Ma Yushu froze for a moment, then slowly stood, reaching for his heavy cane and gripping it tightly, as if ready to swing it and crack someone’s skull.
He gave a sinister smile. “Mr. Motobu, you’re not joking with me, are you?”
Ma Yushu had seen countless ambitious entrepreneurs like Motobu Ryo.
Money, though, was a lifeless thing—it didn’t reward your affection just because you loved it.
Investments didn’t yield instant returns.
Especially for someone like Motobu Ryo.
As a tech guy, developing new software or systems took ages to refine. You couldn’t build something today and have it approved for use tomorrow.
Motobu Ryo had likely realized this.
That’s why he’d borrowed so much money.
Motobu was a big client, and Ma Yushu kept tabs on his every move.
He’d sunk about five million into his new venture.
The remaining fifteen million was probably meant to tide him over the first six months of the loan.
Once his investments paid off and the money started rolling in, he’d have enough to clear his debt in one go.
Ma Yushu saw through his little plan in an instant.
People holed up in labs would never understand the finesse of those who navigated the world with charm and connections.
All Ma Yushu had to do was pull a few strings, delay Motobu’s approvals by a few months, and his carefully laid plans would collapse. He’d be finished.
And “finished” here meant a complete, irreversible ruin, far worse than the days he’d spent begging on the streets.
But Ma Yushu hadn’t expected Motobu Ryo, who seemed like a bookish old scholar, to pull such a brazen stunt on him—a notorious thug.
Motobu didn’t respond to Ma Yushu’s question, only asking flatly, “Anything else?”
That was as good as tearing off the mask entirely.
Ma Yushu laughed in rage. “Mr. Motobu, nothing else. Just wait for me at home!”
A cold sweat broke out down Motobu Ryo’s back.
But his tone stayed steady. “Sure, come on over.”
Hanging up, Ma Yushu bared a menacing grin into the air.
If Motobu didn’t want to play nice, then neither would he.
No need to keep up the good-guy act or waste time with fake pleasantries.
He’d drag Motobu Ryo back himself, and once his usefulness was wrung dry—when he was nothing but a useless old husk—Ma Yushu had plenty of ways to “entertain” him.
He summoned his most capable enforcer, a burly, thick-skinned man nearly two meters tall.
Motobu Ryo, having decided to burn bridges, would surely hire protection.
But Ma Yushu was a big name in the lending game, backed by the Weiwei Group on the surface and other powerful players in the shadows.
In Silver Hammer City, any mercenary with a reputation and a desire to stay in the game would think twice before taking Motobu’s dirty money.
The risk of crossing so many people for a quick buck wasn’t worth it.
So, even with cash, Motobu could only hire small-time mercenaries blinded by short-term gain.
Those small fry weren’t worth worrying about.
The enforcer brought along about forty men.
Ma Yushu wasn’t playing a war of attrition, sending men one by one. He wanted this done in one swift move—grab Motobu Ryo and be done with it.
Wearing glasses and looking delicate and refined, Ma Yushu seemed like a fragile porcelain doll next to his crew of rugged debt collectors.
But Ma Yushu had money and brains. Even if the towering enforcer could crush his bones with one hand, he still bowed to Ma Yushu like a tame sheep.
Ma Yushu issued his orders crisply: “I want my money. And his brain. A living brain. The rest of him doesn’t need to be so lively. Got it?”
The group roared in unison, “Got it!”
Ma Yushu adjusted his glasses. “Go.”
…
An hour later, he got a call from the lead enforcer.
Ma Yushu was munching on watermelon, his anger slightly cooled.
In that hour, he’d assessed the situation, and his burning rage had simmered down a bit.
Motobu Ryo’s case wasn’t like those nameless fraudsters.
Those guys were nobodies, grabbing small sums and vanishing into the crowd.
But Motobu Ryo’s only real asset was his name.
If he didn’t start building his business, turning money into more money, a tech guy like him with no background or clout was just a kid flashing gold in a busy market. Sooner or later, he’d be cleaned out.
The last time Motobu left Titan Company, he’d had plenty of cash too. And how’d that turn out?
So, Motobu had two paths.
Either run off with the money and wait to be fleeced again, or grit his teeth, keep his business going, live in fear, and wait for Ma Yushu to come settle the score. Even if he wanted to run, he wouldn’t get far or fast.
When Ma Yushu picked up the call, a watermelon seed was stuck to the corner of his mouth.
He wiped it into his mouth with his thumb, mumbling, “Got him? Or did he bolt?”
There was no immediate answer, only the sound of heavy breathing from the other end.
It sounded young.
Ma Yushu frowned, covering his other ear. “Hello? Speak.”
Finally, a response came: “…Hello.”
Ma Yushu shot to his feet.
That wasn’t the voice of any enforcer he knew!
“Who… are you?”
On the other end, Jin Xueshen, steadied by Yu Shifei’s gentle back-patting, had regained his calm.
He held his bow upside down, its string stained with someone else’s blood.
He was sitting on the head of the two-meter-tall enforcer.
The man was out cold, sprawled on the ground, his bald head a bloody mess like a smashed watermelon—conveniently serving as a makeshift seat.
Jin Xueshen’s face was known in the underworld, so there was no point hiding it.
So, he announced himself: “‘Raven.’”
“‘Raven’…” Ma Yushu’s heart churned with silent shockwaves. “Ning Rab… Ning Zhuo’s man?”
“Yes.” Seizing Ma Yushu’s stunned silence, Jin Xueshen delivered the next devastating blow without pause. “We’re protecting Motobu Ryo’s life.”
Ma Yushu’s heart sank heavily.
“Haina”?
How could Motobu Ryo possibly get them to step in?!
“Haina” was infamous for staying independent, bowing to no major corporation’s influence.
Though Ma Yushu had never met “Raven,” he was well-connected and knew Jin Xueshen was Haina’s number-three figure. His words carried weight, practically representing Haina’s stance.
Rumor had it that Motobu Ryo’s deadbeat son, Motobu Takeshi, had hired Ning Rabbit as a bodyguard before his prison break.
Was that when they’d linked up?
The watermelon Ma Yushu had just eaten, along with all its absorbed moisture, seemed to turn into cold sweat seeping from his pores.
His crisp white shirt clung to his body, heavy and sticky.
When dealing with Motobu Ryo, Ma Yushu’s silver tongue spun nine parts lies to one part truth, but one thing he hadn’t lied about:
The money he lent out was borrowed from his own boss!
The forces behind him weren’t running a charity, handing him cash to loan out freely.
He’d taken out a high-interest loan from his boss.
How much profit he could squeeze from those below him depended entirely on his skill.
This deal was his doing, and if Motobu Ryo’s brain and the money were both lost, his backers’ treatment of Motobu aside, Ma Yushu, the middleman who botched the job, would be the one bleeding out—figuratively or otherwise.
His voice trembled slightly. “‘Raven’ sir, let’s talk this over calmly. No need to make things messy. How about this: we grab dinner tonight, your choice of time and place.”
On the other end was “Uncle Ma” from days gone by.
His voice was still that same gentle tone.
Back when Jin Xueshen was a kid, Ma had even gifted him a gaming console.
Those old memories made Jin Xueshen’s fist clench tighter, his voice taut. “Sure.”
Seeing him agree so readily, Ma Yushu’s heart wavered.
He swallowed a mouthful of saliva tinged with the taste of blood. “…I’d like to invite Mr. Ning out to talk. There’s got to be a misunderstanding here. How much did Motobu offer you? Two million? …Or three?”
Ma Yushu forced a slightly feral grin. “I’ve got some spare cash on hand. If it’s convenient, why not work with me? We could be friends.”
Jin Xueshen glanced impassively at Motobu Ryo in the distance.
Having just witnessed a brawl, Motobu’s hands were shaking. He sat quietly to the side, barely breathing, like a prey animal afraid to draw attention.
Jin Xueshen replied coolly, “First, you’re out of money.”
Having managed money for years, he knew the game inside out.
Based on the contracts Motobu had signed, Jin Xueshen was certain that the twenty million Ma Yushu had borrowed from his higher-ups, if not repaid, would drain him dry—enough to leave him in pieces.
“Second…” He gave a faint smile, years of pent-up frustration easing from his chest, every pore feeling refreshed. “Only two million? Mr. Ma, aren’t you underestimating Haina’s rates a bit?”
The line went silent.
Ma Yushu wasn’t choosing not to respond. His hands were shaking as he summoned his health-monitoring robot.
A robotic pet zoomed over, scanned him, and popped out a small case of heart medication.
As he shoved the pills in his mouth and gulped down half a glass of water, Jin Xueshen, growing impatient, hung up.
Jin Xueshen glanced down at Yu Shifei’s hand gripping his, turning his face away to ignore it.
…He failed to ignore it.
“Let go,” he growled.
Yu Shifei, lately obsessed with studying Jin Xueshen’s physique, not only held on but raised his hand, waving it openly. “Look, my hand can wrap around your fist.”
Jin Xueshen glared. “Pointless. I did all the fighting, and you just stood there—what’s that about?”
Yu Shifei studied him earnestly. “The scene was messy. Didn’t want to scare you.”
Jin Xueshen scoffed but didn’t pull away. Holding Yu Shifei’s hand, he took two steps forward and said coldly to Motobu Ryo, “Make the call.”
…As if he were Motobu’s employer.
Motobu Ryo looked up wearily at Jin Xueshen.
He knew there was no turning back once he’d chosen this path.
That day, Ning Zhuo had told him to borrow twenty million from Ma Yushu.
Five million for himself, fifteen million for Haina and Panqiao.
Motobu resisted inwardly but grasped the key point. “Ma Yushu has people behind him. If you take that fifteen million, how will you survive in Silver Hammer City?!”
Ning Zhuo paused, then said, “Someone’s building a bridge for me. You don’t need to worry about it.”
Motobu mulled over the term “building a bridge,” finding it cryptic.
He pressed, “And what about me?”
“You take that five million and make it work,” Ning Zhuo said. “As for the other fifteen million, we’ll ensure your safety—protected for life, enough to afford top-tier mercenaries forever.”
Motobu’s face paled. “That’s just a fancy prison, isn’t it?”
“Exactly. It’s meant to cage you,” Ning Zhuo countered. “You in or not?”
…He was in.
Of course he was.
Following Ning Zhuo’s earlier instructions, Motobu dialed a number.
“Hello… Officer Lin Qin?” Motobu wiped the cold sweat from his face. “This is Motobu Ryo. I have an important situation to report.”
“My personal safety is under threat. I need your help.”
When Lin Qin received the call, he was having afternoon tea with Mr. Kenan.
He set down the communicator and sighed softly.
Mr. Kenan’s eyes gleamed as he looked at him. “Trouble?”
Lin Qin was the perfect frontman—smart but not stubborn, humble, never putting on airs, tactful, and savvy in navigating the ways of the world.
…Far better than his late adoptive father, Lin Qingzhuo.
Kenan was very pleased with him, growing fonder by the day.
Lin Qin nodded obediently. “It’s Motobu Ryo.”
Kenan sipped his coffee leisurely. “Oh? Still about Motobu Takeshi’s case?”
“Doesn’t sound like it.” Lin Qin stood. “He’s likely in trouble. The call wasn’t clear, but it’s something about… a high-interest loan.”
Kenan’s coffee spoon clinked sharply against the cup’s edge, producing a clear, ringing sound.
Stunned, he stared at the swirling coffee in his cup, forgetting to look up.
So he didn’t notice Lin Qin, standing over him, his bandaged eyes taking in every nuance of Kenan’s reaction.
