just get confiscated somewhere along the line, probably end up in the hands of some bastard, or maybe just get left to gather dust in a warehouse. You’re better off keeping it."

Chen Chuan thought for a moment. "I heard it needs to eat some kind of High-Energy Nutrients?"

Hu Xian said nonchalantly, "It’s fine. If you’re not using it, you can let it hibernate. Even if you only get to use it once at a critical moment, it’s worth it. Look around here some more, there should be some left behind."

Chen Chuan said, "Alright, I’ll leave the rest to you, Sister Hu. You and your team have worked hard, so you should take a cut. Please set aside a share for Mr. Feng as well."

’Even though Old Feng said he didn’t want anything, I don’t really believe him. Besides, whether he takes it is his decision; offering it is mine.’

Hu Xian said, "Since you trust Sister Hu this much, Brother Chen, I’ll make sure it’s all handled properly. I’ll remember Old Feng’s share." Then she turned and called out, "Old Wan, go get the others. Time to get to work."

She glanced around again. ’It’s still the business of collecting corpses, but this is the most satisfying cleanup yet. This time, the dead were all people who deserved to die.’

While matters there were being dealt with, Old Feng had already returned to the inn alone. He went into a hidden room, closed the door, took out a fountain pen, and immediately began writing a telegraph draft. But he was dissatisfied after several attempts, feeling he couldn’t quite convey the situation properly. He crumpled them up halfway through and tossed them aside.

In the end, he thought for a moment, simply recounted the events, and then added three exclamation points at the end—a punctuation he almost never used.

After finishing, he squatted down, took a radio set out of a cabinet, placed it on the table, put on the headset, and began transmitting the message.

As the tapping of the telegraph key filled the room, the content of the message was transmitted via radio waves. It was passed through relay stations across the vast land until it reached a main station of the National Affairs Bureau, located in a secret region. From there, it was delivered by a security courier to the desk of its intended reader.

Just half a day later, another telegram was sent out from the main station.

Old Feng had been waiting by the radio without leaving. When he heard a specific signal sequence from the telegraph machine, his spirits lifted, and he recorded the subsequent coded message.

He quickly removed the headset and deciphered the message from memory.

"Upon verification by the relevant departments and personnel, the assessment process of Chen Chuan, student of the Yangzhi Wuyi University Hall, Dashun Republic, has been found to comply with the regulations of the Assessment Team. He is confirmed to have passed the assessment. Authorization is granted for the issuance of a Class B Unlimited Defense Certificate." It was signed: "Dashun Country Unlimited Defense Certificate Assessment Team, Dashun National Affairs Bureau."

For some reason, upon receiving this telegram, even he, the scorer, felt a strange surge of excitement.

He sat for a moment to compose himself, then unceremoniously burned the original draft of his telegram. He stood up, left the room, and glanced at the wall clock. Eleven o’clock at night. Although it was already very late, he felt he shouldn’t wait until tomorrow. He had to tell the young man this news immediately.

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