Hua Ye's coronation declaration and the new system known as the "Heavenly Palace Order" spread like wildfire across the Royal City and throughout the entire Angel Nebula. Within days, the fundamental structure of Angelic society had been rewritten.
Everything was governed by a supreme principle: service to the male angels. Female angels were stripped of all their rights—property, status, autonomy—reduced to beings who could only please or depend upon their male counterparts. The ancient laws that had guaranteed a measure of equality were erased as if they had never existed.
The atmosphere of the Royal City changed almost overnight, as though a curtain had been drawn back to reveal something that had always lurked beneath.
On the streets, groups of male angels dressed in magnificent armor or luxurious casual wear gathered openly, their voices loud and unapologetic. They discussed new conquest plans with the casualness of men planning a hunting trip. They debated the disposal of some recently "discovered" lower civilization as if dividing spoils before the battle was even fought. They flaunted their newly acquired female angel "attendants"—taken from the households of fallen nobles who had opposed the new order—like living trophies paraded for public admiration.
Female angels were forced into one of three paths: attach themselves to a powerful male angel for protection and survival; retreat into marginalized service and auxiliary industries that hadn't been explicitly banned yet, their roles shrinking with each passing day; or descend into total silence, vanishing from public life entirely, their fates unknown and unremarked upon.
The vast majority of male angels enthusiastically embraced the new order. To them, this was a "Golden Age"—a time when they no longer had to hide their desires, could freely seize resources without pretense, and enjoy the dual dividends of status and gender privilege. Conquest and pleasure became the overt and encouraged themes of life, celebrated in songs, art, and public discourse. The few male angels who still harbored nostalgia for the old ideals of equality, or who possessed an innate basic respect for women, were either forced into silence or marginalized as discordant noise under the new order—quaint relics of a bygone era that no one wished to remember.
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Within this Royal City where desire and oppression coexisted in uneasy tension, business at "Youyi Village" reached new and dizzying peaks.
It became a favorite gathering spot for the rising elite—classy enough to be prestigious, yet interesting enough to be genuinely enjoyable. More importantly, consuming here, hosting banquets within its walls, or even just showing one's face in its dining hall was seen as an expression of solidarity with King Hua Ye himself. To be seen at "Youyi Village" was to be seen as one of the new order's faithful.
Chu Mo's wealth ballooned at an alarming rate, accumulating faster than he could have imagined in his wildest Earth-bound dreams. He became the target of countless newly promoted nobles competing for his favor, each eager to associate themselves with the king's favorite merchant. This was not just because he provided fine food and wine—though that alone would have guaranteed his success—but because he could secure many "high-demand" resources that the new order had made scarce or controlled.
His gift-giving grew increasingly extravagant, a calculated investment in survival. To Hua Ye, he sent everything from rare vintages aged in forgotten cellars to female angels of various exotic charms, carefully sourced from worlds where Angelic influence had recently reached. Hua Ye accepted it all without reservation, his appetite seemingly insatiable. He even patted Chu Mo on the shoulder in public multiple times, calling him a "clever man who truly understands my heart" for all to hear—a public endorsement that was worth more than any payment.
Regarding Su Mari, Chu Mo was well aware of his special status in Hua Ye's heart and his inherent lethality. Su Mari was the whisper in the king's ear, the shadow who could destroy with a word what took years to build. Chu Mo didn't just send him money and goods; he provided something far more valuable: "intelligence." The secret, disgruntled grumblings of certain old-school nobles who still dared to mutter against the new order. The quiet meetings between officers who might be planning something. Su Mari would always accept these offerings with that feminine smile of his, his eyes calculating behind their languid gaze. And in return, whenever Chu Mo encountered small troubles—usually secret sabotage from jealous rival merchants who sought to undermine his position—Su Mari would "look into it" with a casual word, and the problem would vanish as if it had never existed.
As for other powerful generals, new officials, and even middle-ranking officers of the Royal Guard, Chu Mo had developed a sophisticated "socializing" model for each. He studied them like specimens—their tastes, their weaknesses, their ambitions. Banquets, gifts, and quickly "becoming one of the boys" with these men—he was hearty and talkative at the wine table, neither overly fawning nor failing to provide the right flattery. He knew exactly when to speak and when to listen, when to offer a toast and when to tactfully provide a convenience that would be remembered. Soon, "Go find Boss Chu if you need something done" became a common joke and catchphrase among the rising noble circles of the Royal City—spoken with a laugh, but meant with absolute seriousness.
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The merchants of the City of Angels possessed very sharp instincts. They had survived centuries of political shifts by reading the winds of power with unerring accuracy. They witnessed firsthand how Chu Mo had climbed onto Hua Ye's coattails during the Old King's era and how he now navigated the new order like a fish in water, his business growing larger and his network of connections weaving tighter with each passing day.
There were those who envied him, those who were jealous, and those who feared him. But soon, a more pragmatic consideration took hold among them: in this new era dominated by Hua Ye's will and the desires of the male elite, if one wanted to survive—or even thrive—one had to follow a "benchmark." Someone who had already proven they could navigate these treacherous waters without drowning.
Chu Mo was, undoubtedly, that benchmark.
It started with a few scattered merchants who supplied ingredients or alcohol to "Youyi Village," attempting to use him as a bridge to contact certain powerful figures whose favor they sought. Chu Mo turned no one away; as long as the other party was "sensible"—willing to pay the price, accept his terms, and remain loyal—he was willing to provide convenience in exchange for a more stable partnership and a share of their profits.
Gradually, more merchants flocked to him. They came bearing gifts, proposals, and offers of alliance. Their meetings were sometimes held in the luxury private rooms of "Youyi Village," where the walls were thick and the wine flowed freely. Sometimes they were conducted in another, more private club under Chu Mo's name—a discreet establishment where deals could be struck away from prying eyes. In the City of Angels, Chu Mo was no longer just an upstart boss with "connections," but a "man of influence" capable of swaying the rules themselves, a broker between the worlds of commerce and power.
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In Chu Mo's study.
Hong Yu placed the latest financial statements and several encrypted letters of loyalty from merchants on Chu Mo's desk. The numbers told a story of explosive growth; the letters spoke of desperate men seeking protection in uncertain times. She watched him lean back in his chair, calmly scanning the documents with an expression that revealed nothing of his thoughts, and asked softly:
"Boss, more and more people are coming to the door. Some of their backgrounds... aren't clean. Should we be more cautious in our screening?"
Chu Mo picked up one of the intent letters—it contained the nearly fawning words of loyalty from a merchant who had made his fortune smuggling rare metals across embargoed systems. A man whose hands were far from clean, whose survival depended entirely on powerful patrons. A trace of near-imperceptible energy ignited at Chu Mo's fingertip—a thin, razor-sharp thread of dark energy—slicing a delicate sliver off the edge of the paper. He watched the paper scrap float down to the desk like a falling leaf.
"Hong Yu," he began, his voice calm and steady as still water, "Under this new order, whether something is 'clean' or not is decided by King Hua Ye, by Su Mari, and..." He paused, a faint smile touching his lips. "...we get to decide a part of it too. As long as they are useful and willing to be obedient, if their background is a bit dirty, we can just wash it until it's new."
He looked up toward the lights of the Royal City outside the window, where the landscape of overflowing desire was reflected in a thousand gleaming points. The city that had once been a symbol of Angelic glory was now a monument to excess, its beauty masking the rot beneath.
Hong Yu remained silent for a long moment, her face unreadable. Then she bowed. "I understand."
Chu Mo waved his hand for her to leave. The door closed softly behind her.
Silence returned to the study. He stood up and walked to the window, gazing out at the city he was slowly learning to master. The outward glory, the throng of merchants seeking his favor, the "friendship" of the powerful—all of this came with a price.
He thought of the paper scrap floating down, of the energy at his fingertip. His Rokushiki training was progressing. Iron Body could now withstand strikes that would have broken bones months ago. Paper Drawing let him sway through attacks like smoke. Shave was becoming second nature, a burst of speed that left afterimages in its wake. And now, this—the first stirrings of what might become Tempest Kick or Finger Pistol, the ability to focus dark energy into a cutting edge.
Every performance requires practice, he thought. Every role demands preparation.
The game was far from over. It was only just beginning.