Chapter 406

Chapter 406: "Bidding Farewell to the Old"

Watching the information coins cascade out of the wall like a waterfall, even Yan Ming, a battle-hardened veteran, stood frozen in disbelief.

Such a spectacle was entirely new to him.

When he first assumed his new identity, he had been puzzled by Arthur’s decision to assign him this mission.

For one, he lacked the expertise of the Ministry of Internal Affairs in such matters; for another, resistance in such cases was rare, making his skills seem almost redundant.

It was only upon witnessing this scene that Yan Ming began to grasp the rationale behind his esteemed leader’s choice to entrust him with this task—

The soldiers and superpowered individuals battling on the city walls might never encounter such vast sums of money in their lifetimes. The wealth concealed within a single wall could cover the compensation for an entire city defense army squad’s losses, with plenty to spare.

If those warriors were to see this, even the most resolute among them might question the purpose of their struggle.

For Yan Ming, too, it was a moment of reckoning. His stubborn nature required him to gradually accept the grim reality of Hope City’s decay.

This pervasive malaise wasn’t confined to a single senator or the parliament; it was a systemic rot that had seeped from the top down, infecting nearly all rear-echelon personnel.

While the army and research institutes weren’t immune, the stakes were higher there, with less room for compromise in the life-and-death arena of battle or the rigorous scientific domain. But for the factories in the rear, the toll on the civilian population was devastating, as they were ruthlessly exploited.

The woman’s home harbored three such walls; their thickness initially led Yan Ming to mistake them for insulation panels, until the woman, overwhelmed by the psychological burden, confessed in a bid for temporary peace.

On this snowy winter morning, the warmth of the room was punctuated only by the soft rustle of flowing money.

Yan Ming gazed at the scene, a silent sigh escaping him.

He drew a folding knife from his pocket, and with a sharp click, the gleaming blade sprang forth.

The woman recoiled in terror, but Yan Ming paid her no heed. Instead, he held the knife in his left hand, pressing the blade against his wrist.

A flash of cold steel, and blood surged forth, yet not a drop touched the ground.

The blood twisted, coiled, and solidified, morphing into a blood-colored longsword with a guard, its semi-transparent blade darker at the tip, as if a few drops remained uncoagulated.

Yan Ming’s lips paled as he strode resolutely toward the wall.

The metallic tang of blood reached the nostrils of the Clean-up Team members, who watched in awe as this enigmatic officer displayed his extraordinary abilities, some recalling the shadow of a certain figure.

The sharp sword cleaved through several walls, the outer facade meant to conceal the truth sliced cleanly in two.

Under Yan Ming’s masterful strokes, only the wealth hidden within the first wall spilled forth, while the rest remained neatly stacked like bricks.

Yan Ming flicked his wrist, and the blood-colored longsword dissolved back into blood, writhing as it retreated into his veins. He turned to the admiring Clean-up Team members, gesturing to the evidence behind him:

"Document it. Arrest."

—

"You’re slandering me!"

Aierken, the factory manager of Factory No. 12, sprawled against the iron stairs like a petulant child throwing a tantrum.

His eyes darted between Zhuang Mian and the workers below, the arrest warrant she had presented tossed aside, though not crumpled or torn—a final concession to his dignity.

"On what grounds are you arresting me? My son, September, is studying at university in the inner city, and we can barely afford his tuition. Now you’re accusing me of colluding with the black market?

"How absurd! If you’re going to arrest someone, you need evidence!"

Aierken turned to the workers below and demanded:

"Bear witness, everyone—have I ever missed a day of work? Have I ever left early? Sure, many have been arrested lately, but they had solid evidence. I swear, I’m innocent!"

Zhuang Mian had long grown accustomed to such reactions after working in this field for so long.

She turned her gaze to Aierken, who was stubbornly refusing to face reality:

"Are you suggesting that if there’s evidence, you can be arrested?"

"Absolutely. If there’s evidence, go ahead and arrest me," Aierken replied.

With a grand gesture, Aierken added:

"Don’t even think about finding money in my house. I wish I could find it, my wife wishes she could find it. If you actually manage to find any, I’d owe you my thanks."

A cunning smile spread across Zhuang Mian’s face as she looked at Aierken and inquired:

"Who ever said the money was in your house?"

The factory manager’s brow furrowed slightly, sensing an underlying implication in her words, but… if he were to show any sign of vulnerability… no, he couldn’t afford to take the bait.

As they conversed, three members of the Clean-up Team had already assembled a makeshift projection setup in the center of the factory.

Zhuang Mian turned to address the bewildered workers:

"Later today, Mr. Speaker and the council members will deliver a New Year’s address to all of you, but before that…"

She glanced back at Aierken:

"Since you’re so eager for evidence, why don’t we all take a look together?"

Soon, a series of images began to cycle through the projector in the heart of the factory, showcasing opulent suites, extravagantly dressed women, and piles upon piles of cash!

The staggering amount of money left the crowd momentarily speechless, their breaths caught in their throats.

After a few seconds, gasps and sharp intakes of breath reached Zhuang Mian’s ears.

Upon seeing the demolished wall and the woman crouched on the floor, one hand clutching her head and the other pointing at the wall, Aierken realized his fate was sealed.

Once the initial shock subsided, the workers’ eyes blazed with fury, as if ready to consume the deceitful clown before them.

Aierken slumped to the ground, clutching the arrest warrant that bore his name, his sweat soaking through the paper.

"This… I…"

He attempted to muster a final defense, but his mind refused to cooperate, leaving him speechless.

In utter despair, Aierken turned to Zhuang Mian:

"Can you tell me how many years I’ll be imprisoned?"

"Imprisoned?"

A look of confusion flickered across Zhuang Mian’s face before she grasped his meaning.

She offered a reassuring smile:

"There will be no imprisonment. Today marks your final judgment."

Aierken felt as though he’d been struck by lightning, his face frozen in disbelief as he stared at Zhuang Mian:

"If I were to implicate others, could I…?"

"No, and it’s unnecessary," Zhuang Mian replied, shaking her head.

"In terms of connections, the Clean-up Team is far more informed than you realize. You’ve misunderstood one crucial detail: today, you’re not the only one facing justice."

"How many… how many are there?"

Like a drowning man, Aierken sought to drag others down with him.

"How many? I truly don’t know," Zhuang Mian admitted after a moment’s thought.

"But Mr. Speaker’s message is clear—

"All sins must be settled before the new year begins."