“So this is the Phantom-Eyed Sand Fox? It’s quite beautiful.”
A deep, muffled voice echoed through the room. The speaker—a massively obese woman—held the level-seven lifeform in her chubby hand, making it squeak in distress. No matter how it struggled, it couldn’t break free.
Following the arm upward, one would see a mountain of a woman.
“Sister Bo, uh… be gentle. You’re going to crush it to death,” a man behind her pleaded, sweating profusely. He wanted to intervene but didn’t dare, hovering anxiously instead.
“It’s just a fox. So what if I crush it?” The woman snorted dismissively, shaking the fox in the air several times. The Phantom-Eyed Sand Fox visibly weakened under her monstrous grip, its struggles growing feeble.
“Vice-Chairman Li, this is something the God Hall requested. If you kill it, it won’t be easy to explain,” said a man entering the room—none other than Wen Yan, leader of Pin Palace.
The obese woman—Bo Jie—glanced at him sideways and sneered. “Call me Sister Bo!”
Wen Yan was old enough to be her grandfather, yet he showed no offense. Instead, he nodded. “Fine.”
Bo Jie ignored him, tossing the half-conscious fox to an underling before lumbering over to the only stone stool in the room—the rest of the seating being wooden chairs—and plopping down with a thud.
“Busy.” Bo Jie had somehow procured a roasted pig leg and was gnawing on it messily.
“So you have full authority to make decisions on his behalf?” Wen Yan pressed.
“Yeah.” Bo Jie gave a simple reply.
Wen Yan sipped his tea, deep in thought.
“Sister Bo, I’d like to ask—I once met your former Vice-Chairman Leng. How is he these days?”
“Dead.”
The Soul Merchant, now allied with Pin Palace, could no longer maintain its usual secrecy. Many things had become common knowledge, like how their chairman was still referred to as “The Great Chairman,” his true name unknown. The vice-chairmen were now Yang and this woman, Li Bo. But what happened to the previous vice-chairman, Leng Ran, who had once ranked among the top fighters in the country?
Dead? Wen Yan pondered. It was possible, but how? Did he clash with the Great Chairman? Or had the Great Chairman himself been replaced? Why else would two new deputies be groomed while the old ones were discarded?
Minutes later, as Wen Yan mulled over these questions, footsteps approached, and a disheveled old man entered.
Wen Yan immediately stood.
This man was not God Hall’s enigmatic Director, but their undisputed second-in-command—a research prodigy on par with the Director himself.
With the Director shifting focus to cultivation over the past year, the God Hall’s scientific endeavors had fallen entirely under the control of this man—Dr. Ziche.
As the Court’s second-in-command, his word was law unless the Director intervened. His authority far surpassed Bo Jie’s in Soul Merchant. If Bo Jie claimed she could make decisions for the Great Chairman, Wen Yan had doubts. But if Dr. Ziche said the same? He’d believe it without question.
“Dr. Ziche, please, have a seat.”
The old man grunted but didn’t sit. Instead, he walked to the center of the room, where the Phantom-Eyed Sand Fox and its symbiotic mutated buckthorn lay bound, listless despite having regained consciousness.
“A level-seven Phantom-Eyed Sand Fox with a level-seven symbiotic lifeform… barely acceptable.”
Dr. Ziche muttered to himself, poking at the creatures with visible dissatisfaction.
Wen Yan watched, wondering—Was a level-eight specimen what he wanted? But even if level-eight symbiotic pairs existed, capturing them would require the combined efforts of the Great Chairman, the Director, and himself.
“Old man, can you finally produce a stable level-eight product with these things?” Bo Jie asked between bites of her pig leg, utterly unconcerned with decorum.
Dr. Ziche squinted his eyes.
Yes, he was unkempt—most people of his rank and evolution level wouldn’t tolerate such filth. But every waking moment was devoted to research.
Yes, he was eccentric—his status allowed him to disregard social niceties.
But that didn’t mean he was stupid or would tolerate disrespect.
The two God Hall guards accompanying him scowled, warning Bo Jie to watch her tone.
Though Cloud Peak had also attacked God Hall, their losses paled compared to Soul Merchant’s. Their silence over the years was strategic—a reflection of their nature.
They looked down on Soul Merchant.
And now, this obese woman dared provoke them? Unacceptable.
“Fighting? That’s my favorite.” Bo Jie tossed the nearly bare pig leg aside and stood, her massive chest heaving as she summoned two colossal round-headed war hammers from her spatial storage—each the size of a desk. Even her enormous frame seemed dwarfed by them.
“Enough!”
Wen Yan snapped. Neither Bo Jie nor Dr. Ziche seemed to take him seriously. Their factions—Soul Merchant and God Hall—didn’t hold Pin Palace in high regard either. The alliance’s recent joint hunt of a level-nine lifeform had ended with Pin Palace getting the short end of the stick.
Now, facing the two deputy leaders, Wen Yan’s pent-up frustration erupted.