Chapter Eighty-Five: Shi Yang

Tang Hao, known on the streets as Brother Hao, was famed for his loyalty, the archetype of a man who valued his brothers above all, treating them as kin while viewing women as little more than clothing. Rumor had it that Tang Hao once had a lover, but she became entangled with his sworn brother, Black Dragon. In the underworld, seducing a brother’s woman was a grave taboo—another boss would have had Black Dragon crippled at best, or worse, killed. But Tang Hao simply gave the woman to Black Dragon. Why? Because Black Dragon was his brother. For Tang Hao, a woman was a small price to pay for Black Dragon’s undying loyalty—a loyalty that helped Tang Hao reclaim his dominion. Yet now, Black Dragon had become a cripple. Still, Tang Hao ensured that he received a large monthly stipend, a gesture of enduring brotherhood.

They said Tang Hao had his own skills too. At thirteen, he was already running with the gangs; at fifteen, he could take on eight men at once on Shandong Street; at seventeen, he faced ten with nothing but a blade in Sanwan Alley. But to Zhuo Nan, these stories were nothing but wild exaggerations—tales that, given time, might even claim Tang Hao was a glass-hearted coward who gave away his lover to Black Dragon for fear of scandal.

Yet Zhuo Nan believed one thing: Tang Hao would not have ruled the western district for so many years if he didn’t have real ability. In Deqing’s underworld, Ghost Man Chao was the undisputed number one, and Tang Hao followed as second. The two men were bitter rivals, often clashing over turf. In recent years, under official mediation, Tang Hao devoted himself to solidifying his power in the west, avoiding Chao’s territory. Twenty years into the business, Tang Hao was, by any measure, a success.

To stir chaos now, one had to exploit the rift between these two titans. Long Kun had already sent men to scope out Tang Hao’s recent movements. One of Tang Hao’s strongholds was the Dream Castle Disco in the western district—a place he visited nightly. Business at Dream Castle rivaled even Chao’s famed Caesar Palace, much to Tang Hao’s pride. What was so special about Caesar Palace anyway? He had Dream Castle.

On this night, after Dream Castle closed, Tang Hao, as usual, was about to leave under the protection of two followers. Suddenly, a masked man burst from the shadows, pistol in hand, his face twisted with malice as he shouted, “Tang Hao! Brother Chao sent me to take your life!” He fired two shots. Both bullets struck Tang Hao—one in the abdomen, the other in the thigh.

But those who looked closely would see that neither shot was fatal. After firing, the assassin vanished into a nearby alley. Tang Hao’s men rushed to call an ambulance.

The shooter was none other than Shi Yang. Long Kun’s seasoned men were too well-known and easily recognized, but Shi Yang was new to the scene, an unfamiliar face. Zhuo Nan intended to establish him in the underworld; if he could not even kill a man, he was worthless. As his brother, Zhuo Nan would make sure Shi Yang was protected for life. After the deed was done, Shi Yang escaped along a prearranged route, where a waiting car whisked him away.

The first step was simple, but effective. Tang Hao’s men were thrown into disarray, and since Shi Yang openly declared his allegiance during the attack, all suspicion naturally fell on Ghost Man Chao.

That very night, as news of the shooting broke, Secretary Lan Zhenghao of the Political and Legal Committee left for the capital for a ten-day training, but still called home to order the police to solve the case quickly.

The next day, the hospital reported that Tang Hao, thanks to timely treatment, was out of danger but would remain under observation. More importantly, Tang Hao began preparing his counterstrike. In Deqing, only Tang Hao and Chao could get their hands on guns, and the assassin had named Chao—so the blame fell squarely on him.

Though Chao sensed something was off, what could he do? Go to the hospital and tell Tang Hao, “It wasn’t me”? Who would believe him? He doubled his security that night.

Yet Chao’s car was ambushed by gunmen wielding submachine guns. By sheer luck, he survived. The news shocked the underworld. Both sides readied their men for full-scale war.

Two hours after Chao’s ambush, over two hundred of his men smashed up one of Tang Hao’s nightclubs in the western district. Tang Hao, unable to swallow the insult, dispatched over a hundred of his men to attack Chao’s dance hall at Xinjiekou just half an hour later.

That night, numerous skirmishes erupted across the city. The police, for their part, responded with obvious sluggishness, arriving at the scenes half an hour late—by which time, everyone was long gone.

It seemed as if both sides had an unspoken agreement: rest during the day, clean up the battlefield, and resume fighting at night. For two nights, Long Kun closely monitored the conflict, reporting to Zhuo Nan and awaiting further instructions.

After four days, Tang Hao’s forces began to falter. In desperation, he reached out to other bosses for help. Those who were on good terms promised to assist, but before any plans could be enacted, one of Tang Hao’s close allies was assassinated. This murder threw everything into chaos, and overnight, Chao became the common enemy. Once, Deqing’s underworld had been Chao’s domain, but beneath him, many small-time bosses still held sway over their patches. Now, everyone believed Chao was trying to swallow the whole city for himself. He’d already done it once under the pretext of Sang Qiang’s affair; then, those minor bosses had bought their peace with cash. Even a clay idol has its breaking point, let alone these hardened men. They decided unanimously to unite against Chao.

On the fifth day, Chao found himself standing alone against the entire Deqing underworld. At first, he managed well enough, but after two days, the pressure mounted. He had lost thirty men during the earlier incident with Zhuo Nan—not a huge number, but enough that many others quit the life for good. The sight of so many comrades gunned down had been too much to bear.

Thinking of Zhuo Nan, Chao’s mind conjured a chilling suspicion: could this entire upheaval be his doing?

In truth, Chao didn’t disappoint Zhuo Nan. Zhuo Nan had thought it would take until the ninth day for Chao to suspect his involvement, but on the eighth, Chao made the call.

“Hello, Brother Chao, I hear you’ve been busy lately…” Zhuo Nan teased.

“Brother Nan, let me ask you straight—is all this your doing?” Chao blurted out, unable to contain himself. Even now, eight hundred men were attacking his stronghold, Caesar Palace—every available fighter had been mobilized against him, while he had fewer than four hundred left. At this rate, he wouldn’t last long.

“Heh, Brother Chao, not bad—you figured it out a day earlier than I expected. But it doesn’t matter. Your era is over.” With that, Zhuo Nan hung up.

Then he made another call. “Long Kun, it’s time.”

“Yes, Brother Nan,” came the crisp reply. Soon, the chaos that had raged for eight days would end. By morning, the city would return to its routine—people going to work, children to school—unaware that the night before, the sky over Deqing had changed.

Chao stood motionless, phone in hand. So it really was Zhuo Nan. Ever since Zhuo Nan had obtained evidence of his crimes, Chao had served him faithfully like a dog, but in the end, he had no place in Zhuo Nan’s world.

“Brother Chao, we can’t hold them off much longer—you have to go!” shouted Baldy, bloodied, as he burst in.

Chao seemed to age decades in an instant. “It’s too late… too late to go…” he murmured.

Tang Hao lay convalescing at home, commanding his men remotely. Tonight was the decisive battle—if they could take Caesar Palace, Chao would be finished. Every available hand had been sent out, leaving only fifty men to guard the villa.

A white, unmarked van pulled up to the gate. The guards grew alert, watching through the gates. Suddenly, the van door slid open. Those with guns drew them quickly, but three spherical objects were tossed from the van, landing near the main entrance.

“Grenades!” someone cried, but it was too late. Three thunderous explosions tore flesh and steel alike, blowing the iron gates from their hinges. Four masked men armed with AK-47s leaped from the van, spraying bullets at anyone in sight. The screams and gunfire echoed together.

Within seconds, the outer guards were wiped out. Shi Yang led the charge, with three men, into the house. In the living room, a few of Tang Hao’s men made a last stand, but two grenades from Shi Yang silenced them.

Their equipment had been procured by Long Kun at great expense from the coast. No one else in Deqing could field so many military-grade weapons. It was simple—Zhuo Nan had given Long Kun ten million to buy arms. In this line of work, money is everything, and when those arms dealers on the coast saw so much cash, they were dumbstruck.

Inside, Tang Hao’s family—his wife and son—had already heard the commotion and huddled together in the bedroom. When Shi Yang and his men burst in, the family clung to each other in terror.

Shi Yang leveled his gun at Tang Hao, sitting on the bed. “Brother Hao, remember me? That night…”

Tang Hao glared, pointing at Shi Yang. “It was you! Did Chao send you?”

“Heh… Brother Hao, are you stupid? Chao is nothing. But I won’t tell you who sent me.” Shi Yang, feeling invincible, grew arrogant.

“Brother, I don’t even want to know anymore. I’ll give you two million—let my family and me go,” Tang Hao pleaded, making his final offer.

Shi Yang smiled and shook his head.

“Three million, five million! Please, let us go…” Tang Hao rolled off the bed, kneeling in desperate supplication.

His wife and son knelt beside him. Shi Yang noticed a look of hatred in the boy’s eyes, and anger flared within him; he kicked the child to the ground. The boy didn’t cry, but stared at Shi Yang, teeth clenched.

Tang Hao’s wife clutched her son, weeping and begging, “Please, let him go—he’s just a child…”

Shi Yang, seeing her beauty, his lust ignited. He yanked her up, pressed his gun to her, and barked, “Take your clothes off. Once we’ve had our fun, we’ll let your son go.”

She covered her chest, pleading. “No, please, not in front of my child…”

Shi Yang signaled his men, who pressed their guns to Tang Hao’s and the boy’s heads. He turned to the woman. “Take them off—or I’ll blow their heads off.”

She glanced at Tang Hao—this man, faced with danger, had not the slightest courage to resist, letting his wife fall prey to these beasts.

“Please, not in front of the child…” she begged again.

Shi Yang shook his head and pressed the gun harder to the boy’s forehead. Defeated, tears streaming down her face—not for her husband, but for her child—she stripped slowly, until she stood naked. Shi Yang’s eyes burned; he pounced without hesitation. Then the next man, and the next, until all four had finished. She lay there, a lifeless shell.

“My wife has been ravaged by you. Now will you let me go?” Tang Hao groveled, no hatred in his eyes, only a dog’s pleading submission.

Shi Yang grinned. “Brother Hao, you’ve been in the game long enough to know better…”

Gunfire erupted. Tang Hao died with his eyes wide open, fixed on Shi Yang. Surely in that moment, he regretted not fighting back—since death was inevitable, why not go down swinging?

At the same time, another man riddled the woman’s body with bullets.

Even then, the boy did not cry. One of the henchmen asked, “Brother Yang, what about the kid?”

Shi Yang glanced at the child and said, “If you don’t pull out the weeds by the roots, spring winds will bring them back.” Then he raised his gun and pulled the trigger.