A Pawn's Passage

Qi Xuansu naturally knew the best approach would be to perfectly impersonate the Baron and avoid alerting anyone. Once the Baron returned, Qi Xuansu would simply take his gains and leave.

If he detained everyone, it would inevitably alert the forces behind them and introduce unnecessary complications.

But Qi Xuansu had little choice. Whether it was Enforcer Ross, the four vampires, or that priest, each had arrived aggressively with a clear objective. If he merely continued acting within the limits of impersonating the Baron, he could not possibly drive them away. Thus, Qi Xuansu resorted to force and imprisoned them all, temporarily turning the place into an information black hole.

Those outside would have no idea what had happened here. Suspicion and uncertainty would make them hesitant to act rashly, forcing them to prepare before making a move. Back and forth like this could delay matters by at least a day.

The best outcome would be for the Baron to return within that day, allowing Qi Xuansu to take the artifact and leave before anyone else got there.

The worst outcome would be that the Baron had not yet returned while the powerhouses of St. York had already come knocking.

Qi Xuansu had anticipated both possibilities and had already prepared his escape.

The Lower District’s unique geographical position made it too fragile for large-scale conflict. Thus, the people of St. York would not dare wage a full battle here. If things went out of control, the lightest consequence would be the destruction of countless workshops and factories. The worst consequence would be the collapse of the entire city.

After all, directly above the Lower District were the surface districts of St. York itself. The destruction of the factories would be a secondary loss. The real disaster would be a massive collapse, causing the surface districts to sink into the ground. The losses would be immense.

In the East, a building’s foundation was most important. That was why the concept of underground cities was rare. A tall tower could never be built without a stable foundation.

Of course, the Westerners had considered this problem. They reinforced the underground city through various means, including divine arts, arcanum, alchemy, and magic.

However, internal structures were always more fragile than external defenses. If necessary, Qi Xuansu could unleash a strike nearly equal to that of an Immortal by using the sarira.

The Westerners certainly possessed methods capable of resisting a blow from an Immortal or a God, but they could not extend such protection across the entire underground city since this was not the Holy Seat.

The conclusion was obvious. As long as Qi Xuansu properly exploited this constraint, he could escape safely.

The Patriarch and Cardinal Bishop were unlikely to intervene immediately unless they knew Qi Xuansu’s true identity. However, aside from Sage Qingwei, no one knew that Dutch Vanderlind was actually Qi Xuansu, the Chief Deputy Beichen Hall Master. Even if Strauni betrayed him, he would likely assume Qi Xuansu was merely a branch manager.

If a Daoist Heir like Sage Qingwei needed outsiders to eliminate Qi Xuansu, that would be giving Qi Xuansu far too much importance. Should word of such a scheme leak, Sage Qingwei would lose any chance of becoming Grand Master, and even his life. That would mean wagering his entire future and survival—an extreme cost for what was merely a conflict of interests.

After all, there was no blood feud between Sage Qingwei and Qi Xuansu. They even shared certain overlapping interests. If Sage Qingwei truly wished to restrain Qi Xuansu, he would have countless ways to suppress this junior once he ascended to the Grand Master’s seat.

Technically, it would have been easy to leak this secret. But one must not forget that Qi Xuansu had the protection of the Heavenly Preceptor. Though what happened at the Lingshan Paradise was hidden many years ago, the Heavenly Preceptor still managed to uncover it. Qi Xuansu’s disguise in the New Continent could hardly be more confidential than the mysterious and nearly deserted Lingshan Paradise. Thus, if this information were leaked, the source of the leak would be easily discovered upon investigation.

That was why Qi Xuansu was certain that the Patriarch and the Cardinal Bishop would not intervene immediately.

This was also a common flaw among great figures. When Chen Shuzhen was gravely ill back then, anyone with eyes could see that something was suspicious, yet Great Sage Lan had not gone to investigate it personally. That was because what would be the point of being in a position of power if all matters had to be done personally? As such, matters that appeared unimportant were left to subordinates. The powerful figures only needed to know the results.

Taking all these factors together, Qi Xuansu could remain calmly in place, like a fisherman waiting by the riverbank.

At that moment in the Baron’s residence, Qi Xuansu still stood by the window.

Madam Wu sat in the chair behind the desk. She had even changed her attire, wearing a fitted shirt, riding breeches, and tall boots, while dramatically propping both feet up on the desk.

Qi Xuansu turned around and glanced at her. “I thought you were always dressed like a Daoist.”

“That was in Jade Capital,” Madam Wu replied. “Don’t forget, I spent a long time in both the Western Continent and the New Continent. It’s called adapting to local customs. Aren’t you doing the same now?”

Qi Xuansu was indeed dressed like a Westerner now, in a rather old-fashioned classical style.

Madam Wu asked again, “How are things on your true body’s side?”

Qi Xuansu shook his head. “Strauni was summoned by Leopold, and he hasn’t returned yet. Some people just left the floating island, so I think they’re about to make their move. It seems we won’t be waiting for the Baron to come back.”

Madam Wu’s spirits rose. “Good. Let them come. I’ll burn whoever comes at us!”

Qi Xuansu said nothing.

He was not a martial fanatic who was obsessed with fighting. In fact, he was not particularly combative, and brute force ranked relatively low among his priorities. This stemmed from his past experiences.

Before obtaining the Longevity Stone Heart, Qi Xuansu’s aptitude had been limited. Most of the time, he had been in a weaker position, so he had not placed much emphasis on martial strength.

Madam Wu, however, was different. The master she had served the longest was Tantai Yun, the master of the Western Daoist Order. Not only was she extraordinarily talented, she was also fiercely combative. She had fought the Holy Xuan, Emperor Gaozu, Elder Xu, Elder Yao, the Shamanistic Sect, the Buddhist Sect, the Confucian School, and the Holy Court.

Madam Wu had clearly picked up some of Tantai Yun’s temperament. She, too, loved a good fight. If things could be solved with fists, there was no need for words.

However, Qi Xuansu had somewhat overestimated the speed of these Westerners. From the moment Strauni was invited by Leopold to the lounge, he had expected that they would encircle the Baron’s residence within two hours.

In reality, the City Council took four hours, double the time Qi Xuansu had estimated.

Thinking about it carefully, it made sense. After entering the lounge, these powerful figures had not immediately begun discussing strategies. They first spent an hour indulging in women before beginning deliberations. Once a decision was reached, the orders still had to be relayed layer by layer and communicated through various channels. Time slipped away just like that.

In truth, both the Daoist Order and the Holy Court had become seemingly immovable giants after so many years of development. Yet every coin had two sides. Both suffered from bureaucratic bloating and redundant personnel.

In the Daoist Order, a Mansion Master would be paired with nine Deputy Mansion Masters, sometimes even several additional assistants. Below them, the same pattern followed, with a Chief Superintendent and various ordinary Superintendents. Layer after layer, people occupied positions but could not truly exercise authority. The inevitable result was bloated institutions and idle personnel.

At the lowest levels, a strange situation would arise. In many departments, there would be one manager, several deputies, and finally just a single ordinary Daoist priest actually doing the work, resulting in seven or eight supervisors standing above giving orders while one Daoist labored below.

How could that possibly function efficiently?

Everyone sat above, giving instructions and creating redundancy. When the workload became overwhelming, the solution was to recruit external personnel and grant them the status of Daoist Priest Kindred.

All the real work was then done by these Daoist Priest Kindreds, while that single ordinary Daoist priest became their superior.

A department originally meant for fewer than ten people would suddenly expand to dozens, even hundreds of roles.

If something went wrong and an investigation were conducted, it would turn out that the offenders were always the Daoist Priest Kindreds. Many believed the Daoist Order was deliberately covering things up. In reality, they misunderstood the deeper problem. The more one does, the more mistakes one makes; the less one does, the fewer mistakes; if one does nothing, one makes no mistakes. The formal Daoist priests barely did any work, so how could they be the ones getting into trouble?

Since the time of the fifth-generation Grand Master, there had been calls to streamline personnel. Yet this involved nearly half the Daoist priests, which would shake the foundations of the Daoist Order. Even someone as powerful as the fifth-generation Grand Master could not move it.

Correspondingly, the Holy Court was no better. Human nature was the same everywhere, and the flaws were remarkably similar.

One could only say they were evenly matched opponents with strikingly familiar circumstances. Everything felt almost the same.

Though the councilors made all sorts of elaborate plans as if victory were already in their grasp, once it came to actual execution, they would be fortunate if even half the plan succeeded.

The Enforcers sent to the Lower District in the middle of the night would not carry out the task with dedication either. Thus, they would rather delay it until dawn.

These councilmen spoke without effort, tormenting the subordinates in the dead of the night while they enjoyed women and counted their money.

Whether there was treasure or not hardly mattered to the Enforcers. If the councilmen obtained it, the poor Enforcers would not receive an extra Gold Crown. If there were no treasure, they would not be punished either.

Wealth dazzled the eyes. More than anything else, it corroded the human heart, eroded one’s faith, and destroyed foundations.

St. York happened to be the most prosperous place in the entire New Continent, with everyone focusing on material desire. Thus, morality had reached the point of near decay.

The Enforcers only received their salary in the form of banknotes, which were liable to lose value at any moment, unlike the stable Gold Crowns, so they were reluctant to risk their lives for that.

When the time came, they would most likely fire two shots into the air and call it a day.

Such a long delay would be costly on a real battlefield. But for Qi Xuansu, this was a pleasant surprise, because the Baron finally returned.