After A-Fan hung up the phone with a worried frown, Charlemagne asked, “What’d they say?”
A-Fan stammered through an explanation, his heart pounding.
He’d gotten nothing out of the call—just a thorough scolding.
This meant he’d already botched the first task Charlemagne had given him.
Having just eaten a rare full meal and scrubbed himself clean in a hot bath, revealing his skin’s true color, A-Fan felt a wave of despair at the thought of losing his usefulness and falling back into his hopeless, abandoned state.
Charlemagne glanced at the trembling A-Fan, then at the floor, deep in thought.
He’d once hired two people to tail Ning Zhuo and Shan Feibai.
From the intel he’d gathered, their relationship was a tangled mix—sometimes close, sometimes hostile, impossible to decipher.
One moment they were watching musicals or buying street food together; the next, Shan Feibai was whipped and leashed by Ning Zhuo like a dog.
Watching coldly from the sidelines, Charlemagne couldn’t figure out what game they were playing.
His silence tormented the blind A-Fan.
Like a condemned man awaiting judgment, A-Fan endured it for a while before blurting out, desperate to prove his worth, “Sir, I… I’m not lying. Even if our two groups merged, it’s not all rosy… Our boss—no, Shan Feibai—he’s proud to the bone. Everyone in Silver Hammer City knows he and Ning Zhuo fought to the death for years. There’s no way he’d truly submit to that Ning guy… Even if, even if he’s grateful to Ning Zhuo for saving his life, the rest of Panqiao wouldn’t accept it.”
A-Fan swallowed hard, pressing on with his analysis. “Panqiao’s weapons, assets, and businesses all went to Haina. They’re basically living under Haina’s roof now, like dependents. Even if our boss had his spine replaced and is under Ning Zhuo’s control, Yu-ge is sharp and calculating—he’d never agree to this. And then there’s Kuang-ge; Ning broke his ribs once. That’s a deep grudge…”
Since Shan Feibai shot him through the cheek, A-Fan’s speech was slurred, and his nervousness made it worse.
He lacked confidence.
As an early exile from Panqiao, he couldn’t be sure whether Panqiao and Haina were secretly at odds, openly fighting, or heading toward some unexpected truce.
But A-Fan had no choice. He doubled down, insisting Panqiao and Haina’s feud was irreconcilable.
If they’d truly buried the hatchet and were cozy, what value would he have?
Not only would he be tossed out like trash, but to prevent him from warning Panqiao, Charlemagne would surely kill him.
So, for A-Fan, the best move was to stick to the story that the two groups were at odds.
Whether they were or not.
Charlemagne, listening to A-Fan’s trembling explanation, understood his fear.
But he didn’t care.
Just as he was about to speak, A-Fan’s new communicator beeped.
A-Fan grabbed it like a lifeline. “…Hello? Hello?”
“Morning, A-Fan!”
After months, Shan Feibai’s voice was as lively as ever, but it sent chills down A-Fan’s spine.
“…What’s this big deal you’re pitching?”
Charlemagne watched A-Fan grow agitated, smiling faintly, his heart cold as stone.
Charlemagne had taken too many losses lately.
At White Shield, he’d shifted from operations to personnel. Though his influence had waned and old connections had faded with his status, he still had some tricks up his sleeve.
Pitting one against the other was a solid strategy. If Panqiao was restless, unwilling to stay under Haina’s thumb, a nudge from him could spark a fight that left both sides crippled—a win for Charlemagne.
But he wasn’t banking solely on Shan Feibai.
That guy was a cunning wolf; getting too close could spell trouble.
He could use A-Fan as cannon fodder to keep Shan Feibai distracted.
If Shan Feibai agreed to cooperate, great.
But if he was playing his own game or stringing Charlemagne along, Charlemagne wasn’t fazed.
His goal was singular: Ning Zhuo, who knew Charlemagne wanted Motobu Takeshi dead and had set up both him and his wife, had to die in some corner of Silver Hammer City.
To achieve that, he wouldn’t rely on just one plan.
A-Fan hung up, swallowing hard before saying cautiously, “Sir… Shan Feibai says he’ll think it over.”
Charlemagne gave a lukewarm hum. “You know Panqiao well?”
A-Fan, desperate to be useful, clenched his fists excitedly. “Yes!”
“Everyone’s strengths, weaknesses—you know them all?”
A-Fan nodded eagerly. “Yu-ge handles info warfare; I don’t quite get his methods. But I know everyone else!”
Charlemagne pressed, “And Haina?”
With a glimmer of hope, A-Fan’s speech cleared up. “Know them too! We fought for years. Aside from their desk jockeys, we know each other inside out!”
Charlemagne smiled, his eyes glinting with menace. “Good.”
Very good.
…
After talking with A-Fan, Shan Feibai woke Ning Zhuo and bluntly laid out their deal.
Ning Zhuo rubbed his temples, even blunter. “Doing business with a traitor? Did you shoot your brains out last night?”
“Just fishing for who’s behind him. He’s cagey, didn’t say much.”
Shan Feibai eagerly knelt behind him, propping Ning Zhuo’s waist with his knees, gently massaging his temples with mint oil.
Ning Zhuo leaned into it. 뛰 “How much is my life worth?”
Shan Feibai: “Fifteen million.”
Ning Zhuo hummed, his face blank. “Big ambition, empty head.”
Shan Feibai cracked up, finding Ning Zhuo’s sharp tongue adorable.
Ever the man of action, he stole a kiss, only to get mint oil in his eyes, wincing as he rubbed them. “Ning-ge, who do you think hired him?”
“Plenty.” Ning Zhuo gripped Shan Feibai’s shoulders, gently blowing on his eyes. “The whole Silver Hammer City knows we’re at each other’s throats.”
Shan Feibai grinned. “Yeah, last night you nearly squeezed me to death, Ning-ge.”
His cheekiness earned him a light slap on the neck from Ning Zhuo, nearly knocking him into a crick.
Ning Zhuo lay back down, continuing his analysis. “Someone who knows we’re sworn enemies and has a grudge against me—I can think of two people.”
Shan Feibai knew he meant Charlemagne and Ma Yushu.
When A-Fan was blinded and kicked out, the intel still pegged Haina and Panqiao as bitter rivals.
But A-Fan knew both groups inside out.
He’d even been inside Haina’s base.
A double-dealing, profit-driven A-Fan, cozying up to either of those two, spelled trouble.
Ning Zhuo asked Shan Feibai, “Why didn’t you kill A-Fan back then?”
Shan Feibai scratched his cheek, a bit sheepish. “We were together so long, I guess I got a bit attached.”
Ning Zhuo wasn’t buying it. “Don’t bullshit. Truth.”
Shan Feibai licked his lips. “I figured the people behind him would kill him to tie up loose ends. A-Fan was pretty popular in Panqiao—why should I play the bad guy, get my hands dirty, and upset our own people?”
Ning Zhuo stared at him, thinking, What a schemer.
This schemer might just be giving him all his genuine heart and goodwill.
Knowing the other side meant business, Shan Feibai boldly invited A-Fan and his mysterious client to discuss the deal and “catch up.”
While A-Fan’s hackles rose, he politely agreed that “catching up” was a must, but his client was busy and needed a “suitable time.”
Clearly, neither side was sincere. Both were patient fishermen, casting bait and waiting for the other to bite.
This gave Haina, caught in the eye of the storm, a rare stretch of calm.
Even Motobu Ryo was surprised, asking Jin Xueshen, who was reading beside him while providing close protection, “Why hasn’t Ma Yushu shown up lately?”
Jin Xueshen shot him a look. “What, you in love with him? Want me to play matchmaker, with that twenty million as his dowry to marry you?”
Motobu Ryo: “…”
A scholarly old man, he couldn’t outtalk Jin Xueshen and wisely shut up.
…
Charlemagne, after much maneuvering and sweet-talking, tapped an old contact to reach the head of Ruiteng Company’s dirty-work crew, known simply as “Glove.”
Glove was a stout, middle-aged man with a genial face, always smiling, dressed in garishly colorful casual clothes. His plump fingers sparkled with gaudy gemstone rings.
He was like a red dragon obsessed with treasure.
Beneath his affable exterior burned an insatiable greed.
Back then, Glove had led Ruiteng’s hunt for Shan Feibai.
Charlemagne hadn’t been deeply involved, just doing a favor by arranging for the spine-shattered Shan Feibai to be dumped in Chang’an District.
Now, through talks with A-Fan, Charlemagne learned why Shan Feibai was targeted and lost his spine.
—He wanted to build a bridge.
Like the Columbus, he aimed to carve a path to the outside world.
Of course, this bridge could be seen as a young man’s reckless dream.
What truly enraged Ruiteng was that Shan Feibai held a high-quality liquid gold vein, keeping it secret like a hidden treasure.
To those used to monopolies, hoarding a vein or eyeing expansion was the ultimate provocation.
Charlemagne, with A-Fan in tow, laid out his intentions to Glove.
Shan Feibai was back, teaming up with Haina, ready to challenge Ruiteng again with no regard for consequences.
And that vein? Ruiteng still hadn’t claimed it.
…They’d planned to swoop in after Shan Feibai’s death, when Panqiao was leaderless and ripe for takeover.
But Shan Feibai, stubborn as hell, refused to die.
So Charlemagne wanted to borrow Ruiteng’s official mercenaries, “Rousseau,” to kill them again.
Glove didn’t comment, instead chuckling with interest. “Our Rousseau’s in high demand.”
He clasped his bejeweled hands. “Recently, Weiwei reached out, saying a Mr. Ma wants to borrow Rousseau too. He’s here today. You two are fated—want to meet?”
Author’s Note:
Silver Hammer Daily
Famous Historical Quote:
Man is born free, and everywhere he is in chains. — Rousseau
