Chapter 93: Shadows

While Jinghai City represented the economic heart of the Jiangnan Province, Jianghai City stood as its political hub. Jianghai City was a sprawling metropolis not far from Jinghai City.

At this moment, in a quaint mansion located in Jianghai City, a sturdy, middle-aged man, around his forties, viciously hurled the teacup in his hand onto the ground, bellowing in fury.

“What did you say? Blackie is dead?”

This man was none other than Fang Haoyan, leader of the Hundred Seat Society—a dominant force in Jiangnan Province’s underworld. Compared to him, Wang Lin—the underworld boss previously slain by Lin Xiao—was insignificant, hardly worth mentioning.

A middle-aged man stood trembling in fear in front of Fang Haoyan, his head hung low, too afraid to speak a word.

If Lin Xiao had been there, he would have recognized this middle-aged man as one of the individuals present in the Starlight City bar when he killed Wang Lin.

“Boss, please calm down. Let’s hear him out first,” said a harmless-looking man in gold-rimmed glasses standing beside Fang Haoyan. “Blackie was a practitioner of ancient martial arts. He wouldn’t have gone down so easily.”

He turned to the trembling middle-aged man and spoke with quiet authority, “Hua Xuemin, recount everything from beginning to end. If you leave anything out—or lie—you know the consequences.”

Hua Xuemin swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to the bespectacled man with fear. Yuan Zhichen might look like an ordinary office worker, but those in the know feared him more than most. He had orchestrated operations that sent shockwaves through the Jiangnan underworld, wiping out entire rival gangs without a trace.

Hua Xuemin promptly recounted the incident at the Starlight City bar.

Upon hearing Hua Xuemin’s narrative, Fang Haoyan and Yuan Zhichen exchanged glances.

“An ancient martial artist…” Yuan Zhichen’s expression darkened.

He asked again, his voice low but heavy with weight, “You’re saying this man dodged bullets, killed Blackie with a single palm strike, and then assassinated Wang Lin in front of everyone?”

“I swear it’s the truth!” Hua Xuemin blurted out, pale with fear. “If I’m lying, may thunder strike me dead!”

“There were others there too,” he added quickly. “Wang Lin’s remaining men. But they’ve all sided with Old Jin now. None of them want revenge. They’re even claiming Wang Lin died of sudden illness.”

Fang Haoyan’s gaze grew colder as he fixed it on Hua Xuemin. “Did Blackie mention the Hundred Seat Society?”

“He did, right at the beginning,” Hua Xuemin replied, voice trembling. “But that man… he just didn’t care.”

“Very well.”

Fang Haoyan’s eyes burned with fury. He slammed his palm onto the table—crack!—shattering the solid wood in an instant. The violent display left no doubt: this was the strength of an ancient martial artist.

“I never thought someone would dare disrespect the Hundred Seat Society. I don’t care who he is, ancient martial artist or not, I won’t let him walk away.”

“Boss,” Yuan Zhichen interjected calmly, adjusting his glasses. “We need to stay level-headed. If he really did kill Blackie with a single palm… then his strength isn’t ordinary. This isn’t someone we can take lightly. We should think long-term.”

Fang Haoyan snorted, but his tone cooled. “Hmph. Maybe so. But no matter what, I won’t let him go.”

Blackie had been an ancient martial arts practitioner who had just stepped into the Bright Force stage. Though barely at that level, he was still considered a notable figure in the martial world. And yet, he had been killed—cleanly, effortlessly, without even the chance to flee.

“Uh… Boss Fang,” Hua Xuemin ventured, voice trembling, “may I leave now?”

Fang Haoyan’s glare snapped to him, murderous intent radiating from his eyes.

“Hmph. Worthless coward. My brother is dead, and you still draw breath?” His voice was ice. “I should kill you first and then go avenge him.”

Hua Xuemin’s legs buckled, his skin cold with sweat. Regret surged through him. If he had known things would turn out like this, he would’ve submitted to Old Jin like the others—anything but this.

Greed was at the root of it all.

He was Wang Lin’s close associate and knew about Wang Lin’s collaboration with the Hundred Seat Society. Blackie was there to supervise them. He’d hoped to ascend to Wang Lin’s position following his death, but he didn’t anticipate Old Jin’s rise to power, backed by Lin Xiao’s influence.

Unwilling to accept this, he traveled to Jianghai City and turned informer for the Hundred Seat Hall, hoping to leverage their influence to topple Old Jin. But he failed to account for Fang Haoyan’s explosive and bloodthirsty nature. Now, any words of regret would come too late.

“Do we take him out, Boss?” Yuan Zhichen asked calmly, drawing his handgun and pointing it squarely at Hua Xuemin.

Hua Xuemin stood frozen, eyes locked on the barrel inches from his face. His body trembled uncontrollably, legs weak beneath him, eyes wide with despair.

Fang Haoyan watched him for a moment, then let out a slow, peculiar chuckle. “Let him be. We’ll give him a pass—he did deliver the message, after all.”

Yuan Zhichen raised an eyebrow but gave a nod. He holstered the weapon and delivered a sharp kick.

“Scram.”

“Th-thank you, Boss! Thank you!” Hua Xuemin stammered, scrambling to his feet. He bolted for the door, his face a mess of panic and relief.

Just as his hand reached the handle—Click. Behind him, Fang Haoyan had drawn a sleek golden pistol from his waistband.

The shot rang out like thunder. The bullet tore through Hua Xuemin’s back, punching cleanly through his chest—a hole no larger than a peanut, but fatal all the same.

Looking down at his chest in disbelief, Hua Xuemin stumbled and crashed to the ground. Blood gushed out like a fountain, dyeing the surroundings a ghastly crimson. After a few spasms, he lay lifeless.

“Heh, my brother is dead, and yet you survived. How dare you walk this earth!” Fang Haoyan mocked, staring coldly at the corpse on the ground.

Fang Haoyan casually clapped his hands, signaling for someone to remove the body. The crew seemed unfazed by the sight, a clear sign of their familiarity with such scenes.

After holstering his weapon, Fang Haoyan squinted, deep in thought. He then turned to another man in the room who had maintained his silence thus far.

“What’s your take on the one who took out Blackie?”

The man was Sha Yanghua and was also an ancient martial artist, his strength far surpassing even Fang Haoyan’s. He stood at the pinnacle of the Bright Force stage, just a step away from breaking through to Dark Force.

Years ago, he had suffered a near-fatal injury and was saved by Fang Haoyan. In return for that life-saving act, Sha Yanghua pledged unwavering loyalty, offering his blade in service.

If Yuan Zhichen was Fang Haoyan’s mind, then Sha Yanghua was his sword. His presence alone had helped cement Fang Haoyan’s grip over Jiangnan’s underworld.