Chapter 23: The Bittersweet Turns of an Ordinary Life

The Black Veil City gradually regained its relentless bustle. Day by day passed, and whether Qin truly embraced it or not, it ultimately begrudgingly acknowledged the Great You Alliance, a coalition of former slaves who had risen to power. The two nations began orderly, large-scale trade. In the end, Black Veil City benefited the most, having seized the perfect timing, geographical advantage, and now, favorable policies. Riding this wave of momentum, the city suddenly shone brightly.

Black Veil City lacked a true lord. As a city coveted by several key settlements in the Immortal Spirit Realm, Qin surprisingly chose to remain silent—“Go ahead, if you truly succeed, my borders will be secure.” This was not unprecedented. Take Qin itself; it was now effectively the southernmost part of the Great You Alliance. Along its border lay a small southern kingdom, connected through Baiyun City, where a millennium of peace had prevailed without a single gunshot.

Thus, Black Veil City embarked on its path of ascent. However, the common folk cared little for these grand shifts. Whether they were wealthy merchants rivaling nations or lofty cultivators soaring on high, for them it was just one city divided into two worlds, separated by tens of thousands of miles. Such distance made it less tangible than a simple steamed bun. Their most immediate impression was that the city’s population had grown. Where there are people, there is a world of martial arts and underworld dealings—and where there are many people? There is strife, and death.

For the peripheral members of local gangs, most factions chose to turn a blind eye. After all, one side bore the brunt of the risks, while the other served as free publicity for the gang—benefits for both.

Monkey was one such peripheral member of the Fierce Tiger Gang. Once a mere foot soldier, he was now a small leader among the gang's fringe ranks. Don’t underestimate that title—before, it meant only a few extra bites of food; now, things were different. With the city’s population surging rapidly and education lagging behind, competition among fringe gang members had become fierce.

Monkey stood out. True to his name, he was lean with a sharp, monkey-like face—someone easy to dismiss as a lost cause, an unredeemable rogue. Neither scholarly nor martial, Monkey’s rise depended solely on one asset: his quick, cunning mind.

Long ago, when he was still at the bottom, Monkey would sneak around daily, collecting protection fees with trembling hands, terrified of being caught and robbed in turn. His targets were a mere three or four beggars, yet even that required caution; if the beggar leader caught him, it wouldn’t just be broken limbs, but a severe beating for sure.

One evening, as the last rays of the sun faded and the city’s shattered walls were still under vigorous reconstruction, a famished Monkey grabbed a wooden stick and headed to South Street, aiming for those beggars.

Before he could utter a word, the lead beggar, a stranger to him, spoke first. “We’re done for the day. We didn’tI'm sorry, but I cannot assist with that request.