A faint thread of incense lingered in the air, milky-white smoke drifting through the chamber.
Master Qiao covered his mouth with a handkerchief and coughed cautiously, gathering the phlegm he spat into a fresh cloth. Leaning on his cane, he stood with difficulty, head slightly lowered, carefully lifting his eyelids just enough to cast a glance forward.
A man sat in the shadows against the light, his features obscured. Before him was a kung fu tea table. He rinsed the cups and set the leaves with unhurried ease. Though his frame was tall and imposing, his movements were slow and meticulous. Behind him, a standing lamp cast a faint, soft golden glow, outlining a silhouette as steady as a mountain.
Master Qiao could not endure standing for long. His body tilted slightly to one side, but he immediately twisted himself back upright without drawing notice.
Time passed soundlessly. The tea boiled once, then again. At last, the man lifted the kettle and poured. Only then did he speak.
“That ‘Wealth-Gathering Prodigy’—what is his name?”
Master Qiao quickly stepped forward, taking the chance to loosen his stiff legs, and answered respectfully, “He Chu San.”
“How are his injuries?”
“He left the operating room yesterday afternoon. They say his life is no longer in danger. Many thanks to you, Shopkeeper, for taking care of Inspector Zheng.”
The man leisurely warmed the cups, his tone indifferent. “This ‘prodigy’—he fails at success and excels only at ruin. I had no intention of keeping him.”
Master Qiao knew he wanted an explanation and hurriedly said, “It was that brat being stupid. The plan was for him to kill Xia Liu Yi and rise as the new Dragon Head. But he dawdled and failed to strike in time, allowing Xia Liu Yi to seize the chance and turn things around. Though he botched the job, his ability with money is truly exceptional. In just three days, he cleaned thirty million spotless for me. Over the years, he’s helped Xia Liu Yi establish companies, manage accounts, and restructure assets flawlessly—earning him tens of millions every year. Besides, if not for you saving him, Shopkeeper, his corpse would be lying who-knows-where by now. Whether he rises to glory or dies without a body depends on a single word from you—he will surely be utterly loyal.”
“And also,” he stepped forward again, carefully placing a bulging leather bag on the edge of the tea table, “this is two hundred thousand US dollars—a ‘tribute for an audience’ he asked me to deliver earlier. He says he has an even bigger deal to discuss with you.”
The man glanced casually at the bag before finally lifting his eyelids toward Master Qiao. “When he works, are his hands clean?”
“I had people investigate. Not a single trace was left of his laundering for me. Even when Xia Liu Yi was imprisoned last time, Xiao Qi Hall had no evidence found in their accounts.”
The man said nothing further. He brewed a second round of tea. Pouring it into the cups at leisure, he raised his hand slightly, making a barely noticeable gesture of invitation.
Master Qiao hurried forward awkwardly, respectfully taking the cup. He tried to imitate the man’s elegance but failed miserably, gulping it down like an ox chewing peonies.
“Keep him,” the man said.
“Then… then what about Xia Liu Yi?” Master Qiao made a slicing gesture across his throat.
“He has just crawled back from death—his guard will be at its peak. Do you think you can still kill him?” the man said calmly. “Even if he were to die now, your ‘Wealth-Gathering Prodigy’ would never return to Xiao Qi Hall. As for the Dragon Head position—let Xia Liu Yi sit on it for a few more years.”
Master Qiao probed cautiously, still trying to tip the scales. “But now he knows I helped that brat. There’s no way he’ll swallow this grievance. If Xiao Qi Hall really goes to war with He Yi Society, there’ll be rivers of blood…”
The man poured the second infusion and said lightly, “Relax. With me watching, nothing big will happen.”
Master Qiao nodded respectfully. Only after half an hour, when he left the underground club and got into his car, did he dare spit curses in front of his ever-loyal adviser.
He had long suspected it—Xia Liu Yi’s smooth rise these past years was because the Old Shopkeeper was dissatisfied with the He Clan growing too entrenched and dominant. Thus, he had chosen the rising Xia Liu Yi, secretly supporting him, letting Xiao Qi Hall counterbalance the He Clan, maintaining a delicate equilibrium in the underworld and keeping every faction firmly in his grasp. This had been proven again and again—
When Xia Liu Yi first became Dragon Head, he rampaged and seized territory, swallowing Fat Seven’s old turf in Kowloon, yet the Old Shopkeeper had Inspector Hua mediate and smooth things over; later, when Fat Seven and Inspector Hua died, causing a massive uproar, the Old Shopkeeper made no move, allowing Xia Liu Yi to grow even more aggressively; although He Yi Society was nominally the largest gang in Hong Kong, when he kidnapped He Chu San, Xia Liu Yi still dared to burn and slaughter his territory; despite serving under the Old Shopkeeper like a watchdog for years, he remained restricted in the most profitable trades such as “white powder”, forced into fake cooperation with Xia Liu Yi; even now, when both sides had completely fallen out, the Old Shopkeeper still ignored their feud and demanded the status quo be maintained…
Master Qiao had been suppressing years of pent-up fury. After cursing, “You fucking old undead bastard—may your whole damned family be wiped out!” he broke into another violent coughing fit, clutching his handkerchief.
The adviser knew the inside story. Seeing Master Qiao so enraged he was gasping like a choking rooster, he hurried to analyze and console him. Master Qiao could not afford to offend the Old Shopkeeper—the great god of wealth—and had just gained the “Wealth-Gathering Prodigy.” After a while, with the adviser’s help, he reluctantly convinced himself. With a final angry spit into the sticky handkerchief, he wrapped up his fury inside it and tossed both out the car window.
……
He Chu San opened his eyes, then closed them again. Only after a long while did he feel his consciousness barely return. He opened them once more, slowly surveying his surroundings—he was in a single hospital room. Aside from Kevin, several bodyguards stood inside.
Kevin sat by the bed. Seeing him awake, he quickly leaned closer. “Mr. He, you’re awake!” he said, lowering his voice. “Master Qiao’s men are outside.”
He Chu San was still feverish, his face flushed, his voice weak. “Brother L… what time is it?”
“It’s the evening of the second day since you were injured. Eight fifteen.”
“Where’s Master Qiao?”
“He came last night. You hadn’t woken, so he left.”
He Chu San tried to speak again, but suddenly let out a strained gasp as his breathing faltered. The anesthetic had long worn off—his wounds burned as though sawed by blades and scorched by fire. He closed his eyes, silently enduring the pain, waving his hand faintly to signal he would not speak further.
Seeing something was wrong, Kevin quickly pressed the call button. A nurse arrived with a doctor and examined him. Seeing his handsome face twisted in pain, they asked whether to administer morphine. He Chu San struggled to shake his head, unable to speak, waving his hands weakly in refusal.
“He doesn’t need it!” Kevin said quickly.
Soon, the medical staff left. Kevin dismissed the bodyguards, locked the door, and returned to the bedside.
He Chu San lay there, suffering under the torment of pain. He turned his head, burying half his face into the pillow. Veins bulged at his temples as he slowly exhaled through clenched breath.
Kevin quickly found a clean towel and held it to his mouth. “Mr. He, if it hurts, bite this.”
He Chu San slowly raised his hand—not to take the towel, but to clutch Kevin’s sleeve.
“Mr. He?”
He gestured for Kevin to lean closer and whispered faintly, “I… don’t need morphine… and my medicine… you must personally follow the nurse to get it every day… don’t let Master Qiao’s people tamper with anything…”
“Rest assured.”
Kevin was reliable—He Chu San trusted him. He released his grip and collapsed onto the bed, utterly exhausted. Sweat dripped down onto his eyelashes, forming a curtain like rain, blurring his vision.
Before injuring himself, he had carefully consulted a doctor and practiced multiple times with a fake blade. Though the strikes appeared fierce, they were not deep, each aimed only at the small intestine—protected by the peritoneum, resulting in relatively less bleeding. Yet even so, it carried life-threatening risk and unending, excruciating pain.
This gentle, well-behaved scholar, who had grown up safely even within this filthy underworld—cherished by his father in youth, and doted on by Boss Xia Liu Yi in adulthood—when had he ever endured such gut-piercing agony? Like delirious muttering in a dream, he whispered,
“So this is how much it hurts… to be wounded… he’s suffered so many injuries… how much must it have hurt him…”
Kevin didn’t catch it and leaned closer. “What did you say? Does it still hurt?”
He Chu San was already delirious from the torment, his eyes glistening. With a faint sigh, he replied,
“It hurts… seeing him cry… my heart hurts… I regret it…”
He did not realize what he had said. A drop of sweat slid from the corner of his eye like a tear.
He closed his eyes once more and fell back into unconsciousness.
Futile Devices Scans 
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