And what about Chen Xingzhou? Are you just going to ignore his situation?

"Relax, the matter with Yubo has nothing to do with Desert Market. Just get through this period and we'll be fine. Besides, when it comes to bodyguards, quality trumps quantity.

I've already called in some external help."

Old Lin looked down at his watch, "Looking at the time, he should be arriving any moment now."

No sooner had he finished speaking than a cloud of dust rose on the uphill road and a mud-splattered SUV was already making its wobbly way toward the manor.

Ji Jue could only shake his head after one glance: Anyone who drinks less than a bottle couldn't drive this horribly.

Finally, with a narrow scrape against the iron gate, it swung into the estate, ending with a drift in front of the villa.

An empty liquor bottle was thrown out of the window.

Then, a large, burly figure, unsteady on his feet, descended from the vehicle.

Though sunburned to a darker hue, his original fair complexion, green eyes, and distinct Empire features were evident. Yet his eyebrows bore a resemblance to Federation people. But the black curly hair, the adornments on his body, and the curved sword at his waist were absolutely brimming with Central Earth characteristics.

He looked up and flashed a grin at the people upstairs.

The teeth he showed were marked with various Thousand Islands totems.

Ji Jue was dumbstruck by the sight: What kind of ultimate mix-and-match is this?

So trendy, it's terrifying.

"Long time no see."

Waiting at the door, Old Lin took a deep breath and helplessly addressed him, "Mr. Muhammad Wanyan Tombalovski."

"Hey, we're all old acquaintances now, just call me Old Tom."

The swaying middle-aged man, his face covered in stubble, clapped Old Lin on the shoulder, "Weren't you supposed to be guarding a hospital room? Why are you here now? This isn't what the contract said."

Old Lin smiled, "We need an expert of your caliber here more."

"Forget it, guarding is guarding, whether it's a yard or a door, you still pay me, right? And don't forget the meal allowance... ahem, I mean, the fuel allowance, the high-temperature work, and the injury allowance—all must be taken into account!"

As he spoke, he slapped his head, "Night shift hours are calculated separately!"

"Don't worry, everything is negotiable."

Old Lin smiled as he let him in and introduced him to Chen Yubo.

At the moment Ji Jue and he locked eyes, both were momentarily stunned, their expressions turning rigid.

Ji Jue was taken aback because, in just the few minutes he'd observed, the spiritual fluctuations inside the man fluctuated like a stock market graph, high and low without pattern. When high, they were terrifyingly robust, nearly bursting at Sixth Rank, half a step into Rebirth Rank—a formidable presence. When low, they were even less than Ji Jue, a Level Two newbie, almost nonexistent.

The reason the other party was rigid, however, was because he saw... Little An next to Ji Jue!

It was as if he sensed something from the young man, his hair standing on end in an instant!

Damn, something sinister this way comes!

Old Tom, rubbing his eyes, was dumbfounded: How did a simple gig of watching over a family turn into seeing a kid from the An Family at the gate? What the hell?!

What sort of decent family harbors a kid from the White Deer Hunters!

First baffled, then shocked, confused, and even... Ji Jue acutely familiar with frustration.

Almost beating his chest in regret.

—Darn, there goes the pay!!!

The moment he realized this, he instinctively turned back, "Can we raise the fee?"

"Don't worry."

Old Lin still wore a smile, "When the boss returns, we'll talk."

I trust you, my ass!

But with things as they were, the contract was signed and the committing account was already his main one, it seemed like damn Old Tom had accidentally fallen into a pit without a word to say.

After all, having broken too many contracts before, his credibility was dangerously low. If he messed this one up, his future days would be unbearable, not to mention next month, he wouldn't even lift the pot tomorrow.

The helpless worker had to accept his fate.

And ask for more money.

Indeed, turning grief into appetite, from the moment he sat down, his mouth didn't stop moving, devouring like a starving ghost reborn. He single-handedly cleared out two refrigerators; had the cold storage not been well-stocked, they would all be relying on takeout from now on.

However, he was indeed generous and soon became familiar with everyone.

Holding a bottle of liquor, when he spoke of his past experiences, he became animated.

Through stories of fierce battles in Central Earth, deep incursions into the Empire, Federation prison breaks... all appeared well-crafted, with detailed accounts. Though the names were clearly fictitious, at least he was experienced.

He had done all sorts of dirty, tiring jobs, and in his words, this kind of security job felt like a holiday.

After all, in these times, good jobs are hard to come by, especially for mercenaries in the crowd, where making money is hardest. Risking your life can earn you funeral costs, but sometimes just getting the money alive is a technical job.

After all, seeing an oil field sort of job, the regular army was mad for it internally, how could outsiders stand a chance? Not even a cool spot by the wall was available.

Most of the time, these mercenaries faced the harshest attacks, suffered the harshest cuts, and earned the least rice. These days, any Central Earth kid aged eleven or twelve could pick up an assault rifle and take up a contract—commonly, killing and arson were not so professional, no barriers, no thresholds—if you won't do it, plenty of others would.

No wonder Mr. Lou was so treasured by Slan and his group—such an easy-money gig was damn hard to find. Securing a reliable, long-term client was enough to sustain the whole knight group for decades. Even if Slan lost his head, he couldn't let Mr. Lou take the hit; otherwise, with the boss gone, the other knights would tear him apart!

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