Chapter Sixty-Six: Silence After War, The Street Stays Still
Section One: Silence After War, The Street Stays Still
Six-fifteen AM, Rustmouth's fog lingered.
The air clung with the acrid tang of unburned explosives, mingled with rain-soaked rust, sticking in the throat like half-swallowed old cement.
Street center, three corpses lay untouched, unblanketed, blood long cold, seeping jagged red lines into cracked concrete seams.
Jason stood at the former Red Gang outpost's door, behind him a row of cleared tin shacks, smoke yet to reignite.
He didn't speak.
Chen Lei stepped closer, voice low:
"Our side—thirty-two wounded, five critical. Main control stretch is locked, but Seventh Stretch mouth still smolders."
Jason didn't reply, his gaze slowly sweeping the makeshift barricades flanking the street. Water-filled barriers stood, Tarn directing youths to clear oil drums, movements precise, faces blank.
Far off, a rooftop bore a half-burned Red Gang rag, hung and scorched, wind fanning unquenched flames, as if still writhing.
Jason asked: "The surrounded—handled?"
Chen Lei nodded: "Surrendered themselves. Left their weapons, but I didn't ask if they'd serve."
"Good," Jason said, one word.
He glanced at the ground—a shallow trench, once a sewage channel, now holding a shoe sole soaked in dark red water, like a foot severed mid-flight, discarded.
"ARGUS," he called low.
[System Engaging]
[Current Rustmouth Main Stretch Control Rate: 87%]
[Mid-Tier Node Silence Rate Rising: Civilian Night Travel Resumed × Unofficial Gatherings Down]
[Wounded Processing Outpaces Red Gang's Historical Post-War Cycles · Assessment: No Base-Level Panic]
Jason scanned the prompt, voice cold: "Cut the 'resumed' part. Night's still doesn't mean they're not scared."
[System Logging Correction… Tagged: Fearful Stasis × Passive Compliance × Risk Threshold Unbreached]
Jason stepped forward, passing the corpses.
Tarn approached, hands caked in mud, eyes shadowed, voice hoarse, barely audible:
"Back alley, two eateries shut their stoves, said they're waiting for your word. You want to—"
"No words," Jason cut in. "Who wants to light a fire, let them decide. We don't answer for anyone's survival."
Tarn nodded, unmoving.
Jason glanced again: "What's on your mind?"
Tarn's throat bobbed, voice low: "Main control's ours, not Red Gang's, but the street's still their rhythm… I mean, people don't know you won, and they're not ready to admit it."
His words were slow, carved into the ground.
Jason didn't answer, his gaze lifting to the street's far building.
A window stood open, curtain torn half. Inside, a woman, mid-forties, eyes frigid, one arm cradling a child, the other gripping an axe.
She didn't close the window, didn't flinch, just stood, staring at Jason, waiting for words—or to see if he, like the protection fee collectors, would demand terms.
Jason didn't move.
Tarn pressed: "Should we… put up a sign? Tell them—"
"Sign what?" Jason countered.
"That the street's changed hands?"
Jason scoffed, a mocking edge: "Think they don't know who won?"
He stared at the window, slow: "They're watching if we'll come for a price."
"They see clear."
—
A rumble broke the street mouth—an old heavy motorcycle dragging a torn Red Gang outpost marker, roaring from an alley.
It didn't slow, two pale Red Gang stragglers in the back, clutching a shredded hall flag.
No one stopped it.
Jason's gaze held, lips parting, near-silent: "They won't get far."
Chen Lei glanced: "I clean up?"
"Hold," Jason's eyes narrowed. "Wait for the next wave."
Chen Lei nodded, no further questions.
—
ARGUS whispered:
[Signal Chain Updated × Mid-Tier Cluster Response Fluctuations Stabilized]
[Prompt: Enemy Peripheral Comms Nodes in Fragmented Collapse]
[Rustmouth × Authority Structure Preliminary Cleared]
—
Jason turned, heading to the inner hall.
Wind passed, nudging the shoe sole in the trench, spinning it half a circle, settling in shadow.
A marker, reminding all:
Blood's not dry; the street's not moved.
Section Two: Hall Power Severed, Qing Subdued
Red Gang hall, main chamber.
The door planks were gone, the hall bare of words. The black plaque once reading "Red Martial True Hall," smashed by Tarn two hours prior, lay in the back alley's latrine pit. No one asked, no one stopped it.
Side chairs, blood wiped, stood neat. Below the central seat, Qing knelt, bound, hair damp, a gash at his eye, blood wet, spine rigid.
His dim red robe tattered, left sleeve frayed, left knee pressed straight, wrists chained to a chair leg.
Chen Lei stood behind, silent, black stick leaning against the chair, unholstered.
No others in the hall. Jason sat in the head chair, wordless.
He thumbed an old paper—the Red Gang's patrol fee notice from yesterday, clear: "Protection rates adjusted, monthly household surcharge up 25%, non-compliance cuts water and gas."
Jason read, folded it, set it under the chair.
He spoke, voice smooth as still water: "Know how many households cut their curtains yesterday?"
Qing sneered, voice rasped: "Playing deaf?"
Jason met his eyes, not smiling, soft: "Curtains hide heads bowed when fees come."
"Yesterday, they feared you didn't fall hard enough."
Qing's face stiffened.
He glared, teeth clenched, voice low: "Want to kill me, do it. No talk."
Jason nodded, not denying.
"I didn't plan to keep you," he said. "But now, I've another thought."
He drew a thin steel pen from his side, placing it before Qing. Ordinary, found in the hall's inner room, cap cracked, ink still wet.
"One question," Jason's gaze lowered. "If I free you now—no kneeling, no writing, no killing—where do you go?"
Qing froze.
His throat worked, lips twitched, no words.
Jason added, soft: "Nowhere."
"You belong to no one."
The air taut, a bowstring stretched to snap.
Qing's eyes flickered, then bit down, spitting: "Think I'll thank you? Lick your boots?"
Jason's gaze held, nodding: "Not thanks—knowing the tide."
"You're no fool, Qing. If you were, this street wouldn't have been yours."
His tone shifted, lower: "If you're smart, you'd know—you're kneeling because I don't need you dead yet."
"But one wrong word, and dying's a waste."
—
Chen Lei stepped to Qing's side, yanking the torn cloth at his neck, exposing a bruise from a knife hilt's blow.
"Last night, you screamed to kill my kin," Chen Lei said coldly. "Today, you breathe—Jason's call, not mine."
He stepped back, not looking.
Jason tapped the armrest, murmuring: "Think this is a deal?"
"No—it's telling you: your life's worth nothing now."
"But it could be."
Brief silence gripped the hall.
Outside, an iron barrel clanged—Tarn's crew clearing alley wastewater, the echo rippling through the walls, a late reverberation.
Jason eyed Qing, voice slow: "You don't deserve to stay and 'obey.' I won't dress you in my colors, bear my mark."
"But I'll let others know—you're my prisoner."
"You live because I allow it."
"You're silent because I silence you."
"You don't walk because I keep you kneeling."
Jason nodded to Chen Lei.
"Take him to the empty warehouse, South Third Stretch. Hang the sign."
Chen Lei raised a brow: "What's it say?"
Jason, flat: "'Red Gang Hall Master · Qing, Reflection Period.'"
"One iron token to see; one fight to free."
"Let them know how Rustmouth changed hands."
—
Chen Lei led men to drag Qing, leaving Jason alone.
He didn't leave, glancing at the chair—once Red Gang's throne, now cold, its cracked grain hiding an old branded "Red," seared deep, as if to etch power into wood.
Jason murmured: "Pity, the chair stays, the man's gone."
He turned, leaving, Fuxi whispering:
[☰ Wind over Earth: Observation]
[Observe the state's light, use it to serve the king]
[Prompt: Display is part of rule.]
[Show power, no need to speak might.]
Section Three: Rules Take Root, Street Signs Shift
Noon, Rustmouth Fifth Stretch mouth.
The former Red Gang outpost, half-dismantled, exposed a cement skeleton, gray-green from water soak, a beast's bones cracked toward the street.
Tarn hefted a metal plate, standing before the pocked wall. His shadow stretched long in the sun, sweat soaking his back, but he didn't pause.
"Here, left a bit."
"Nail it deep, no wind's taking it."
His voice rasped, steady. Behind, two factory toughs, faces still wary, moved sharper than dawn.
The plate nailed with a dull thud.
Three lines, black spray, rough:
— "Protection fee halved, monthly, no door-to-door extortion."
— "Night roads restricted, women, children, infants barred from tagging along."
— "Knife-wielders prove their cause; those who can't, deemed foes."
No signature, no Jason's name, no "new master" seal.
Just three street-call rules, cold on the old Red Gang post, the former curtain and "Red Martial Patrol" plaque burned away.
Tarn eyed the plate, then the street, saying nothing, walking off.
Three steps, he stopped.
Behind, an elder with a pedicure basin shuffled from the corner, rushing home. He paused, squinting at the plate, frowning seconds, then snorted: "Blunt words."
Muttering as he went: "Better than those dogs charging thrice with receipts."
—
Alley mouth, Maria watched, eyes faint.
She held a paper—Red Gang's old "security code," twenty clauses, ten with "exceptions," five needing "hall stamps," two allowing "special handling."
She didn't tear it, didn't comment, folding it small, passing to Zhao Mingxuan.
"File it for ARGUS, void."
Zhao Mingxuan nodded, swiping his terminal, system charting:
[Former Red Gang Governance Model × Nested Structure: Control Layer Priority]
[Current Jason Three Rules × Nesting Level: 0]
[Conclusion: Control via Direct Penalty, Non-Procedural]
Maria glanced, low: "He's not building a government."
"He's showing—this street's his."
—
Post vicinity, passersby trickled.
Some glanced and moved, some lingered seconds, some stopped, staring under the metal plate, silent.
A middle-aged man with an empty cart, patched vest, read the lines, spat at the wall: "Three coins to one-point-five? Half-price sale?"
His words bit, but he glanced streetward, no reply, and said no more.
He pushed on, silent.
Across, a diner's aproned woman stood at her door, watching. They'd doused their stove last night, now wiping tables, setting bowls.
Her husband, inside: "Wait a few days?"
She didn't turn: "No one's charging for the fire tonight."
—
Noon, Jason appeared on the Fifth Stretch tower's balcony.
Gray clothes, sleeve blood unwashed. No speech, no orders, he stood a minute, then descended.
Behind, sunlight cast his shadow on cracked ground, landing under the three rules.
ARGUS prompted, silent:
[Rustmouth Governance Model × Signal Attribution: Jason · Direct Arbiter]
[Crowd Cognition Update:]
→ "Unknown Regime × Clear Consequences × Non-Negotiated Control"
→ "Rules Clear, No Bargaining × Enforcement is Punishment × No Appeal"
→ "Default Non-Negotiable × Obedience Without Trust"
—
Fuxi murmured:
[☰ Earth over Lake: Approach]
[Approach the people with virtue, wield might from above, stay humble in high places]
[Prompt: Hearts unswayed, momentum controllable; subdue the defiant with form, distance the disrespectful with separation.]
Jason read, saying: "This isn't about rules—it's consequences."
Chen Lei, aside: "If they still resist?"
Jason eyed the street, flat: "Not about submission—about them not daring otherwise."
"That's the street's rule."
—
Sunlight slanted, glinting the plate's edge, a rust-flecked shine.
A passerby paused, as if to speak, but said nothing, head low, detouring.
Section Four: Jian Ci Lingers, Night's Shadow Revealed
Night, heavy as oilcloth steeped in iron filings, Rustmouth Sixth Stretch, shadow of the old water tower's ruin. A figure stood in the corner, half-face sunk in dark.
Jian Ci.
Gone was his Red Gang garb, now in unmarked gray workwear, sleeves rolled, right hand bound with the bruise from Chen Lei's strike, swollen purple.
He stood, staring at the street mouth's new post sign, no rage, no shame, just stubborn iron—like an old bolt, unpulled, unmoved.
His third night staying.
He hadn't come to yield or talk. First two nights, he sat behind a junked ad machine, eating compressed biscuits, drinking condensate.
No one minded him.
Jason hadn't sent for him, hadn't driven him off.
Tonight was different.
—
Quarter past midnight, Jason left the outpost, crossing Fifth Stretch alone.
Street unlit, eyes watched from afar, not nearing.
No windbreaker, just a single-layer combat jacket, hands empty, pace unhurried, steps precise, stopping five paces from Jian Ci.
Neither spoke.
Jian Ci didn't move, eyes cold in shadow, a blunt bone knife—dull, but lethal.
Jason didn't rush, gaze on Jian Ci's right arm—the bruise unhealed, crusted blood.
"Untreated?" Jason asked, voice light, piercing.
Jian Ci's eyes paused, voice low: "Visible, I remember."
Jason nodded faintly.
"Another fight?"
Jian Ci shook his head.
"No need," his tone soft. "That strike was right."
"I wield blades, not words."
Jason's eyes narrowed.
"You're not Red Gang anymore."
Jian Ci nodded.
"I know."
Jason stepped closer.
"Staying?"
Jian Ci didn't answer.
He stared at Jason, then countered: "You take men, demand their faith?"
Jason didn't move, didn't smile: "I take men, expect no faith."
Jian Ci's brow twitched.
Jason closed to two paces.
"You strike fast, cut clean, kill silent," Jason said, as if stating the weather. "But I don't trust you'll obey, don't expect your voice."
"Staying doesn't make you mine."
"But I won't drive you."
Jason paused: "I know—if you leave, you either join another or die on the road."
Jian Ci's face twitched, instinct suppressed.
"I'm not leaving," he said. "Not joining."
Jason drew a metal token from his chest.
An ARGUS one-use frequency key, temporary dispatch network access, etched with a six-digit code: N-A-R-02-B.
He set it on a vent pipe, not handing it, saying: "I don't trust you'll submit."
"But I trust your kills match any."
"This token's no oath. You owe nothing."
He glanced: "Use it, come."
"Don't, stay off my street."
Jason turned, walking away.
Jian Ci didn't follow.
He stared at the token, still, then slowly reached, thumb tracing its code.
He leaned against the wall, sinking down, token on his knee.
No words, no move, swallowed by the night.
—
Two-thirty AM, ARGUS mainframe pinged:
[☰ Shadow Guard · Code: NULL-Beta]
[Status: Unsworn Affiliation · Cold-Pressure Combat Profile · Command Compliance 42%]
[Privileges: Field Assassination Module × Action Freedom Lv.2 × Order Refusal Retained]
[Log Level: Fuxi Beacon Monitoring × Loyalty Logic Inactive]
Fuxi whispered, unseen:
[☰ Water over Mountain: Obstruction]
[A hard path, walked only by those who know its cold and still tread.]
[This man's heart is unpledged, his body returned.]
[Usable, not close.]
—
Dawn's first light hit Rustmouth Fifth Stretch's old warehouse corner.
Jian Ci sat, a blanket—unknown source—over him.
He rubbed the token, eyes dim, no flame, only depth.
Section Five: System Whispers, Street's Hue Unclear
Five-twenty AM, Rustmouth Fifth Stretch main road.
Sky's edge stirred gray, like coal smoke scratched by a match, unlit, swallowing last night's cold.
Jason stood atop the old Red Gang post, no blade, no gear, gazing at the once-others' street, now silent.
Tarn beside, damp coat slung over shoulder. Maria coordinated supplies at the rear outpost, Zhao Mingxuan at the ARGUS console, sleepless, eyes red.
Chen Lei leaned by the doorframe, toying with his half-worn black stick, lacquer chipped, like his mood—still, killing intent sheathed.
Jason raised a hand.
ARGUS's screen unfolded, a 3D structure spinning: Rustmouth Sixth Stretch, thirty-seven key nodes—all deep blue.
[System Prompt: Rustmouth Main Stretch × Master Control Synced]
[Anomalous Signals: None]
[Crowd Movement: Night Travel Recovery 61% × Covert Anomalies Rising]
[Risk Assessment: Surface Stable, Underlying Suppression · Red Gang Peripheral Signals Suspected Fragmentation Attempt]
Jason, silent a second: "Where's the fragmentation?"
Zhao Mingxuan, voice hoarse: "Fourth Stretch up. Old Peng's pulling strings, saying he cut Qing's orders long ago."
"Gold Master?"
"Quiet, but I'd bet he's hoarding men," Zhao Mingxuan paused. "Leaflets are out, whispering 'Jason's no true lord, just a breaker-in.'"
Jason didn't answer.
He watched the street's end, figures cautiously opening a derelict pharmacy door, wary of unseen sentries.
Chen Lei: "Move now?"
Jason shook his head.
"Move now, it's another brawl. Win, we wait for their fear again."
His gaze settled on a far ruined wall, freshly scrawled last night: "Rustmouth New Rules, Three Orders," half-wiped, only "Orders" legible.
Jason, flat: "I'm not here for their allegiance."
"I'm here so they know—next time they hang the wrong words, there's no next time."
Tarn, low: "Our street's solid, but Red Gang's not dead."
Jason nodded: "I know."
He turned, back to the street mouth, descending.
Walking, he said: "Qing's alive, some won't move."
"But Peng's breathing, some think they can stand alone."
"They're not struggling—they're waiting for our slip."
Chen Lei: "Plan?"
Jason, faint: "Don't touch them."
"Let them move."
He paused, adding: "No more trench fights."
"One night—we make them collect their own dead."
—
ARGUS sidebar prompted:
[Red Gang Remnant Faction Analysis]
→ Gold Master · Controllable Line · Old-Guard Stability, Plotting Quiet Merge
→ Old Peng · Shadow Old Power · Potent but Unretired, Trust Structure Lingers
→ Peripheral Patrol Teams × Count: 3 → Two Unlinked
→ Rustmouth Fringe · Micro-Armed Group Activity Up 6%
[Suggestion: Reissue Clear Rules in Three Days · Spread via Civilian Whispers, Unsigned]
—
Fuxi murmured:
[☰ Wind over Fire: Family]
[Observe within and without, choose the moment to lay plans.]
[Prompt: Kin not close, distant not subdued; enemies unbroken, speak not loudly.]
[Force heat with cold, control motion with stillness; break the game without words.]
Jason eyed the prompt, soft: "Street's steady, no need to shout."
"Just let them know—rules don't shift, life's price doesn't rise."
—
Street side, a child peeked from his mother's arms, watching Jason's fading back, no cry, no call, eyes wide, seeing a silent deity.
The mother clutched him, wordless, turning inside.
The door shut, "Rustmouth Main Stretch" flickering on the wall, gone.
—
This chapter ends in dawn's cold wind and system whispers.
Rustmouth silent, no longer chaotic.
Red Gang unextinguished, but rootless.
The next step, Jason will, not as a ruler, complete the first "ground dominance" reclamation.