Working as a police officer in Mexico-Chapter 756 - 421 Fengshan Ceremony at Tepeya Mountain
756: Chapter 421: Fengshan Ceremony at Tepeya Mountain?
756 -421: Fengshan Ceremony at Tepeya Mountain?
The remaining 100 steps left behind another group of people.
By the time there were only ten steps left, only Casare remained accompanying him.
President Qua Wuke Mot had stopped at the 150th step.
When there were only five steps remaining, Casare halted, watching the boss’s back as he continued upward.
Bang!
Heavy footsteps landed on the top step.
Victor slightly turned his body and glanced back, his single eyelid along with his gaze evoked a sense of… vigilance and predatory calculation, reminiscent of Lee Myung-bak at Lu Wuxuan’s funeral.
Looking down at all the people beneath, fixated on him, a sense of honor born of power surged from within.
Victor ascended the platform.
The statue of the Virgin Mary here had long been demolished—what a joke.
I don’t even believe in Jesus; why should Jesus’ mother be here?
In its place stood a “Three-sided Monument.”
One side read: Mexico will never wither!
The western side read: Long live the veterans!
The right side was engraved: Long live the working people!
The monument stood 11 meters high and 3 meters wide.
Beside it was a bronze half-body statue; originally, someone had proposed placing Victor’s likeness there, but he adamantly refused, opting instead for the image of a Mexican farmer.
He held a wreath, placing it on the half-body statue.
Turning back, he looked at the crowd below and raised his fist forcefully into the air.
“Long live!”
“Long live!”
“Long live!”
The people below deeply felt the “Emperor’s” grace and shouted in unison.
All of it seemed spontaneous—it should have been spontaneous…
maybe.
This nearly theatrical act of propaganda to flaunt personal charm disgusted many, though in truth, it was jealousy.
Sour grapes.
Including Ye Zhenli watching from the television.
His eyes almost popped out, rims turning red, spitting jealous remarks, “You think you’re an emperor now, holding a sealing ceremony?
Do you even qualify?
Do you, you bastard?!
Do you even qualify?!”
Yet deep down, he still yearned for it.
What East Asian man doesn’t carry the ambition to “replace him and take his place”?
Wasn’t his solo venture just about wanting to be the boss?
“Cousin,” just then his younger cousin Ye Jinghua knocked and entered, face lighting up.
“We recruited another 300 veterans from Vietnam.”
“Good!” Ye Zhenli was pleased; he knew his chosen path—elite forces.
He had gone to Southeast Asia to gather battle-hardened veterans, throwing money at them and recruiting nearly 2,000 people.
His faction was now slowly expanding.
His gaze fixated on Victor on the TV, his breathing quickened slightly.
The next one, it’s definitely going to be me.
The Tepeya Mountain celebration saw advance delegations from over ten nations participating.
They were specially arranged in a sectioned-off area, and when they saw the people below shouting “Long live” and pledging allegiance, a group of white and black guests exchanged bewildered looks.
“It seems that our Mr.
Victor’s ambition is far from small.
Someone unfamiliar might even think HitlerX was standing atop Tepeya Mountain.” Suddenly someone dropped this remark, drawing all eyes toward them—before looking away simultaneously.
The British!
The comment hit a raw nerve.
The name HitlerX was too much; after all, this demon launched a world war, sacrificing countless lives before being brought down.
He was the emblem of evil.
Because of him, Austria and Germany even banned people from performing stand-up comedy in beer halls at one point.
A typical instance of one person destroying an entire industry.
Now, comparing Victor to that devil—this was the British stirring up trouble.
Supposedly…
Of course, supposedly, MI6 suspected the London bombing was heavily tied to Mexico.
They even suspected Hydra’s involvement with Victor.
But what’s really going on?
No one knew.
“Shut your damn filthy mouth!”
Just as the British guest was about to add something nonsensical, a loud yell erupted.
Turning around, the envoy spotted a short, stout man standing up and pointing his finger, cursing in a mix of English and Spanish.
“You Brits are nothing but shit-stirrers, wreaking havoc everywhere.
Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to!”
“Want me to knock you dead?”
This man was none other than Nicholas Maro Moro, who had been making progress in Venezuela.
Upon hearing the boss was planning an Independence Day celebration, he brought people over immediately.
Hearing the British person’s words, already harboring resentment against Europe and America, he exploded on the spot.
Standing up, he pointed at the other delegate, even picking up his chair with the impulse to charge at him.
Luckily, people nearby restrained him, and guards quick to quell the situation intervened.
Otherwise, it would have been a spectacle.
Nicholas Maro Moro was a worker, and let’s not even talk about martial prowess—one punch from him could knock the crap out of people.
The British envoy’s face darkened, his lips twitching.
“Savage!”
“I’m a savage, so what?
Come over here, and I’ll make a civilized person out of your mother…” Nicholas Maro Moro’s ears were keen enough to catch it instantly.
“Hmph!”
The British “gentleman” had never encountered someone like this.
Folding his arms, moving to another seat, he brooded darkly.
He was already contemplating how to report this to his superior back home—how to stop Nicholas Maro Moro from rising further.
If this continues, he’ll definitely cause a complete fallout with Britain, something that doesn’t serve their interests.
Especially his obsessive admiration for Victor…
The proposal…
Take him out!
The British envoy glanced toward a seemingly inconspicuous, bespectacled middle-aged woman behind him.
She was MI6’s accompanying officer, responsible for security and intelligence communication.
The woman clearly picked up on his gaze, nodding at him in response.
For now, the “war of words” subsided, much to the disappointment of several delegates who had hoped to witness a real brawl.
What a pity…
The “Tepeya Mountain Sealing Ceremony” continued until 2 p.m., at which point participants began gradually leaving.
Each delegation boarded their respective vehicles, heading back to their hotels to rest before attending the Independence Day festivities the following day.
Victor sat inside a private car, and news of the earlier incident was immediately reported to him.
“Nicholas really is the best brother.” He smiled, seemingly pleased with the man’s defense.
Pausing briefly, he added, “The British are still as arrogant as ever.”
The driver, bodyguards, and aides inside the car remained silent, not daring to speak.
Casare, however, chimed in, “Boss, shall I take some men and finish them off?”
Victor turned his head towards him, chuckling while shaking his head, “We’re a regular army, not a gang!”
Casare laughed sheepishly.
“Well, the brain’s not too sharp, so I can only stick by the boss and learn.
But whatever you command, Boss, I’ll do it—whether it’s climbing blades or diving through fire…”
“Alright, alright,” Victor cut him off, waving dismissively with an exasperated expression.
Still, everyone in the car noticed that the General’s anger had abated somewhat.
Indeed…
Casare is the one with the knack for this.
Such nonsense could only come from him; others wouldn’t dare utter a word.
The bond between the two drew envy from many.
But with Victor’s favoritism toward him, dissatisfaction brewed below.
Rumor had it that the recently established “Anti-Corruption Bureau” received 12 anonymous tips against Casare within two days.
Victor had them all burned.
He even told George Smiley that any reports regarding Casare should be ignored.
If someone wanted to file, they should do it openly—what kind of riff-raff hiding in the shadows could overthrow a senior leader via baseless accusations?
“Tomorrow’s security must be flawless.
Keep an eye on those delegations; some people just can’t stand seeing us succeed.”
“Got it.
By the way, the U.S.
representatives arrived today.
How should we receive them?” Casare asked.
“Who did they send?”
“They sent a Deputy Defense Minister, Four-star Admiral Mason Leonard.
He’s close with Donald—apparently, the two were military school classmates.”
“Then you personally go greet them.
Show them respect.
We don’t want them saying we lack etiquette.”
“Understood!” Casare nodded vigorously.
Victor’s gaze shifted to the window, noting the skyscrapers passing by, his eyes narrowing slightly.
He had prepared a grand surprise for tomorrow’s guests.
Guarantee—you won’t sleep well after seeing it!
…
