Quickly conquer the martial arts world, and let your fists dominate the heavens!

Han Shouyi wasn't stupid. He personally found out the addresses of those strongholds, marked them on the map, and handed them to Chen Zhan.

He visited every location overnight to verify the house number, guard post location, and the pattern of people entering and leaving.

Of the fifty-five lives, he was one of them.

If Mai Qiming knew all this, Han Shouyi wouldn't even need the police to arrest him; Chen Zhan would take his life first.

Mai Qiming stood up, said nothing more, went downstairs and left the teahouse.

Han Shouyi stood by the window, holding a teacup, watching him leave; the expression on his face was not very clear.

After Mai Qiming's figure disappeared into the crowd at the fruit market, Han Shouyi turned around and gently placed the teacup in his hand on the windowsill.

Mai Qiming walked along the fruit market street, where boxes of fruit were piled up on both sides, and porters were shouting as they loaded goods onto trucks. The air was filled with the sweet, fishy smell of rotten mangoes.

His intuition told him that Han Shouyi was suspicious.

It couldn't be a coincidence, but there was no evidence. Han Shouyi definitely didn't have that ability; he couldn't think of anyone in the entire Hong Kong Island who could do it.
Shanghai. French Concession, Avenue Joffre, a three-story Western-style building, the study on the second floor.

the phone is ringing.

The owner of the study was reading official documents when he heard the ringtone and picked up the receiver.

"Sir, this is Huang Luwei, I'm in charge of liaising with Hong Kong."

Chen Zuyan, formerly the deputy head of the Qingyi Society, was transferred three years ago and promoted to deputy director of the East China region of the Military Intelligence Bureau. He is 47 years old and has been a spy for half his life, starting from the year of the Northern Expedition.

“I’ve heard some things about what’s happening in Hong Kong,” Chen Zuyan said calmly. “Is there something else you’re calling about?”

"Yes, sir." Huang Luwei's voice was strained. "Commander Chen, Shen Tingdong is dead."

"know."

"Tang Fengxian is also dead. Sun Mao and Zheng Wenda, all four strongholds were wiped out, and more than fifty people were killed without a single one left."

"I already know, let's talk about something else."

Huang Luwei paused for a moment.

"The murderer used Shen Tingdong's internal phone to call headquarters, and I answered it."

Chen Zuyan put down the official document.

"explain."

"That person asked for two names on the phone. The first was you, and the second was Hong Chen."

The study was quiet for a few seconds.

"How did you ask that? Your exact words."

He said, "Who's in charge of the Tsing Yi Society now? Chan Cho-yin? Hung Chan?"

Chen Zuyan paused for a moment.

"Then?"

“I asked him who he was, but he didn’t give his name. He just said, ‘I’ll come to your door and tell you in a while,’ and then he hung up.”

"What did the sound like?"

"Young. I can't quite tell from his accent, but it sounds like he's from the north."

Chen Zuyan switched the receiver to her other hand and stared at the ceiling.

Young, with a northern accent, and skilled in martial arts, he single-handedly wiped out more than fifty people from four strongholds, including Tang Fengxian, who was at the peak of the Transformation Realm.

He went through everyone he knew in his mind.

There are very few people in the entire martial arts world who can do this.

Even if someone at the peak of the Transformation Realm were to exert all their strength, it would be impossible for them to destroy four strongholds by themselves. Tang Fengxian himself was at the peak of the Transformation Realm, and at least two or three people of the same level would have to attack him together to kill him.

young
Who is this person? Young, with a northern accent, martial arts skills above the Transformation Realm, has a grudge against the Green Robe Society, and even knows his name, Chen Zuyan.

I can't think of anything.

"Huang Luwei".

"exist."

"Send someone to investigate, including names and appearances, in as much detail as possible."

"Yes."

"Also, those remaining people in Hong Kong who can be evacuated should evacuate to Guangzhou first and await my instructions."

The phone hangs up.

Chen Zuyan sat in her study, turning to the next page of an official document, her eyes fixed on it, lost in thought.

Even through relaying the information, Chen Zuyan could still detect the threat and indifference in the phrase "I'll come to your door to tell you."

I haven't felt this way in many years.

A person popped into Chen Zuyan's mind, but she immediately dismissed it, thinking that it was absolutely impossible.

He then picked up the phone and dialed a number.

"Help me investigate something. In the last three months, has anyone come to Hong Kong from the north? They must be young and highly skilled in martial arts. It doesn't matter if you can't find out the details, just give me a list of possible cases."

The person on the other end of the phone agreed.

Chen Zuyan put down the receiver and walked to the window.

The plane trees on Avenue Joffre are starting to shed their leaves; in October, Shanghai is already filled with the colors of autumn.

The accounting office is on the third floor of Liqun Trading Company.

Zhou Yongchang sat behind his desk with an account book spread out in front of him, but he didn't turn a single page for a long time.

The man, in his early forties, had been doing bookkeeping for over a decade. All the money in the Tsing Yi Society in Hong Kong had passed through his hands; he kept a clear record of every single transaction, from fund allocations and remittances to the expenses of each branch.

The instructions from Guangzhou arrived two days ago—evacuate; everyone must leave Hong Kong and retreat to Guangzhou to await further orders.

But it's not that he doesn't want to leave, it's that he can't.

More than twenty police officers, armed to the teeth, surrounded the store downstairs, questioning people as they went in and out. The Liqun Trading Company was advertised as a general merchandise store, but Mai Qiming's side had clearly investigated the matter thoroughly and was treating it as the last stronghold of the Tsing Yi Society.

Going out is like walking into a trap.

Staying inside, at least there are police officers protecting you.

Zhou Yongchang pulled out a stack of photos from the drawer. They were leaked from the police station and someone had secretly shown them to him. They were photos from the Chinese Martial Arts Association, Yong'an Martial Arts Hall, and Deyi Martial Arts Hall.

He dared not look closely at the corpse in the photo.

He knew Tang Fengxian. He was at the peak of the Transformation Realm and the most powerful fighter in the Qingyi Society in Hong Kong and Kowloon. In the photo, he was sitting against the wall. His death was dignified, but he was dead.

Zhou Yongchang stuffed the photo back into the drawer, closed it, and felt a chill in his fingers.

There were seven members of the Green Robe Society in the trading company. Two of them carried guns, one was a guard at the mid-stage of internal strength, and the rest were clerks and shop assistants.

He locked the most crucial ledgers in a safe, keeping the key close to his body.

Looking down from the third-floor window, I saw that the patrol officers had changed shifts, and the new ones were chatting at the doorway, carrying rifles.

He felt that as long as the police were still around, that person wouldn't come.

Mai Qiming has investigated everything he could in the past few days.

An eyewitness provided the outline of half a face; the jawline was sharp, the jawbone was square, and the person appeared to be very young.

that's it.

With just a chin, you can find one person among hundreds of thousands of people in Hong Kong and Kowloon. Let alone a master of this level, if he wanted to hide, even ten Mak Kai-mings couldn't find him.

The trail went cold; they couldn't get any information out of Han Shouyi, and all other directions led to dead ends.

All he could do was guard the Liqun Trading Company. The murderer cleared out the Qingyi Society's strongholds one by one, and the Liqun Trading Company was the last one. The money exchange, ledgers, and all the financial records were inside.

If we want to eradicate the Tsing Yi Society completely, we can't bypass this area.

Mai Qiming increased manpower, with fifteen during the day and twenty at night, setting up guards at the front gate, back gate, side alleys, and rooftops. The night shift was equipped with flashlights and rifles.

He lived in a hotel in the arcade across the street, with a walkie-talkie by his pillow, ready to get up at any moment if there was any noise.

It's the fifth day.

Nothing happened for the first four days. I was on edge every night and could only relax when it got light. This cycle repeated itself.

He began to wonder if the murderer had stopped.
After wiping out the four strongholds and killing everyone who needed to be killed, Liqun Trading Company was a money exchange, not a martial arts school. Perhaps the murderer looked down on such a place.

But he dared not withdraw his defenses.

He didn't go back to the hotel tonight. Instead, he moved a chair and sat under the arcade across the street, smoking a cigarette and staring at the main entrance of the shop.

It's past midnight.

The streets of Causeway Bay quieted down; the trams stopped, the shops closed, and the streetlights illuminated the empty roads. There wasn't even a stray cat in sight.

Around Liqun Trading Company, police officers went on night shift.

Two at the front door, two at the back door, one in the side alley, two under the second-floor window, and one on the roof. The walkie-talkie occasionally buzzes twice to let everyone know they are safe.

Mai Qiming, a cigarette dangling from his lips, stared intently at the main entrance.

It was past 1 a.m. when I woke up with a start because the cigarette burned my finger. I put it out and then took out another one and lit it.

Sleepy.

My eyelids are incredibly heavy, my head is buzzing, and five consecutive night shifts are too much for even the strongest person.

The walkie-talkie crackled once, then crackled with static. He picked it up and listened, but no one spoke.

The time for reporting that everything is safe has passed.

There was no sound from the rooftop.

Mai Qiming pressed the call button: "Top floor, report."

no respond.

"Top floor, please respond upon receipt."

There was only static in the walkie-talkie.

He stood up, pushed his chair back, and was about to call for someone to go up to the roof to take a look—

A muffled thud came from the side alley, very soft, like something hitting flesh.

puff.

And then it happened again.

puff.

Mai Qiming drew his gun and ran into the side alley.

The policeman in the side alley leaned against the wall, his head tilted to the side, his flashlight still lit on the ground, and his rifle resting against his leg.

It seems she's asleep.

Mai Qiming squatted down and patted him twice, but he couldn't wake him up. He was breathing and his chest was rising and falling; he was alive.

There is a red mark below the back of my head, about the size of a fingertip.

A chill ran down his spine, and he turned and ran towards the back door.

The two police officers at the back door were lying on the ground in the same position as the one in the side alley. One had a red dot on his neck, and the other had one next to his temple. They were all marks the size of a fingertip.

He was just unconscious, not dead.

The back door was open, and the lock had been opened by hand from the outside. The lock cylinder was twisted and deformed, like a twisted rope.

Mai Qiming raised his gun and rushed in.

The first floor is dark.

The smell of blood was strong and fresh.

He could vaguely make out a human figure lying on the ground behind the counter, but he couldn't see it clearly yet—

A sudden pain shot through the back of my head, my vision went black, and I fell forward, the gun slipping from my hand and hitting the floor.

The last sounds he heard were two very short, muffled thuds coming from upstairs.

"Pfft—Pfft—"

And then nothing was left.

After an unknown amount of time, Mai Qiming woke up lying on the first-floor floor, his face pressed against the cold tiles.

My head was splitting with pain, and daylight was streaming in through the crack in the door.

He pushed himself up from the ground, his eyes adjusted to the light, and he could see the scene in front of him clearly.

Behind the counter were two corpses, one of the waiters, his chest caved in, the manner of death exactly the same as the previous four hideouts.

He walked upstairs, his legs weak, and he leaned against the wall for support.

A guard lay dead on the second-floor steps, his gun still clutched in his hand, the safety pin still on. A small hole pierced his forehead, a pebble lodged in his brain. Around the corner of the corridor was another body, its throat shattered.

On the third floor, the accounting office door was wide open.

Zhou Yongchang lay slumped over his desk, the blood on the back of his head congealed into a dark red patch, clutching the safe key in his hand.

died.

The safe was open, and it was forcibly torn open without even a key; it was empty.

The remaining members of the Green Robe Society were scattered across different floors; two on the third floor and three on the second floor, all of them were dead, killed with their bare hands.

Eight people, not one was left alive.

Mai Qiming went up to the rooftop, where the patrol officers were leaning against the water tower, some unconscious, some alive.

Back on the first floor, the two police officers at the front door were woken up by a passing early-rising vendor. Still half asleep, they rubbed the back of their heads, remembering nothing.

Eight died and seven fainted.

Those who died were all members of the Tsing Yi Society, and those who fainted were all police officers.

It can be clearly distinguished.

There were no footprints, no bullet casings, no fingerprints, no trace whatsoever, and not a single gunshot was fired throughout the entire incident.

The person who fainted didn't know what had happened, and the dead were even more impossible to interrogate.

Mai Qiming sat on the steps in front of Liqun Trading Company. The morning light shone on the bloodstains on the ground. He fumbled in his pocket for a long time before finally pulling out his last cigarette. His hand was shaking so badly that he had to strike the match three times before it lit.

Twenty police officers, armed with rifles and pistols, blocked off the area from all sides, and he personally oversaw the operation.

Someone knocked him to the ground with a pebble, then he went upstairs, killed everyone, took everything, and left.

He lay on the floor for most of the night.

None of the police officers who were knocked unconscious died, but none of the members of the Tsing Yi Society survived.

The weather was scorching hot in October, but he was covered in cold sweat, his whole body drenched in sweat.
It's no different from being haunted.

Five strongholds, sixty-three lives—all of the Tsing Yi Society's assets in Hong Kong and Kowloon were wiped out by one man.

Mai Qiming inhaled the cigarette down to the butt, burning his fingers before throwing it away. (End of Chapter)