“Xiao Qi Hall clashing with He Yi Society?” Xie Jia Hua asked in puzzlement.
It was already evening, yet he was still working overtime in his office at the police station. Several capable subordinates stood before his desk. Beyond the door, separated by only a single panel, the corridor was crammed with detainees brought in from the brawl. The noise of shouting, cursing, scuffling, and officers barking orders made the door tremble with a constant hum.
“Which side struck first?” Xie Jia Hua asked.
“Both sides were involved. It’s said that Xiao Qi Hall smashed several of He Yi Society’s gambling dens and nightclubs first. He Yi Society didn’t hold back either—they went straight to wreck Xiao Qi Hall’s headquarters.”
“Where did it begin?”
“Sir, that’s the strangest part—Xiao Qi Hall’s people first targeted an office building in Wan Chai. The company wrecked was called Bing Xian Financial Information Company—it belongs to their consultant, He Chu San.”
Another subordinate added, “Sir, today’s events are all rumored to revolve around He Chu San. Word is he’s a ‘traitor plant’ sent by He Yi Society into Xiao Qi Hall. When we raided Xiao Qi Hall last month, he seized the opportunity to kidnap Xia Liu Yi and made himself Acting Hall Master. A few days ago, Xia Liu Yi was rescued and personally punished him with ‘three blades and six holes’. But apparently the bastard’s got a tough life—he didn’t die. He Yi Society hid him away. Xiao Qi Hall couldn’t find him and vented their anger by smashing He Yi Society’s turf everywhere.”
“This He Chu San is no simple man,” another subordinate said. “Wasn’t that arson case at North Point Pier two years ago rumored to involve him as well?”
Xie Jia Hua, who had personally rescued He Chu San from the mountains after he was abducted by Master Qiao, understood the enmity between them. He shook his head.
“He Chu San was the victim in that case. And this matter won’t be as simple as it appears. For now, deal with the people outside—interrogate every ringleader one by one.”
“Yes, sir!”
The subordinates hurried out to carry out their orders. Left alone in the office, Xie Jia Hua frowned as he flipped through Xiao Qi Hall’s case files from recent years.
Over the past year, He Chu San’s name appeared repeatedly in the records—like a carp swimming along the boundary between black and white. What he could not understand was this: why would such a carp refuse the clear, golden Dragon Gate and instead plunge into murky waters, transforming into a wicked flood-drake?
Recalling his several direct encounters with He Chu San, Xie Jia Hua found it impossible to connect him with the label of a “traitor planted by He Yi Society.” Qin Hao had also said that in Thailand, He Chu San took meticulous care of Xia Liu Yi—the bond between them seemed genuine. And yet, why would He Chu San orchestrate such a grand scheme—faking the death of Cui Dong Dong, kidnapping Xia Liu Yi, and ultimately ending up subjected to three blades and six holes?
Moreover, all these strange events began after Xia Liu Yi returned from Thailand. Why had Xia Liu Yi risked everything to kill Golden Maitreya? Did He Chu San know of it? Were his subsequent bizarre actions tied to that incident?
Lost in thought, Xie Jia Hua unconsciously rubbed his right cheek. Suddenly, he thought of Lu Guang Ming. The bruise from Lu Guang Ming’s furious punch had long faded, yet the sharp pain remained etched in his memory.
He found it difficult to untangle his feelings toward Lu Guang Ming—there was resistance, even disgust, yet strangely mixed with guilt and a trace of pity.
He recalled the day of the villa explosion, when Lu Guang Ming came to the hospital to watch over him. When asked how he knew, Lu Guang Ming claimed he had intercepted police radio transmissions and was nearby at the time. But later, Jia Bao said Lu Guang Ming only arrived at the hospital two hours after the explosion.
If Lu Guang Ming had truly been at the scene, what had he been doing during those two hours?
And his lingering at the hospital, eavesdropping and probing for information—why such interest in the explosion? What connection did he have with He Chu San?
Xie Jia Hua felt as though he were standing in a dense fog. Countless shadows shifted before his eyes, yet none could be seen clearly. Deep within, he sensed there must be a hidden thread tying all these events together—some crucial knot that held the truth.
Reluctantly, yet unable to stop himself, his thoughts turned in that direction:
Could all of this truly be connected to the man Lu Guang Ming relentlessly pursued—his own father, Xie Ying Jie?
On either side of the hospital bed sat a small table, each holding a square-headed computer. He Chu San leaned against the headboard, his head resting on a pillow, with two keyboards laid across the blanket at his waist.
His eyes were fixed unblinking on one screen, fingers flying across the keys so swiftly they were almost invisible. Moments later, he turned to the other computer and continued just as rapidly.
Lines upon lines of complex data flashed across both screens—hundreds, thousands of them—scrolling upward at half-second intervals. He was conducting a massive simulated financial war spanning stocks, futures, and foreign exchange markets. The two opposing sides of the battle were both controlled by him, locked in a duel against himself.
It was a fierce war without smoke or flame. Tens of billions in virtual capital surged through multiple markets, launching attacks, counterattacks, and feints in rapid succession. Under relentless offense and defense, the scales of profit tipped back and forth.
Sweat slowly beaded upon his forehead.
Kevin knocked on the door outside. Receiving no answer, he grew concerned and entered the room. Seeing He Chu San fully absorbed in his calculations, he quietly closed the door and sat on the adjacent bed without making a sound.
Half an hour later, He Chu San finally stopped.
The outcome had been decided—the losing side collapsed like a landslide. Data on the left screen plummeted, while the numbers on the right surged wildly upward.
Frowning, He Chu San stretched his neck, eyes still fixed on the defeated side. After a long moment, he identified the flaw and slowly exhaled.
Turning his head, he looked at Kevin. “You’re back?”
Kevin approached, his face paler than usual, though his demeanor remained composed and respectful.
“Mr. He, this afternoon He Yi Society had seven of its establishments smashed. Xiao Qi Hall’s headquarters was also attacked.”
“No casualties?”
“No. Boss Ma arranged for people to call the police in advance. The officers arrived quickly, so things didn’t escalate. Many from He Yi Society are now being held at the station. The bodyguards Master Qiao planted by your side have also been injured and hospitalized. I’d say Master Qiao is overwhelmed at the moment—he won’t have time to deal with you. This move of yours, Mr. He, was truly brilliant.”
Still weak from illness, He Chu San lifted a hand and lightly knocked Kevin on the forehead, smiling faintly.
“Don’t learn such bootlicking nonsense. Did you thank Brother Ma for me?”
“I did. Boss Ma asked me to pass along his apologies. He also asked… if it’s convenient on your side—Mr. Xia wishes to see you tonight.”
He Chu San’s expression grew distant.
He looked down at his bandaged abdomen, at his pale, emaciated hands. After a long silence, he said:
“Tell Brother Ma to inform him: I’m fine. The injuries aren’t serious. But it’s not convenient on my side right now. We’ll meet another day.”
“Yes, sir.”
Tsim Sha Tsui district, on a neon-lit red-light street.
Inspector Zheng heaved his large belly as he carefully extricated himself from a taxi. He looked up at the signboard reading Tan Xiang Pavilion, then at the leisurely crowd of men and women strolling the brightly lit street—even at ten o’clock at night, the place was bustling.
He recalled the days when he and fellow inspectors staggered drunkenly down this very street, arms draped around beauties. The scene remained lively—but the times had changed.
Now, he watched his words and actions carefully. It had been two years since he last set foot in such pleasure quarters. Even his Bentley had been sold off—these days he trudged daily to the station, sweating and heavy-bellied.
And at the entrance of Tan Xiang Pavilion, the once-dashing figure of Manager Cui—surrounded by a bevy of dazzling girls—was nowhere to be seen.
Last month, it became public knowledge: Manager Cui had resisted arrest in a case and detonated an entire villa, attempting to perish together with the police.
Today, with Xiao Qi Hall and He Yi Society locked in violent conflict, the place feared being caught in the crossfire and had already hung a “Closed for Business” sign.
Only a burly man stood guard at the entrance—Inspector Zheng recognized him as Ma Ru Long, a Red Pole of Xiao Qi Hall.
Ma Ru Long, flanked by two bodyguards, bowed respectfully.
“Inspector Zheng, welcome. Please forgive any offense from that day at the ancestral hall.”
He stepped forward to lead him inside, adding as they walked:
“My apologies—closed today. The girls have all gone home to rest.”
Inspector Zheng waved a hand dismissively.
“No matter. I’m not here for them. Where is your boss, Xia Liu Yi?”
Futile Devices Scans 
Leave a comment