Ning Zhuo and Jin Xueshen had matters to discuss.
Shan Feibai quietly snuck a piece of strawberry-flavored bubble gum and slipped outside to get some air.
Who would’ve thought that the moment he stepped out, he’d run straight into Yu Shujian, who had come looking for Ning Zhuo.
Seeing Shan Feibai, Yu Shujian instinctively straightened his posture and rubbed the tip of his nose in a wary gesture.
He still wasn’t quite used to dealing with Shan Feibai.
Shan Feibai took the initiative to greet him. “Looking for Ning-ge?”
Yu Shujian pressed his lips into a thin line and lifted the communicator in his hand. “Looking for Ning-ge. I’ve called seven or eight times.”
As soon as he finished speaking, the communicator lit up again with a flashing red light, pulsing urgently—just like the mood of the person on the other end.
Shan Feibai stretched out a hand toward Yu Shujian and waved it up and down, motioning for him to hand over the communicator.
Yu Shujian shrank back a step, clearly hesitating.
Shan Feibai, carrying his natural hint of roguish charm, winked at him. “I’m at least considered your partner, Second Boss. Give me some face, huh?”
Hugging the communicator close, Yu Shujian stubbornly refused.
While the two of them were locked in this standoff, Ning Zhuo leaned halfway out of the room and gave Yu Shujian a short, firm order. “Give it to him.”
Yu Shujian’s body responded immediately, handing over the communicator without protest, though his mind was still muddled. “…Huh?”
Ning Zhuo gave no further explanation and simply closed the door again.
Backed by his supporter, the little wolf grinned smugly and shrugged at Yu Shujian.
…Yu Shujian instinctively clenched his fists.
But as he stared at Shan Feibai’s clothes, they started to look more and more familiar.
That soft, slightly pilled white home vest he was wearing—it looked a lot like Ning-ge’s…
Yu Shujian suddenly recalled the tight black vest that Ning Zhuo had just been wearing, the one that perfectly hugged his slender waistline.
…He didn’t remember Ning Zhuo owning such a stylish outfit.
The thought barely flashed through his mind before Yu Shujian shuddered like he’d been electrocuted.
He shook his head hard, convinced he must be losing his mind.
Meanwhile, Shan Feibai had already connected the call.
A familiar and furious voice blasted from the other end: “Ning—what the hell are you people doing?!”
Shan Feibai cheerfully replied, “Doing our job, of course.”
Charlemagne paused, forcing down his rage. “Put Ning Zhuo on the line!”
Shan Feibai readily said, “I’m his man. Talking to me is the same thing.”
Hearing this, Yu Shujian felt another jolt to his scalp and looked at Shan Feibai in disbelief.
But Shan Feibai looked completely calm, taking the call while brushing a speck of dust off Yu Shujian’s right shoulder with the back of his finger.
Yu Shujian stumbled back several steps, glaring in confusion and suspicion as he protectively covered his shoulder.
…Like a loyal watchdog that had suddenly been patted on the head by the strange neighbor next door.
Charlemagne sounded like he was going to explode. “Is this the explanation you’re giving me?!”
“Yup.” Shan Feibai replied confidently. “So—is he dead or not?”
Charlemagne was speechless.
Motobu Takeshi really was dead.
Less than an hour after Charlemagne transferred that massive sum, the man was dead.
Cause of death? Motobu Ryo—unable to bear seeing his son suffer—had smothered him to death in his hospital bed.
In other words, that five million yuan made no difference—Motobu Takeshi was fated to die today no matter what.
In Silver Hammer City, money was life itself.
Charlemagne had been terrified by his wife’s horrific revelations, anxious beyond measure over whether Motobu Takeshi might implicate him—or even drag his wife into the mess.
Desperate, he had turned to Ning Zhuo, practically carving out that five million like slicing flesh from his own body.
That was his retirement money. His coffin money!
All his liquid assets—thrown in to cover this disaster.
And now? Charlemagne was left with an empty shell of a position.
If anything else stirred the pot, he’d soon be worse off than Motobu Ryo—at least Motobu Ryo wasn’t in the force and didn’t have this many enemies!
Yet Motobu Takeshi had simply died, as lightly as a fart, leaving Charlemagne feeling like he’d paid Ning Zhuo just to be made a fool of.
Ning Zhuo owed him an explanation!
Charlemagne was like a wounded beast, torn open and bleeding as he demanded retribution. “Did he die by your hand?!”
Shan Feibai squinted, grinning like a boy. “That’s a strange question, sir. Did you want him dead or not? If death was the goal, does it really matter whose hand did it?”
Charlemagne choked with fury. “You—”
But he wasn’t a total fool.
He hesitated, then suspiciously asked, “Motobu Ryo… was he sent by you?”
Shan Feibai smiled. “It’s best for you not to pry into matters of the Lower City while you live in the Upper City. No good will come of it.”
Silence reigned on the other end, broken only by heavy, uneven breathing.
Shan Feibai blew a perfect bubble, which popped softly, sticking to his lips with its sweet strawberry scent.
He licked his mouth, revealing sharp little canine teeth. “Anything else? Need me to dial emergency services for you?”
“‘Haina’ and ‘Pangqiao’ are always here to serve you.”
The line was abruptly cut.
Probably because the old man was afraid of having a stroke.
Shan Feibai handed the communicator back to Yu Shujian.
Yu Shujian took it and left without a word, quickly striding back to his dormitory.
Yu Shujian was the quiet type, but oddly social—he liked being near others, even if just to play the role of a silent bystander.
So when he suddenly barged into the large dorm room, he immediately caught the attention of the dozen or so “Haina” mercenaries inside.
“Yu-ge, what’s up?” one of them asked while cracking sunflower seeds. “Storming in like that isn’t like you.”
Yu Shujian leaned against the door, trying to steady his breath, and quietly said, “We might have a Second Sister-in-law.”
The roomful of burly men jumped to their feet.
“Really?!”
“Fuck, is it Ning-ge?!”
“Who is it?!”
Yu Shujian swallowed hard and forced out, “Shan Feibai.”
The whole room fell into stunned silence.
A few seconds later, waves of hoots and jeers broke out.
One muscle-bound man flopped onto a bed, clasping his smooth-shaven head. “Old Yu, you dreaming again? I wouldn’t dare let Ning-ge sleep with me even in my dreams. And Shan Feibai… that punk? Not a chance.”
Someone teased from the side. “Pfft, Abe, aren’t you straight?”
The bald man shot back without hesitation. “Straight as hell—but this is Ning-ge we’re talking about.”
Laughter filled the room, and even Yu Shujian started doubting his own suspicions.
Could it be that his surveillance skills had declined lately?
…
Inside Ning Zhuo’s room.
After hearing Ning Zhuo’s plan, Jin Xueshen stared at him in disbelief. “…When did you become such a scoundrel?”
Instead of answering, Ning Zhuo asked in return, “What, you wouldn’t?”
Jin Xueshen replied, “Why wouldn’t I? But… will he cooperate?”
“Before today, no. After today, he will,” Ning Zhuo said calmly.
This tactic was truly underhanded—not Ning Zhuo’s style at all. It felt more like something that guy Dan would come up with.
Recalling what Yu Shifei had said, Jin Xueshen muttered to himself, “Maybe it’s true—two people in the same bed can’t turn out so different?”
Ning Zhuo frowned. “…What did you just say?”
“Nothing,” Jin Xueshen turned his face away.
He stood up, kicking the chair aside, and headed for the door.
Ning Zhuo watched him leave and rose to follow.
But just a few steps outside, Jin Xueshen suddenly turned around and stormed back, brimming with energy.
Caught off guard by this abrupt movement, Ning Zhuo hesitated. “What are you—”
Jin Xueshen threw his arms around him, gripping the back of Ning Zhuo’s vest tightly with both hands, and mumbled against his shoulder, “…Thank you, Ning Zhuo.”
The unexpected hug made Ning Zhuo’s lips twitch slightly. He forced himself to stay composed. “You’re welcome.”
After holding him for a moment, Jin Xueshen let go as if nothing had happened. “I’m going.”
Ning Zhuo awkwardly shook off the goosebumps rising on his skin and replied hastily, “Mm.”
Jin Xueshen left Ning Zhuo’s room, walking faster and faster, until he turned a corner—where he crouched down suddenly, face burning bright red, gritting his teeth in silent frustration.
Aaaaagh!
What the hell was that?!
Why did I hug him?! Am I insane?!
Maybe I can still go back and silence him forever?!
While Jin Xueshen struggled to recover from this toe-curling embarrassment, he raised his head—only to meet Yu Shifei’s innocent, curious gaze, mere inches away.
…Great.
Just perfect.
Yu Shifei crouched down next to him, mimicking his posture. “What’s wrong?”
Jin Xueshen buried his face deep into his knees, hoping to suffocate himself and escape this beautiful world.
But Yu Shifei misunderstood.
Based on his system analysis, this was the posture of a “sad” human.
So Yu Shifei gently put an arm around Jin Xueshen’s shoulder, and—combining his programmed tenderness towards guests with the assassin instincts trained into him at “Panqiao”—asked softly, “Would you feel better if I killed Ma Yushu? I can accompany you. I know many ways to make a human suffer.”
In a single day, Jin Xueshen had experienced emotional highs and lows beyond measure. Now, hearing this, he didn’t even know how to respond.
Muffled, he grumbled, “Shut up. I’ll kill you instead.”
Yu Shifei froze, seriously calculating whether Jin Xueshen’s mood might improve if he himself died.
Conclusion: negative.
Though Jin Xueshen sounded tough, he would definitely be upset.
Just as Yu Shifei was about to sincerely explain his findings, Jin Xueshen muttered softly in his arms, “Stop analyzing. I’m not going to kill you. It was a figure of speech.”
“Figure of speech?” Yu Shifei tilted his head. “I don’t really understand figures of speech.”
Jin Xueshen groaned, “…Idiot.”
Yu Shifei, who never considered himself an idiot, asked seriously, “Is that another figure of speech?”
“Shut up. Don’t move. Let me lean on you for a bit.”
Yu Shifei obeyed instantly. “Okay, Mr. Raven.”
“…Call me Jin Xueshen.”
“Understood. Mr. Xueshen.”
“…What about the ‘Jin’?”
“Given our relationship, I believe I can omit it.”
“…Get lost.”
“That contradicts your previous order. Which one should I follow?”
“…”
“Mr. Xueshen?”
“…Just stay still.”
“Understood. Command received.”
…
Meanwhile, Motobu Ryo staggered out of the “White Shield” headquarters.
It was as if he had aged ten years in just a single day.
Gazing at the dark blue sky above, Motobu Ryo let out a bitter, self-deprecating smile.
Motobu Takeshi had already been on the verge of death. It was the “White Shield” that had gone to great lengths—using every possible device and machine—to forcibly keep him alive.
Killing him had been both understandable and, ironically, useful—it had forced the truth out of him.
The explosion at the Columbus Memorial Concert Hall had set off a cascade of events.
Countless black-market operations had been busted, criminal networks uprooted, prisons filled to the brim—even leaving no room for someone like Motobu Ryo.
In short, not even the hope of quietly aging in prison remained.
Now broke and homeless, Motobu Ryo stood beneath the sky of Silver Hammer City, breathing in the strange yet familiar clean air of the upper districts.
Soon, he would return to the lower city, living off scraps again.
As he stood dazed, a car passed in front of him.
The window rolled down to reveal an unfamiliar face. “Mister, need a ride?”
Motobu Ryo shook his head.
He had no money.
“Take the ride.”
Kuang Hexuan, following Ning Zhuo’s instructions, tossed him a 500-credit unregistered ID card and coolly gave the order: “In one hour, you need to be at the yellow phone booth southeast of Donglong Street in Chaoge District. You won’t make it on foot.”
