The meeting spot was a themed restaurant Kenan frequented, offering top-notch privacy. The staff were discreet—not human, but service androids programmed to process only service-related requests with near-perfect execution.
As for customers’ conversations, they lacked the ability to parse or analyze, essentially functioning as idiots.
They shuffled about like idiots, flashing professional smiles at every guest, creating a genuinely welcoming vibe.
Kenan’s reserved room was 221, tucked behind thick brick walls, windowless, with no ventilation ducts. A high-powered air system kept the indoor air crisp indefinitely.
Any notion of infiltration or long-range ambush was a pipe dream.
Kenan loved this place, so he’d secured a fixed private room just for himself.
Dark, lightless, perfect for certain discussions—and certain deeds.
…
When Kenan arrived, Ma Yushu was already there, half under the table, inspecting something.
Kenan sniffed, catching a faint whiff of alcohol.
Ma Yushu, spotting a pair of shoes through the tablecloth, straightened up.
Long unseen, he was emaciated, almost unrecognizable, like a bespectacled ape.
Aware of his pitiful appearance, he tried to compensate with understated luxury attire, barely regaining a human look.
Noticing Kenan’s curiosity, Ma Yushu explained: “Just asked the waiter. They did a full disinfection.”
Lifting the tablecloth, he added wearily: “I’m checking for hidden stuff.”
Kenan gave an “oh,” elegantly unwrapping his silk scarf, then circled the room, meticulously inspecting it.
Having covered the Columbus Memorial Concert Hall bombing, Kenan knew the power of explosives.
A speck the size of a fingernail could blast the room sky-high.
He wasn’t keen on being blown to bits.
Fortunately, after a thorough check, the room and its carpet were clean.
Though the other side only learned the meeting spot an hour ago, Kenan had to verify it himself to feel at ease.
He settled comfortably in the head seat.
Motobu Ryo, the meeting’s initiator, was here to atone—no way he’d dare take the head.
Kenan relished this control.
Behind him, a glass water wall glowed with shimmering blue light, casting his face in a cold, blue hue, like a deep-sea fish, his eyes chillingly emotionless.
Ma Yushu, knowing he had no voice in Kenan’s presence, sat quietly, awaiting orders.
Kenan studied him, then abruptly reminisced without preamble: “Remember a few years back, playing frisbee at the club? Man, you were a dark horse—one shot, one hit.”
Ma Yushu sensed this wasn’t about frisbee and stayed silent.
Kenan asked: “Skills rusty?”
He pulled a silver-plated lighter from his bag, flicking it on with a click.
The flame danced, a cold pale blue.
Lighting a cigar, Kenan held it in his mouth, now resembling a deep-sea anglerfish.
He placed the lighter on the glass lazy Susan, giving it a spin.
It stopped in front of Ma Yushu.
Ma Yushu picked it up, feeling its unusual weight.
He looked at Kenan.
Kenan removed the cigar, pointing casually: “Left button’s for lighting. Right’s a micro-laser gun. Checked it before coming—good for two shots.”
Joking, he added: “Wanna find an empty room to practice?”
Ma Yushu’s heart pounded, his voice faltering: “…Isn’t this a peace talk?”
Kenan countered: “Rules are for them. Do we need to follow them?”
Standing, he said: “I bet Motobu Ryo’s bringing Ning Zhuo and Shan Feibai.”
“I’m at the head. By protocol, you and Lin Qin, as my people, sit to my left. Lin Qin’s an officer—perfect to protect me right beside me. Your spot’s fine, stay put.”
He circled the table counterclockwise, pacing deliberately.
“Motobu Ryo won’t sit near me—that’d feel unsafe to him.”
“So, next to me is either Ning Zhuo or Shan Feibai—likely Ning Zhuo, since he ranks higher. That’s tricky; I hear he’s a desperado.”
Kenan rested a hand on a chairback: “If Ning Zhuo’s here, Shan Feibai’s there, both guarding Motobu Ryo… meaning they’re diagonal from you.”
He picked up an empty glass, tapping it with a clear clink: “When I make this sound, you shoot Ning Zhuo. He’ll be right beside me. Take him out first, or I won’t feel safe.”
Ma Yushu stared, stunned: “…You brought Lin Qin, and you want me to kill someone in front of him?”
Kenan, adept at shutting Ma Yushu up with questions, retorted: “What, want me to do it?”
Seeing Ma Yushu’s gaunt face stretch longer, Kenan drawled: “Without some chaos, you think they’ll let us walk away with Motobu Ryo?”
All he wanted was Motobu Ryo’s brain.
Now, with a rare chance to hold him in his grasp, Kenan wouldn’t let it slip.
These days, he’d been brewing a venomous plan.
He’d use everyone present to play a grand game.
Ma Yushu shoots Ning Zhuo—success or failure, Lin Qin would shield Kenan from harm.
Kenan trusted his skill.
If Ning Zhuo’s allies fought back, it’d escalate to “assaulting an officer.”
That would force Lin Qin to haul them to “White Shield” for questioning.
In “White Shield’s” “civilized” world, Kenan could pull strings to get Motobu Ryo released first.
Then, Little Boss Huo’s hidden “Rousseau” team could swoop in and snatch Motobu Ryo.
After months of clashes, “Haina” and “Rousseau” likely nursed deep grudges.
Unless “Haina” left Silver Hammer City for good, “Rousseau’s” connections would ensure they never landed another big firm job, doomed to wallow in their low-end “animal world” muck.
Kenan would walk away with Motobu Ryo, and everyone wins.
Of course, one issue remained.
—Ma Yushu, deep down, probably hated him too.
The gun was in his hand, and Ning Zhuo was just centimeters away.
If his aim—or his heart—wavered just slightly, it’d be Kenan facing eternal ruin.
Kenan stared at Ma Yushu, unblinking, his dark, fish-like eyes cold: “Ma Yushu, heard you had a good friend? Surnamed Jin or something… right?”
Ma Yushu froze, struck as if by lightning. “Good friend” hit like a sudden slap across his thick skin, stinging but harmless.
But Kenan’s meaning was crystal clear.
Kenan picked up a napkin, folding it meticulously into a rose, saying: “That friend of yours—you could screw him over, hurt him, because his only backing was his family. But if I die, my backers lose massive profits. Your debt won’t vanish—it’ll shift, maybe even grow.”
He smiled at Ma Yushu: “Only with me alive do you have a shot at wiping your slate clean. Got it?”
Ma Yushu, head bowed, said nothing, too terrified to speak.
Having cowed Ma Yushu, Kenan felt all was set, just awaiting the guests.
…
Ning Zhuo’s group, whom Kenan eagerly anticipated, had arrived downstairs.
Before leaving, Motobu Ryo donned a sharp suit, only to run into his young neighbor pacing the dark hallway for steps.
Fond of this genius kid, he asked: “This look good?”
Tang Kaichang sized him up, bluntly whispering: “Not great. You’re skinny—tight clothes make you look like a monkey.”
Unfazed by the “monkey” jab, Motobu Ryo took the advice, swapping for a sweater.
As Kenan predicted, Ning Zhuo was among the attendees.
But contrary to his guess, Motobu Ryo’s other companion wasn’t Shan Feibai.
This was Jin Xueshen’s vendetta.
How could revenge proceed without the wronged party present?
Ning Zhuo opted against his cane, so he now had a wheelchair.
Shan Feibai drove, dropping the trio at the destination.
Motobu Ryo, nervous, insisted on exiting last. Jin Xueshen, even more anxious, stepped out, claiming he needed to fix his appearance, then hid aside, steadying his breathing to avoid hyperventilating again.
Eyes closed, face tilted skyward, he waited for his erratic heartbeat to normalize.
…Dad, Mom, Sister.
Unconsciously, his hand slipped under his collar, grasping an item on a thin liquid-metal chain.
—Yu Shifei’s most precious possession, his core backup.
Holding it, Jin Xueshen felt as if he held his hand.
A warm, steady strength seeped from his cold palm, reaching his heart.
…
Shan Feibai unloaded Ning Zhuo’s wheelchair, fussing with the thick blanket over his knees: “No drinking, only grape juice. I’ll check when I’m back.”
Ning Zhuo: “You’re not my boss.”
His words were sharp, but Shan Feibai caught the light, upbeat lilt in his tone.
Shan Feibai’s gaze drifted downward.
Ning Zhuo hadn’t worn formal shoes, just soft, thick-soled slippers—due to his foot injuries.
Beneath snowy, thick gauze, Ning Zhuo’s ankles retained a sleek curve, making Shan Feibai’s teeth itch with the urge to nibble.
Ning Zhuo read his intent, lifting a leg to press against Shan Feibai’s knee, pushing down slightly: “Whatever you’re thinking, think it later.”
Shan Feibai looked up, meeting his eyes.
A mix of coaxing and dominance blended seamlessly in his tone: “…Later, then?”
Ning Zhuo nearly laughed but knew smiling would embolden him, so he kept his face icy: “Think it later, too.”
As Shan Feibai started to pout, Ning Zhuo tugged his wheelchair, dodging him.
Jin Xueshen, composed now, emerged from the shadows.
Ning Zhuo, briskly: “Let’s go.”
Jin Xueshen pushed Ning Zhuo a few steps.
Shan Feibai jogged up, blowing Ning Zhuo a kiss: “Ning-ge, same game! Think of an animal, don’t tell me. I’ll guess when you’re out!”
Ning Zhuo turned, not scolding, just beckoning him.
…Got it.
Seeing their closeness, Jin Xueshen’s heart twisted uncomfortably.
…When did they get that tight?
Honestly, Jin Xueshen didn’t want them fighting.
The leaders of “Haina” and “Panqiao” getting along was ideal.
But their near-flirtatious vibe felt like it crossed some sacred line, sparking an urge to scream and kick them both out.
Lost in thought, Jin Xueshen pushed Ning Zhuo, with Motobu Ryo in tow, into the elevator.
Ning Zhuo gazed at a poster on the elevator ceiling, thinking of an animal.
A voice from outside snapped them both out of their thoughts: “Sorry, hold it.”
The elevator doors slid open.
Everyone froze.
Jin Xueshen raised an eyebrow: “…You?”
Lin Qin, sans “White Shield” uniform, wore a clean black turtleneck, looking like the studious kid he’d been when first joining “Haina.”
He knew Ning Zhuo and Jin Xueshen weren’t here by chance.
Kenan’s vague words echoed in his mind.
…Someone might kill Kenan at the banquet.
Through his bandages, Lin Qin suppressed his unease, lowering his eyes to Ning Zhuo.
Unable to control his tone around Ning Zhuo, he spoke as gently as ever: “What’s with your leg?”
