Chapter 76: The Twin Fiends of Shadow and Light

Dundee wore a faint smile as he glanced around at the crowd. Yet when his eyes inadvertently landed on Chen Erpao, his expression changed drastically. The events of that day flashed vividly before his eyes—it was the first time in his life he'd lost face before so many, suffering bitter humiliation. However, with so many people present, he couldn’t afford to show his anger. Instead, his smile grew even brighter as he strode up to Chen Erpao, greeting him with the air of an old acquaintance. “I didn’t expect we’d meet again—what a coincidence! But you won’t be so lucky today as you were last time.” As he spoke, his voice dropped to a whisper only the two of them could hear.

Zhang Xiaoyu walked over, her face frosty with displeasure, glaring at Dundee. “I didn’t invite you. Please leave.”

Dundee’s features twitched slightly. He hadn’t expected Zhang Xiaoyu to be so blunt before everyone, giving him no face at all. The embarrassment was instant and obvious.

Just as Dundee was about to reply, Jiang Jiao came over and said, “Xiaoyu, since Young Master Dundee is already here, it would be too rude to drive him away. Let him stay.”

Dundee gave Jiang Jiao a grateful smile, his gaze lingering briefly over her graceful figure—a flash of lasciviousness flickered in his eyes.

Zhang Xiaoyu was momentarily stunned. She hadn’t expected her friend to speak up for the very person she most disliked and despised, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond.

At that moment, Chen Erpao chuckled coldly and stepped forward. “The hostess has already said you’re not welcome. If you insist on staying, no one will stop you—but that would only prove that the illustrious Young Master Dundee has skin thicker than a city wall.”

“You—!” Dundee’s face turned purple with rage, his eyes blazing, and he stammered incoherently. Time and again, Chen Erpao confronted him, stirring up a well of resentment. Even Jiang Jiao glared at him with anger.

Zhang Xiaoyu spoke again, seizing the moment. “You’re not welcome here.”

Dundee shot Chen Erpao a cold glare, then, under the watchful eyes of the crowd, turned and left. What no one saw was that, after stepping out the door, he pulled out his phone and dialed a number he’d saved long ago but never called.

“Hello, Brother Li? Do you remember me—Dundee! The one who sang with you at the Imperial Hotel back in February.”

“Oh, it’s Young Master Dundee! What brings you to call me today?”

Dundee’s voice turned icy. “Brother Li, I want you to help me kill someone. He’s a tricky target, but once the job is done, I’ll wire you the money immediately.”

On the other end, there was no shock—just a tone of routine. “Don’t worry. Killing is my business. Our organization is one of the top assassin groups in all Hong Kong. No matter how tough the target, we’ll send him straight to the King of Hell.”

“Good…” Dundee spoke a few more words, then hung up, his gaze fixed coldly on the mansion’s entrance. A sinister expression twisted his features as he muttered, “I’ll make you regret this—leave you with not even a corpse to bury. That’s the price for crossing me.”

It wasn’t until near dawn that the gathering finally ended, and guests began to drift away. As Chen Erpao was leaving, Zhang Xiaoyu made a point of coming over to thank him and gave both him and Wang Xuemei her private number. Wang Xuemei was visibly delighted, but Chen Erpao merely glanced at the slip of paper before tucking it into his pocket, leaving Zhang Xiaoyu both irritated and a little disappointed.

The parking lot beside the villa was packed with luxury cars of every kind, as if it were an auto show. Chen Erpao’s S-class Mercedes was a top-tier model worth nearly two million yuan. While not the most expensive in the lot, it was certainly among the most impressive.

Many people’s expressions changed abruptly when they saw Chen Erpao walking toward the S-class Mercedes. Several lesser-known actresses even approached him to leave their numbers. The most dramatic reaction, however, was from Jiang Jiao. Her own car was merely an Audi A4, considered a luxury by ordinary standards, but compared to this near two-million-yuan Mercedes, the gap was not just in price but in the status that lay behind it.

Jiang Jiao’s gaze was complicated, tinged with regret for how she’d treated Chen Erpao earlier. Watching the Mercedes disappear from view, she pounded the steering wheel of her A4 in frustration, thinking, “How could I be so stupid? I believed, just because of a few words, that he was just an ordinary office worker. With such an outstanding companion, and even someone as proud and pure as Xiaoyu befriending him, how could he possibly be ordinary?”

The road home passed through a remote stretch nearly ten kilometers long, flanked by dense forest.

As soon as the car entered the stretch, an uneasy feeling crept over Chen Erpao. He looked warily around, but saw nothing unusual.

Wang Xuemei asked, “What’s wrong?”

Chen Erpao smiled lightly. “Nothing. Rest a bit—when we get home, I’ll wake you.”

The car sped along at a hundred kilometers an hour, nearly through the secluded stretch, when suddenly a black sedan darted out from the side and a burly man in black leapt from it. At the same moment, another car blocked the road behind, hemming in the Mercedes. A man in white stepped out.

“Erpao, this…” Wang Xuemei’s face went pale with fright, terror rising at the sudden ambush.

Chen Erpao quietly reassured her, “Don’t worry. Come, sit in the driver’s seat. If things get bad, just floor it and get out—go to Wang Xing.”

“No.” Wang Xuemei’s refusal was instant, her voice firm. “I’m staying with you, no matter what happens.”

Looking into her resolute eyes, Chen Erpao nodded and said no more. He knew Wang Xuemei’s stubbornness matched his own; once she made a decision, nothing could turn her back.

The two men—one in black, one in white—looked so alike they might have been cast from the same mold. Even their builds were identical. Rare twins. A dangerous aura clung to both, the sort only earned by years spent dancing with death and stained by blood.

Chen Erpao stood calmly between them, unleashing an even stronger aura. “The infamous Black and White Twins—your intentions aren’t friendly.”

The twins hesitated for a moment, feeling a familiar and powerful killing intent from him.

“You’re an assassin too? I can sense an overwhelming murderous air coming off you,” the man in black said.

The man in white added, “We thought you were just some small-time gang boss, riding a wave of fame. Having the Black and White Twins sent after you was already a compliment. Now we see you’re tougher than we expected. But rules are rules: we take the money and do the job. In this line, it’s either you die, or we do.”

Chen Erpao advanced with hands clasped behind his back. The Black and White Twins might not be exceptional individually, but as a team they were not to be underestimated.

“Come then! I’ve heard of your reputation—tenth-ranked killers in Hong Kong. Tonight, let’s see what you’re made of.”

As soon as he finished speaking, the twins attacked in unison. Black’s fists were like lightning, the wind from his blows howling. White’s legs shot out with the speed of a thunderbolt. One specialized in fists, the other in kicks; their teamwork was seamless.

Chen Erpao’s fighting skills had all been honed through countless life-and-death battles. There was nothing flashy—only simplicity, efficiency, and deadly precision.

His body flickered and weaved, easily parrying their attacks. The twins exchanged a glance and pressed their assault, Black pummeling high, White kicking low, both relentless.

Yet Chen Erpao remained unruffled. His fists struck out, masculine force driving Black back, while he twisted aside to evade White’s sweeping kicks.

Seizing the opening before Black could regroup, Chen Erpao lunged at White, launching a barrage of kicks. In the blink of an eye, the air between them was filled with whirling legs, each collision echoing with sharp cracks.

A pained cry rang out as White was sent flying, a distinct footprint blooming on the once pristine shirt across his chest.

Black, enraged, let out a roar and charged again, his heavy fists raining down like a storm. Chen Erpao met strength with strength, speed with speed—hooking, locking, chopping, slashing—his deadly techniques left Black bleeding from several wounds after only a few exchanges.

Though White gritted his teeth and rejoined the fray, together with Black they beset Chen Erpao from both sides, their attacks combining for greater force. As soon as Chen Erpao blocked a punch, a lethal kick would follow; if he dodged the kick, a punch was already on its way. A lesser fighter would have been overwhelmed, but unfortunately for them, they were up against Chen Erpao, the king of special forces.

At the right moment, his right fist snapped into a claw, seizing Black’s wrist, while his right foot, as swift as a serpent, wrapped around him.

With a sharp crack, bone broke. Black staggered back, face twisted in pain.

White’s legs whipped out again and again, but each time they struck only air. In contrast, Chen Erpao’s legs, every time they rose, were like a tiger pouncing—unstoppable, fierce.

After several more rounds, Chen Erpao leapt high, unleashed a flurry of kicks—over a dozen in a second. White’s arms, numb from blocking, could no longer respond, and with a final, crushing blow, he was sent flying.

With a heavy thud, White crashed to the ground, coughing up blood that splattered across his shirt.

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