Homo Sapiens

In the Northern Hemisphere, September meant many high-latitude regions were already enjoying the crisp, clear days of autumn.

However, for Ceylon, an island in the Ceylon Ocean located in the tropical monsoon zone, September was the tail end of the rainy season.

The mood in Ceylon, however, was far from the sweltering heat of its climate. Instead, a palpable sense of panic was beginning to set in.

Due to the impact of typhoons and locust plagues, compounded by a ban on chemical fertilizers and pesticides, the local rice yield had plummeted by 53%.

To make matters worse, international grain prices were soaring. Even rice, which saw the smallest increase, had reached 520 US Dollars per ton due to Tianzhu reducing its export volume for the year.

For Ceylon, already burdened with over fifty billion US Dollars in debt, scraping together one or two billion US Dollars to cover a three to four million-ton grain shortage was simply impossible.

This was on top of other daily necessities, fuel, gas, and medical supplies—all of which required money.

And not just any money—it had to be foreign currency like US Dollars, euros, yen, or Chinese yuan.

Already teetering on the brink of bankruptcy, Ceylon was finally crushed by the last straw: high grain prices.

Even Chen Jianxiong, who had been monitoring Ceylon from the shadows, hadn’t expected it to collapse so quickly. He had only 1,732 agents in place, a far cry from his original target of 5,000 to 6,000.

But understanding that this was an opportunity not to be missed, he didn’t hesitate. He swiftly and secretly traveled with a few subordinates to Batickidi Port, the capital of Ceylon’s Eastern Province.

Dis, secretly recruited by the Foreign Affairs Division, was already waiting anxiously for Chen Jianxiong’s party at his private estate.

Under the cover of night, Chen Jianxiong and his men used their invisibility mode to slip inside the estate.

In Dis’s basement, there was a sudden knock on the door.

”The door is unlocked.”

The wooden door swung open to reveal an empty doorway. An ordinary person would have fainted from fright at the sight, but Dis let out a sigh of relief.

Director, you’ve finally arrived.

After the wooden door closed, Chen Jianxiong deactivated his invisibility, appearing before Dis. Using the pheromone communication channel, he asked, How’s the situation?

Our shell corporations and affiliated gangs have seized control of the markets in some parts of the Eastern and Southern regions. But there’s a lot of unrest in the central, western, and northern areas. We’re working on a solution, Dis replied, looking troubled.

And what about those old men? A dangerous glint flashed in Chen Jianxiong’s eyes.

Dis handed him an earpiece. This contains their exact movements from two hours ago.

Chen Jianxiong took the earpiece and inserted it. Moments later, he had processed the stored intelligence. He opened his eyes and made a decision on the spot.

We have to move the plan up. We’ll start with the Jia Clan, then the Puda Clan, and we’ll deal with the Solomon Clan last.

These three were currently the most powerful clans in Ceylon. For much of its modern history, the country had been controlled by a coalition of these three families, who took turns in power.

Perhaps it proved the old adage: petty tyrants swarm in a backwater country.

The three clans were basically in a race to the bottom.

Chen Jianxiong’s intelligence files included a comprehensive breakdown of the three clans’ assets. Not including fixed assets, gold, silver, or jewels, their overseas cash deposits alone amounted to 17.3 billion US Dollars.

Including their foreign real estate, private jets, luxury cars, designer goods, antiques, investment funds, and company shares, their total net worth could be as high as 43.5 billion US Dollars.

Clearly, these parasites had spent years sucking the country dry.

Chen Jianxiong had no intention of letting such plump prey escape. He needed their flesh and blood—their assets—to repay Ceylon’s fifty-billion-plus in foreign debt and to reshape the nation’s entire commercial environment.

As for Dis, he couldn’t wait for them to die. As the future head of the Ceylon Branch, he certainly wouldn’t tolerate anyone else sucking the people dry on his turf.

Although the plan felt rushed, both he and Chen Jianxiong knew they had to cut the Gordian knot now, or things would only get more complicated.

Ceylon’s premature collapse had clearly left the Foreign Affairs Division somewhat unprepared. It was an unexpected development, but as they say, man proposes and God disposes. Things rarely go off without a hitch.

...

The western region of Ceylon.

This was also where the capital city was located.

In a luxurious mansion near Capital City Port.

The brothers Jia Ma Xing and Jia Xicia, distraught over their current predicament, were discussing how to solve the crisis.

”Brother, what if I just resign from my position as president and leave for a while?” Jia Xicia asked, a worried expression on his face.

Jia Ma Xing scolded him, his face a mask of disappointment. ”If you leave now, the clan’s assets within the conglomerate are finished! You can resign, but you must maintain secret control over the key departments and industries. Then, you need to drag the Laputa Clan and the Solomon Clan down with us.”

”But will they take the bait?” Jia Xicia asked hesitantly.

”They will. They *must*. And you can... give them a little push,” Jia Ma Xing added with a cold smirk.

Just as the two were plotting how to drag the other two major clans down with them, the lights in the study flickered several times before the entire estate was plunged into darkness.

A moment later, the head of security entered with a flashlight.

”Apologies. The maintenance crew is on it. We’ll have the backup generator running shortly.”

Jia Ma Xing waved a dismissive hand. ”Forget it. Let’s leave it at that for today. Xicia, go home and think it over. Don’t worry about the riots. The most important thing is to hold on to the power you have.”

”I understand, Brother.” Jia Xicia stood up and excused himself.

A few minutes after Jia Xicia left, the lights in the estate flickered back to life.

After washing up, Jia Ma Xing was in no mood for anything else and went straight to his bedroom to sleep.

But the moment he lay down, an overwhelming drowsiness washed over him, and his eyelids grew heavy and closed.

Target is unconscious. Commencing operation. Maintain stealth, the room is bugged.

Understood.

A finger, sheathed in special biological armor and still under cloak, extended a needle from its tip, piercing the vein in Jia Ma Xing’s arm.

A special pheromonal contrast agent flowed into his bloodstream, spreading throughout his body and concentrating in the most critical area: his brain.

Imaging complete. No severe cerebral pathologies detected. Subject is viable for conversion. Beginning procedure.

Jia Ma Xing’s left eye was gently forced open. Another needle slid into the eye socket, penetrating through to the prefrontal cortex, and began to inject a suspension of free-form bio-chips.

The night grew deep and still.

More than five hours had passed since Jia Ma Xing had entered his bedroom.

By now, the bio-chips had finished assembling, attaching themselves to the inner surface of his skull and beginning to release a cocktail of pheromones and hormones.

But the conversion was not yet complete.

Another organism, a special transgenic parasite, entered Jia Ma Xing’s brain. It swiftly destroyed a portion of the cells in his prefrontal cortex, transforming him into a creature devoid of all emotion.

「In another estate.」

Jia Ma Xing’s younger brother, Jia Xicia, received the same ”premium service.”

「Roughly 1.8 kilometers from the estate.」

Inside an ordinary house, a middle-aged man with local features sat in a basement, wearing a large pair of headphones.

A woman suddenly placed a cup of coffee on the table beside him. She slid a note over to him, which read: *Your favorite, an espresso. How are things?*

The man glanced at the note, shook his head, and scribbled a reply: *Thanks. He’s sleeping. Probably nothing of high value for the rest of the night.*

Then the man picked up his coffee and took a small sip.

Neither of them noticed the cockroaches in the basement’s ventilation duct, watching their every move.

Nor did they have any idea that the ”core” of the target they were surveilling had already been silently and completely replaced.

The night air was hot and carried with it a faint, restless clamor.

The Foreign Affairs Division task force, their mission complete, had already returned to their safe house in Capital City Port, where they continued to lie low.