Chapter 8: We Pay Our Respects to Mr. Santee

Words : 2416 Updated : Oct 23rd, 2025

Edith Lynch stared at the dazzling gemstone necklace in her hands, too stunned to speak. Who could have imagined that the necklace Diego Santee had just pulled out so casually would be that extravagant? Five hundred million dollars. It felt unreal, like a dream. On the phone, Warren was still yammering, trying to talk us into it. Zayn Waller snapped out of it and hurriedly hung up. "No, that's impossible!" A sharp voice cut through the silence. Tori Lynch's face twisted with rage, her nails dug into her palm. That Love of a Lifetime should have been hers. "If Love of a Lifetime is worth five hundred million dollars, and if Diego Santee knew it was the real deal, why wouldn't he sell it to save the struggling Santee family?" She gave a chilly snort. "Fake. It has to be fake." This time, no one backed her up. "Real or fake, it has nothing to do with you anymore." Edith Lynch's smile was pure scorn. "It was meant for you, but sadly, you're too short-sighted." "And not everyone is like you, seeing nothing but money." She turned and hobbled out of the Lynch house. Tori's pretty face went chalk-white; she bit her lip hard enough to draw blood. The air turned heavy. "Cough, cough." Zayn cleared his throat. "It's just a necklace. Who cares if it's real? Five hundred million is just talk; who would spend that kind of money on a trinket?" "Grandma, hasn't the Lynch family been trying to get into the Laver Project? I've found a way in." At that, everyone in the Lynch family visibly brightened, all eyes turning to Zayn. Seeing their reaction, Tori straightened up and found her confidence again. "Mr. Waller is right. How could some necklace compare to the Laver Project?" Chin tipped high, Tori said, "Mr. Waller, don't keep us in suspense. Tell everyone how we can join the Laver Project." "The Waller family has a connection with a manager at Vasea Group. He'll be in Easton tomorrow." Zayn's tone was mild. "As long as we meet with him, the Lynch family will get into the Laver Project." Smiles spread across their faces. "Trust Mr. Waller to have pull with Vasea Group too." "Mr. Waller's always been impressive, unlike that loser, Diego Santee. I bet he just picked up the necklace by sheer luck somewhere." "Lucky Tori. Marrying Mr. Waller beats that ex-convict by miles." The praise kept coming, and Tori's vanity swelled. Bailey Shadboult, the family matriarch, allowed herself a long-absent smile and said slowly, "Mr. Waller has done much for the family. I'm making the call: once we get into the Laver Project, Tori will be betrothed to Zayn Waller." "Thank you, Grandma!" Zayn blurted, elated. "I'll give it everything I've got." … After leaving the Lynch house, Diego Santee walked only a short way before pausing. Years of training under seven brutal masters had given him an instinct for danger. Someone was tailing him. He let the corner of his mouth lift and deliberately headed toward a deserted spot near an unfinished building. He stopped. "You've followed me long enough. Come out." He turned, voice calm. A burly man stepped from the shadows. "Kid, name's Damon. Remember it." He grinned wolfishly. "Someone's paying for one of your legs. Grit your teeth. It'll be over quick." Diego gave a soft, contemptuous laugh. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. Too bad you don't know your limits." "Who the hell do you think you are, saying I don't know my limits?" Damon's mask dropped; he lunged. The next instant his vision blurred. He tried to pull back, but it was already too late. Diego's face stayed expressionless as two fingers tapped a pressure point on Damon's body. Damon's limbs went slack. Strength drained out of him as if a plug had been pulled. "Wh-what did you do to me?!" Panic flashed in Damon's eyes. How could this punk be this fast? The intel said Diego had some skills, that he could take on several bodyguards alone. But those were just street toughs, not worth mentioning. Damon, by contrast, served under Paxton and had long since cultivated internal force. He was no longer in the realm of ordinary fighters. In martial arts, whether you have internal force is the real dividing line. Once you develop internal force, you're an internal-force martial artist. Perfected internal force advances to flowing force, where a fighter can command that force as easily as moving a hand or finger. Above flowing force, you have to nurture a wisp of innate force in the body's energy center, the dantian, in the lower abdomen. When that force takes root, you become an Innate Martial Artist. It's said that an Innate Martial Artist's innate force can shield the body on its own, proof against heat, cold, even bullets. Each of the three major tiers has three stages: minor attainment, major attainment, and full mastery. Beyond them, if an Innate Martial Artist climbs one more step, they become a Grandmaster-the kind who can found a school and make a name that echoes. Unlike the first three tiers, Grandmasters are ranked in nine grades, from one to nine. Beyond Ninth Grade, if you achieve 'oneness of heaven and man,' there's said to be an even higher stage-the Heavenly Realm. But such things were rumors. In small Easton, there weren't many martial artists to begin with. Who would have thought this young man in front of him was one of them? Judging by that burst of speed and clean power, at the very least he was an internal-force fighter; he might even have broken through to flowing force. "I don't have time to waste." Diego's smile thinned. "Ten seconds. Tell me who hired you." His hand closed around Damon's throat. "Ten!" "Nine!" "Eight!" The cold, ticking numbers landed like a death sentence. Face flushing, Damon rasped, "I really don't know who the client is. Paxton took the job. I only do the fighting. The client's identity, I swear I don't know." Diego frowned. "Who's Paxton?" "You… you don't know Paxton?" Damon stared, incredulous. Easton wasn't big. Was there really someone who didn't know Paxton? "Do I need to?" Diego's tone went cold. "N-no…" Sweat sprang from Damon's brow. He babbled, "Paxton is a deacon under the Rose Society. He's well known." "The Rose Society?" Diego's gaze sharpened. The Rose Society had been founded by his second master, Blood Rose; its network reached across Chiton. He hadn't expected to find it in Easton. Before leaving prison, his second master had already placed the Society in his hands. He simply hadn't had time to take it over. "Who runs the Rose Society in Easton now?" Diego was ready to use this opening to assume control. It would make both revenge and supporting the Santee family far simpler. "Arya Moore," Damon stammered, not daring to lie. Diego frowned and lifted a ring, letting it gleam before Damon's eyes. "Do you recognize this?" The ring was Mr. Santee's token; its material was unusual, the metal a dark gold etched with a rose. Damon peered at it and shook his head. "Get in touch with Arya Moore," Diego said evenly. "Tell her I have the Rose Ring and she should come meet me." Damon hesitated. If he weren't so outmatched, he'd have asked, Who even are you? Arya Moore was the Easton branch's shot-caller, the queen of half the city's underworld. Still, reality was what it was. Damon made the call. Before long, a clutch of luxury cars sped up from a distance. The convoy screeched to a halt. A dozen young men in black stepped out and stood with hands clasped behind their backs, faces composed and deferential. An elderly man got out, scanned the area, then hurried to the door of a stretch Bentley and opened it. Mr. Santee-that's the Society's title for its leader-carries the Rose Ring as a token. "Mr. Santee, we're here," Paxton said, bowing his head. A poised woman emerged from the car, her qipao tailored to perfection. Her snow-white neck was bared; alabaster curves flowed into a wasp waist and long legs. Every line of her body suggested ripened allure. Arya Moore swept the scene with a cool glance and fixed on Diego. The Rose Ring-Mr. Santee's token-was nothing to take lightly. "Where is the Rose Ring? Hand it over." Her voice held a flicker of urgency. "If you lie to me, you'll die a horrible death." Diego produced the ring and passed it to her. As Arya examined it, he said, unhurried, "Blood Rose, the previous Mr. Santee of the Rose Society, is my master. She has passed the Society to me." "The Rose Society spans Chiton, divided into Five Banners and Five Envoys: the Metal, Wood, Water, Fire, and Earth Banners, and the Sword, Insect, Wind, Zither, and Lute Envoys. Besides them, there are two Protectors. Am I right?" At those words, Arya stiffened, her expression turning grave. What he'd named were the Society's core secrets, knowledge reserved for its inner circle. Even she had dealt only with the Five Banners and Five Envoys. The two Protectors were likely beyond her clearance. She couldn't confirm his claims, but the Rose Ring was unmistakable: that dark golden sheen, that faint scent of roses. In short order she was certain; the ring was real. The Rose Society recognized the ring, not the face. Arya turned back to the people behind her, voice firming. "Everyone, the Rose Society's new Mr. Santee has appeared in Easton. Follow me and pay your respects." She bowed toward Diego with formal respect. Paxton and the others traded glances, then dropped to one knee in unison, voices rising together. "The Rose Society pays respects to Mr. Santee!"

Chapter 8: We Pay Our Respects to Mr. Santee

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