Chapter Four: Order
London's rainy weather seems endless, only occasionally turning from downpours to drizzles, giving this smog-shrouded city a brief respite.
Deep within the headquarters of the Lunar Organization—a cleverly disguised abandoned warehouse—time flows at a different pace.
Here, you can't hear the hustle and bustle of the streets, only the low hum of the ventilation ducts, the faint sound of striking coming from the training ground in the distance, and a kind of strictly controlled, highly efficient silence.
Yan Daosi, codenamed "Gongyang," sat in his room, slightly smaller than Xu Yue's office but equally impeccably tidy. The room's layout reflected his personality: everything was orderly, documents were clearly categorized, weapons were well-maintained, and even the stationery on the desk was arranged at a specific angle.
The air was filled with the faint smells of leather, gun oil, and old paper, as well as an almost imperceptible, cool, forest-like aura belonging to Yan Daosi himself.
He wore a neatly ironed white linen shirt with the cuffs rolled up to his forearms, revealing his well-defined arms and an almost invisible old scar on his wrist.
The coats hanging on the rack behind the door were well-tailored dark gray vests and suit trousers.
Even within this inner fortress, he maintained an almost rigid sense of propriety. His long, silvery-white hair, not due to aging but rather some unique genetic trait, was now tied back with a simple dark hair tie, with a few unruly strands falling across his forehead, further emphasizing his handsome features and sharply defined jawline.
However, beneath this calm exterior lies a relentless scrutiny and calculation. His eyes are a rare silver-gray, usually like a deep pool shrouded in mist, profound and elusive; but when focused or anxious, they condense into a sharp, almost metallic light, as if able to penetrate all pretense and reach the core.
At this moment, he was examining a thick stack of account books in front of him with this kind of gaze.
Numbers are the lifeblood of an organization and a direct reflection of order. Every income, from commissions from underground casinos and protection money to profits from smuggled goods, must be crystal clear. Every expenditure, from weapons procurement and member salaries to intelligence acquisition and bribery of officials, must be traceable.
His long, slender fingers turned the pages quickly and precisely, occasionally scribbling annotations or raising questions along the margins with an expensive fountain pen. No discrepancy, however slight, escaped his notice.
This extreme focus on detail is his way of maintaining the smooth operation of the organization's massive machine, and also an external projection of his deep-seated anxiety. Only by putting everything on a controllable and predictable track can he temporarily soothe his ever-anxious heart.
"Knock knock." The knocking was soft and rhythmic.
"Enter." Yan Daosi said calmly without even looking up.
The man who entered was a small foreman in charge of the dock area, a burly man with a scar on his face, but he seemed somewhat reserved in front of Yan Daosi.
“Mr. Ram, this is the breakdown of last month’s dock ‘cleanup fee’, and also… regarding the ‘Sea Serpent Gang’s’ attempt to plant their flag on the edge of our territory, we need your decision.”
Yan Daosi finally raised his eyes, his silver-gray pupils sweeping over the other person, causing the latter to unconsciously straighten his back. He took the document and quickly scanned it.
"The cleaning fee was five percent less than expected. What's the reason?" His voice was flat, yet carried an invisible pressure.
"Uh... last month two ships were delayed due to weather, resulting in insufficient cargo..."
“Weather is a variable, but the budget should include redundancy. Take that into account next time you submit a proposal.” Yan Daosi interrupted him, his tone leaving no room for argument, but it wasn’t a reprimand; it was more like a cold lecture. “As for the Sea Serpent Gang…”
He stood up and walked to the huge map of London on the wall, which marked the territories and points of conflict of various factions with different colored thumbtacks and thin lines. His fingertip pointed precisely to a corner of the dock area.
“Tell them that the red line is here. Crossing the red line will be considered a provocation. We can give them the abandoned Warehouse No. 3 on the east side for temporary berthing as a buffer, but management and control must be in our hands. The condition is that they pay 20% of the berthing fees every month. Go and talk, the bottom line is not to be changed.”
His instructions were clear and direct, demonstrating strength while leaving room for maneuver, avoiding unnecessary conflict, and ensuring the organization's interests. The junior leader accepted the order willingly and left.
After dealing with the dock affairs, another report was delivered. This time it was about the follow-up to Xu Yue's personal handling of Jackson's defection last night.
The report detailed the site cleanup, the information blackout, and the efforts to appease or eliminate any remaining Jackson supporters. Yan Daosi's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.
While Xu Yue's direct actions were highly effective in deterring unrest, they could also leave ripples of instability. His job was to smooth out these ripples and ensure that the organization's foundation remained unaffected.
He carefully reviewed each name and assessed every potential risk. Then, he picked up the internal phone and connected with the department responsible for internal discipline.
“Jackson’s former deputy, Carl, investigate all of his actions and contacts over the past three months. Do it discreetly.”
"Yes, Mr. Gongyang."
He put down the phone and let out a soft breath. Betrayal is like a plague; any potential carriers must be isolated in their infancy.
This almost neurotic vigilance stemmed from his deep-seated fear of "loss of control" and "chaos." He had witnessed far too many complete collapses caused by the slightest oversight.
In the afternoon, he needed to inspect the main facilities of headquarters. From the armory and training grounds on the underground level, to the communications room and medical point on the middle level, and then to the living quarters on the upper level.
His steps were steady and silent, like the lead sheep patrolling its territory. Even the cleanliness of the corners was within his inspection range.
At the training ground, he stopped and watched several young members conducting combat training.
His gaze did not linger on their moves, but rather on their discipline, teamwork, and the willpower revealed in their eyes.
He would occasionally speak up to correct the way a certain movement was exerted, his tone calm but incisive.
The members both respected and admired him.
They knew that Mr. Ram might not be as aggressive as Mr. Whale Shark, but he was also a cornerstone of the organization and a guarantee that their rear would be secure.
When he reached the communications room, he lingered there for a considerable amount of time. This was the organization's nerve center and the place where intelligence was exchanged.
He checked the operational status of the encryption equipment, inquired about the recent signal interception, and specifically instructed the on-duty personnel to pay attention to any unusual activity at several specific frequencies.
He has an extremely keen sense of potential threats, a sense that is not innate but rather an instinct honed through long-term exposure to a state of high alert.
As evening approached, he finally had a brief moment alone. He returned to his office, did not turn on the lights, but simply stood by the window, watching the twilight deepen in the courtyard inside the warehouse.
His long, silvery-white hair gleamed faintly in the dim light. Only then would the composed, businesslike mask on his face loosen slightly, revealing a hint of barely perceptible fatigue.
He took a pocket watch from his suit's inner pocket, not to check the time, but to gently open the cover. Inside the cover was a small, yellowed black-and-white photograph.
The photo shows a black-haired woman with a cold demeanor and a hint of melancholy in her eyes—his mother, Yan Che. Whenever he felt immense pressure or his heart was churning with anxiety, looking at his mother's photo brought him a strange sense of peace, as if those stern yet sorrowful eyes were reminding him that he must persevere and maintain the "order" that he cherished as his life.
However, this tranquility is often fleeting. Closing the pocket watch, a greater sense of emptiness washes over you.
Why is he so desperately trying to maintain all of this? What is he trying to prove to his mother? Or is he trying to fill the huge void in his heart left by the broken family of his origin? Can this organization, this "home" founded by Xu Yue and carefully maintained by him, really provide the sense of security he craves that will never collapse?
These questions have no answers. He never allows himself to delve into them. For Yan Daosi, action is far more meaningful than thought. Maintaining order is the only way to combat inner turmoil.
Night fell completely.
He composed himself and put his mask of calm and composure back on. He had an "informal" meeting that evening with a municipal official to ensure the permits for the new smuggling route were signed smoothly.
He picked up the coat from the hanger, carefully put it on, and smoothed out every wrinkle.
When he stepped out of the office, he transformed back into the meticulous and trustworthy "Ram," the guardian of the Moonlit Organization and the enforcer of order.
Only he himself knew that beneath this seemingly impregnable fortress, the ceaseless anxiety, like background noise, was his true and eternal companion.
He stepped into the London night to continue his endless work of maintaining order among the "crows".
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
