Xia Liuyi spun the muzzle of his gun toward the doorway. Seizing the moment, Fat Seven lunged forward and clamped onto his legs, dragging him heavily to the ground. Nearly two hundred catties of weight crashed down on top of him as Fat Seven struggled to wrest the gun away. Amid the struggle, Xia Liuyi fired twice in quick succession—but neither shot struck true. Gritting his teeth, he drove his knee into Fat Seven’s belly and heaved him off—
Bang!
Inspector Hua had drawn a gun from the cabinet drawer. One shot tore straight through Fat Seven’s abdomen. Clutching his mangled gut, Fat Seven lay sprawled on the ground, eyes wide with disbelief. “You… you…”
“The men outside—yours?!” Inspector Hua roared. “You bastard—have you got a death wish, stirring trouble in my house?!”
Fat Seven, hanging onto his last breath, spat with venom, “You old bastard! Who the hell are you fooling?! Xia Xiao Liu—I’m telling you, it wasn’t my idea to have Xu Ying kill Qinglong—it was him who told me to pass—”
Before he could finish, Inspector Hua fired again. The bullet struck squarely between his brows—half his head exploded into a spray of blood. His massive body twitched twice, then fell still.
Having silenced him, Inspector Hua turned—only to meet Xia Liuyi’s shocked gaze.
For a heartbeat, both men froze.
Then—simultaneously—they raised their guns.
Two thunderous shots rang out.
Inspector Hua was struck in the chest and blasted backward, crashing to the ground. His return shot went wide, smashing into the ceiling chandelier. The massive crystal fixture—worth a fortune—plunged down with a deafening crash, shattering across the dining table in a storm of glittering shards!
Ignoring the flying glass, Xia Liuyi strode forward in a few swift steps, seized Inspector Hua by the collar, and barked, “Qinglong always respected you! Why did you move against him?! Why?!”
Inspector Hua’s lips trembled, unable to form a word. His hands clawed weakly at the air. This veteran of twenty years in the jianghu, a Chief Inspector bathed in prestige, commanding fortunes worth hundreds of millions—now lay staring wide-eyed at the shattered remains of the luxurious chandelier he had imported from France… as he convulsed and swallowed his last breath.
Xia Liuyi kicked him viciously, then emptied three more shots into the corpse in a burst of rage.
The door was suddenly kicked open.
One of Fat Seven’s bodyguards burst in, wielding dual pistols—but his shots all struck the corpse of Inspector Hua, which Xia Liuyi had hoisted up as a shield. Catching his breath behind the body, Xia Liuyi shoved it forward, switching the gun from his weakened right hand to his left—and shot the man dead in a single round.
At the same time, fierce gunfire erupted from the balcony. Hearing the commotion inside, both factions outside had already begun exchanging fire. From the rooftop terrace, Fat Seven’s men swung down on ropes into the balcony, concentrating their fire on the lone figure still standing—Xia Liuyi.
Raising his hand, Xia Liuyi fired several shots, dropping two vanguard attackers and forcing a third to retreat. His gun clicked empty after a few pulls—he tossed it aside without hesitation.
“The boss is dead! Xia Liuyi’s still inside! Burn him alive!” one of Fat Seven’s men shouted from outside.
Two paint buckets were hurled through the window, splashing the room with choking fumes. A burning torch followed.
Xia Liuyi turned sharply and withdrew toward the door—but another of Fat Seven’s guards charged in from outside, fresh from slaughter. The moment their eyes met—
Before the man could raise his gun, Xia Liuyi snatched up a table knife and flung it in one fluid motion—
It struck clean through the throat.
He bent, picked up Inspector Hua’s gun, and shoved it into his pocket. Tearing off his suit jacket to cover his mouth and nose, he strode to the doorway. Stepping hard on the twitching face of the fallen guard, he grabbed the man’s gun and rushed out.
The corridor outside was utter chaos. Servants of the Hua residence lay dead across the floor, cut down by Fat Seven’s men. Xia Liuyi took a long stride forward and lifted a body slumped behind a large vase, shaking it hard.
“A-Yong? A-Yong!”
“B… Boss…” A-Yong, drenched in blood, barely opened his eyes, coughing weakly. A gunshot had torn through his abdomen; he was on the brink of death. “You’re… alright… cough…”
“Where’s A-Biao?” Xia Liuyi scanned around—no sign of the second bodyguard.
“Cough… don’t know… he said… he went to the restroom…”
Xia Liuyi’s face darkened—but there was no time to think. Gunfire and chaos roared endlessly from below. Madam Hua’s scream rang out briefly—then was cut off.
Upstairs, flames had already engulfed several rooms—gasoline had been thrown in from the balconies. Others were rushing up the interior staircase.
Without another word, Xia Liuyi bent down, hoisted A-Yong onto his shoulder, and ran. As he fled, he turned and fired twice, killing the nearest pursuer.
In response, a hail of bullets came roaring back—shattering walls, smashing vases, blasting chandeliers from the ceiling. Debris and smoke filled the corridor!
Hunched low, Xia Liuyi shielded his head with his gun arm, dragging A-Yong forward through the haze. He heard the man whisper weakly in his ear, “Boss… leave me… go…”
“Shut up!” Xia Liuyi snapped, gripping his collar with his weakened right hand as he dragged him toward the end of the corridor. Turning, he fired again—another body dropped.
The window at the end was locked—rusted tight. Without hesitation, Xia Liuyi wrapped his coat around his left arm—
Crash!
He smashed the glass with a single blow.
Sweeping aside the shards, he turned back to push A-Yong out—
But suddenly, A-Yong struggled violently, slamming into him and knocking him aside!
At that very instant, several shots rang out from the staircase—tearing fresh, gaping holes through A-Yong’s body.
“A Yong!” Xia Liuyi roared hoarsely.
Blood filled A-Yong’s mouth. Veins bulged across his forehead; his eyes burned crimson as he looked once at Xia Liuyi. He grabbed the gun—now with only three bullets left—from Xia Liuyi’s hand, yanked him up—
And with the last of his strength, shoved him out the window!
Turning back, he let out a roar at the charging enemies—firing as he rushed forward!
A storm of bullets met him head-on—the thunder of gunfire shook the entire villa.
The drop was not high.
Xia Liuyi fell from the second floor into the garden, crashing into a cluster of shrubs. He rolled, then forced himself upright. Panting heavily, he looked back at the smoke-filled window above. His jaw tightened—grief flickered across his face before he turned away.
“Boss!”
Xiao Ma’s voice rang out from outside the courtyard.
Having caught Xia Liuyi’s earlier signal, Xiao Ma had remained alert. The moment the first shot rang out inside, both sides outside had opened fire. Now bodies lay scattered across the ground.
Drawing the second gun from his pocket, Xia Liuyi dashed through the storm of bullets under cover from his men, reaching the bullet-riddled car.
“Boss, are you alright?!” Xiao Ma asked urgently.
“I’m fine,” Xia Liuyi replied, catching his breath. “The cops will be here any minute—move!”
But it was already too late.
Somehow, word had leaked. Flashing red lights surged from down the mountain—sirens blaring as police cars flooded in. Even the Flying Tigers had been deployed, their arrival swift and overwhelming.
“Why so fast?!” Xiao Ma cursed.
Thinking of the missing A-Biao, Xia Liuyi’s mind sharpened instantly. “Don’t engage—burn the cars, scatter!”
“Yes!”
The group split apart, vanishing into the night. Xiao Ma’s men were all sharp and capable—no need for further orders. Alone, Xia Liuyi slipped down a narrow forest path, sliding and running along the mountainside. After several li, he glanced back—
The villa in the Mid-Levels blazed fiercely, flames staining half the sky red.
On the mountain, police had already established a perimeter, arresting several of Fat Seven’s trapped men. Fire engines and ambulances rushed in.
Among them was an ordinary sedan bearing the number “61.” Several plainclothes officers stepped out, flashing credentials to the uniformed police.
Smoke continued to billow skyward.
Xie Jiahua, flanked by two subordinates, approached the courtyard. “Who’s in charge here?”
“I am,” replied a plainclothes officer.
“Senior Inspector Xie Jiahua of O Bureau. This is a gang conflict case we’ve been tracking for some time—O Bureau will take over. Thank you for your efforts.”
Turning, he ordered, “That Mercedes at the gate belongs to Xia Liuyi—put out the fire and search it thoroughly.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Where are the suspects you arrested?” he asked.
“In the vehicles—handcuffed.”
“Take me to them.”
Xie Jiahua entered a police van. The arrested thugs, ash-faced and disheveled, looked up at him. He pointed to A-Biao crouched in the corner.
“Separate him.”
……
Half an hour later, after handling matters, Xie Jiahua returned to his car—only for someone to knock on the window.
He rolled it down.
A young man in his twenties stood outside—slender brows, narrow eyes, a foxlike smile.
“Hello, Sir Xie. I’m Lu Guangming, Assistant Investigator of the ICAC.”
“Damn punk [扑街仔]!” Xia Liuyi cursed, already expecting that answer. Then into the phone: “Hello, Dongdong [东东]?”
“What is it?”
“With such a lively scene here, something major must have happened, Sir Xie?”
“The case is under investigation. Under confidentiality regulations, I’m under no obligation to disclose anything.”
“I understand. I’m not here to pry—I’m here to help. Chief Inspector Hua is suspected of bribery and collusion with triads. We’ve been investigating for some time and have intelligence not restricted by confidentiality laws—it may assist your case. Here’s my card.”
Xie Jiahua took it and began rolling up the window. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch.”
But Lu Guangming pressed a hand against the glass.
“However, Sir Xie—my information isn’t free.”
“What do you want?”
Lu Guangming tilted his head, scanning the surroundings. Seeing no one nearby, he lowered his voice. “Chief Inspector Hua isn’t the highest-ranking officer involved in bribery. There are others above him… and one of them—has a bit of a personal connection with you, Sir Xie.”
Xie Jiahua’s expression darkened at once, his gaze turning icy and razor-sharp.
As if chilled by that look, Lu Guangming took a half-step back, narrowing his eyes with a sly smile. “Sir Xie, I’m just a newly appointed Assistant Investigator. There’s no need for me to fabricate stories just to provoke you. That’s all—remember to set a time to meet me. Oh, and I like the milk tea from Tan Dao Coffee.”
……
Xia Liuyi made his way down the mountain on foot, blending into the city streets. He tossed his gun into the sea channel, rolled up his bloodstained suit jacket and held it against his chest, slowing his pace as he walked toward the Star Ferry Pier, intending to slip into the crowd and cross the harbor back to Kowloon.
But just as he reached the entrance, someone grabbed him from behind!
Xia Liuyi reacted instinctively, twisting his body and driving an elbow backward—but his arm was deftly caught mid-strike.
“Brother Liuyi?”
He turned—and saw He Chusan, surprise written across his face.
He Chusan wore gold-rimmed glasses, a briefcase tucked under his arm—clearly just off work. His gaze swept over Xia Liuyi, instantly grasping the situation. Without hesitation, he shrugged off his coat and wrapped it around Xia Liuyi’s blood-scented body, lowering his voice.
“You can’t cross the harbor now—there are plainclothes officers everywhere conducting checks. Come with me.”
Without further words, he led Xia Liuyi onto a tram. The two sat in silence as the car rattled its way to Western District. After getting off, they hurried to an old tenement building.
The stairwell was dim. He Chusan pulled a flashlight from his briefcase and guided Xia Liuyi upstairs. At the second floor, he unlocked the door to a rented flat.
Closing the door behind them, drawing the curtains, he switched on the light. The room flooded with brightness as both men stood there, breathing heavily.
“How did you know there were plainclothes?” Xia Liuyi finally asked.
“I saw it from the office upstairs—police cars everywhere. They said something happened in the Mid-Levels, even the Flying Tigers were deployed.”
He paused, then asked, “What happened?”
Xia Liuyi’s expression remained calm. “Nothing that concerns you.”
He Chusan immediately understood he didn’t want to talk and wisely did not press further. His eyes dropped to the blood seeping through Xia Liuyi’s shirt.
“You’re injured?”
Only then did Xia Liuyi notice it himself. He frowned and looked down. He Chusan quickly crouched, prying his hand away and lifting his shirt.
The wound was at his waist—cut by shattered glass when he fell from the second floor. It wasn’t deep, but the subsequent struggle had torn it open, leaving it ragged and bloodied. He Chusan’s fingertips brushed lightly near the wound—cold, sticky, wet—and his heart trembled with pain.
He clenched his fists hard, forcing himself to stay composed. Helping Xia Liuyi to the sofa, he said, “I’ll go downstairs to buy medicine. Rest first.”
“Hey,” Xia Liuyi called out.
He Chusan turned.
“Be careful.”
His heart skipped again. “You should be the careful one. Don’t go out—I’ll be right back.”
Grabbing his briefcase, he hurried off.
Left alone, Xia Liuyi tore open his shirt and leaned back shirtless on the sofa, dragging both hands harshly across his face before letting out a long breath.
After that life-and-death battle, suddenly being in such quiet peace felt almost like a dream.
……
After a moment of blankness, he began to look around the room.
The flat was a simple one-bedroom unit—cheap walls coated in a thin layer of grime, uneven flooring, a moldy ceiling. Crude and shabby. Behind the door hung a paper-cut “fortune” character, clearly another of He Chusan’s father’s handiwork. The living room held only a sofa and a small table; by the door sat two pairs of leather shoes and a pair of slippers, neatly arranged.
He steadied himself against the wall and walked into the bedroom. A single bed. A small wardrobe in the corner. A desk beside the bed piled high with books and documents, more stacks neatly arranged on the floor by the bedside.
Damn bookworm—living his life buried in paper!
He opened the wardrobe, rummaged through it, and pulled out a pair of trousers. Just as he was about to close it, he noticed a black leather case in the corner.
Opening it, he found an old-model camera. A label reading “XX Pawnshop” was stuck to the bottom—clearly second-hand. There was also a small canister of film. Xia Liuyi had no interest; he glanced at it and put it back.
As he walked, he kicked off his mud- and blood-stained shoes and socks, stripped off his trousers and tossed them onto the living room floor, slipped into He Chusan’s slippers, and headed straight for the bathroom.
The place was old—just a pipe for washing, not even a proper showerhead. Xia Liuyi grabbed the pipe and splashed water over himself, scrubbing roughly. As he worked soap into his hair, he mused—
This kid is always so frugal—even rents a dump like this. Why would he spend money on a second-hand camera?
While he washed away the stench of blood and grime, He Chusan hurried to a pharmacy downstairs, buying bandages, gauze, and basic medicine before rushing back.
The moment he entered, he saw Xia Liuyi’s trousers lying in a heap.
Setting the supplies on the table, he hurried to the bathroom and knocked. “Brother Liuyi?”
“Mm?” came the response over the rushing water.
“Don’t let the wound get wet—be careful.”
Xia Liuyi ignored him, tilting his head back under the stream.
Such a tiny wound—what’s the fuss?
He Chusan sighed quietly and waited patiently on the sofa.
After a while, Xia Liuyi emerged, damp and shirtless, pulling up his trousers. “Towel.”
He Chusan carefully opened the curtain a crack and retrieved a towel from outside the window. Xia Liuyi grabbed it and wiped himself casually before reaching for the disinfectant.
“I’ll do it,” He Chusan said, snatching the bottle away.
He guided Xia Liuyi back onto the sofa, carefully drying the water from his body before disinfecting the wound. Xia Liuyi draped the towel over his head, rubbing his hair as the antiseptic burned into his flesh—yet he didn’t make a sound.
He didn’t cry out—but He Chusan felt the pain for him.
As he applied the medicine and gently pressed gauze against the torn flesh, his mind filled with images of what must have happened. The blood-soaked jacket, the shattered glass, the mud-caked shoes, the sirens racing uphill, the plainclothes officers checking passengers—all spoke of a brutal, desperate battle.
Xia Liuyi’s body was marked with scars—most old, but the grotesque centipede-like stitched scar across his right shoulder was one He Chusan had seen with his own eyes. He remembered that day in the Jiaolong Walled City—Xia Liuyi collapsing before him, drenched in blood, pale and unconscious.
A sharp ache twisted in his chest.
His movements slowed.
Silent, he lowered his head—his hand hovering beside Xia Liuyi.
Under the towel, Xia Liuyi couldn’t see him—but he could see the shadow on the wall.
He Chusan raised his arm—an unmistakable motion, as if to embrace him from behind.
Xia Liuyi’s back tensed instinctively, muscles pulling at the wound. He clenched his teeth, suppressing a groan—
—and then saw the shadow withdraw abruptly.
Frowning, he turned.
He Chusan remained calm, focused on bandaging, his expression innocent and composed—as though nothing had happened.
Damn Oscar-winning actor! Keep pretending! You little punk—I knew your so-called “girlfriend” act was fake as hell!
Once the wound was dressed, Xia Liuyi pushed the scheming brat aside and said coldly, “Give me the brick phone.”
He Chusan obediently fetched it and even draped a thin pajama top over his shoulders.
With a towel still on his head, wearing a cartoon bear-print pajama and flip-flops, Xia Liuyi walked to the window, dialing as he asked, “Got cigarettes?”
“No.”
“Go buy some.”
“You’re injured—you shouldn’t smoke.”
“‘Damn punk’?” Cui Dongdong teased. “What is it, boss—another ‘punk hero saves the beauty’?”
“Get lost,” Xia Liuyi snapped. “Did Xiao Ma come back?”
“He’s hiding—called me already. The cops are everywhere. Don’t come back yet.”
A brief silence.
“A-Yong is dead.”
Even He Chusan, tidying nearby, froze at those words.
“I’ll arrange for his family,” Cui Dongdong said quietly.
“Double the settlement,” Xia Liuyi said. “When this blows over, I’ll give him a proper burial.”
“Understood.”
“And—” Xia Liuyi listed several locations. “Pull all goods and men out of these places.”
“What happened?”
“A-Biao’s missing. I suspect he’s police. He knows these locations. Send sharp men to search his place—bring back anything suspicious. Clean the house. As for him—dig him out, heaven or earth!”
“Got it.”
Hanging up, Xia Liuyi looked up—to see He Chusan holding a pile of bloodstained clothes, staring at him with a complicated expression.
“Hm?”
“A-Biao… is police?”
“Not your concern!” Xia Liuyi snapped.
After a pause, He Chusan said quietly, “Don’t touch the police. Don’t act recklessly.”
That made Xia Liuyi laugh coldly. “What? First day you’ve known me? I’m triad—if I don’t touch cops, what, should I marry them? Shut up!”
He Chusan opened his mouth—but said nothing. Yet his face clearly read: beyond saving.
Xia Liuyi hurled the phone at him. “Go buy beef offal!”
He Chusan caught it deftly with the clothes, picked up Xia Liuyi’s shoes, and left in silence.
He burned the bloody clothes, flushed the ashes, cleaned the shoes, tidied the room. Then he cooked a pot of lean meat congee, topped with sesame and pork floss, steamed dumplings and egg-yolk buns.
Xia Liuyi dozed on the sofa. When he woke, he found a table full of bland food.
“Damn it!” he cursed. “Where’s the beef offal?”
“The stall downstairs isn’t clean,” He Chusan replied. “I’ll buy fresh tomorrow and cook it for you.”
Xia Liuyi glared at him, wanting to flip the table—but restrained himself.
Not worth it… not worth it… damn punk!
He hadn’t eaten much earlier and was starving. In the end, he ate everything.
When Cui Dongdong called again, he was lying on the sofa rubbing his stomach.
“A-Biao was seen at the station—he’s turned witness. Can’t get near him. His place is sealed too.”
“Damn it!” Xia Liuyi hurled the phone again!
He Chusan leapt aside, catching it with a steamer basket.
Xia Liuyi stared.
This kid’s gotten faster…
He didn’t know He Chusan had honed such reflexes juggling files, pens, sandwiches, phones, and keyboards at work.
“What happened?” He Chusan asked.
Xia Liuyi frowned, deep in thought, ignoring him—but clearly frustrated.
“…What are you smirking at?!”
Xia Liuyi felt like ten minutes with this guy could suffocate him. He didn’t even need to speak—just that slight curl of his lips was enough to infuriate him.
Clutching his side, Xia Liuyi’s face darkened. His wound throbbed from anger.
Meanwhile, He Chusan calmly made the bed. “Brother Liuyi, sleep on the bed.”
“And you?”
“I’ll take the sofa.”
Xia Liuyi glanced at the narrow sofa—hardly fit for a grown man.
But recalling He Chusan’s suspicious behavior…
He steeled himself.
Damn right—you’re sleeping on the sofa.
Futile Devices Scans 
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