Hong Kong film: The cop backs down, the ladies beg me to check his license.

He gasped for breath, his vision blurring. Once the excruciating pain subsided a little, he shakily crouched down and picked up his broken phone. The screen was scratched, but still functional; the call had been disconnected for a long time.

He endured the pain, his fingers trembling as he dialed back, his voice urgent and angry, distorted by the pain: "What happened?! How come another two hundred people have died?! What the hell did you do?!"

The factory manager was almost in tears on the other end of the line: "It was you...it was you who said the magazine had to be delivered today no matter what! I followed your instructions and sent out two groups of people...who knew...who knew they would be intercepted so soon...Wu Zhaonan personally led the team, beating anyone they saw, especially their arms and legs..."

Fat Li's heart clenched, as if gripped by an invisible hand, making it hard for him to breathe. He screamed hoarsely, "Stop! Tell everyone to stop! No one is allowed to go out! Not a single one!"

Two hundred people, ten million. Two hundred more people, twenty million!

Twenty million!

Fatty Li is rich, but that money is what he has painstakingly earned over the years, penny by penny, with blood and sweat! Throwing it away and skipping it on the water might make a sound, but throwing it to the hospital, to this group of crippled good-for-nothings, makes his heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and kidneys ache terribly!

If it were money spent on himself, buying a house, a car, or a yacht wouldn't even bat an eye. But spending it on this... it's like cutting off a piece of his own flesh!

The factory manager hurriedly replied, "Yes, yes, yes! I'll stop right away! That...that magazine..."

"Magazine my ass!" Fat Li cursed, spitting on the shattered screen. "Now! Immediately! Send someone to my house to collect the money! Send ten million to the hospital first! Hurry!"

The factory manager dared not say anything more and hung up the phone.

Fat Li slumped in the cold leather sofa, clutching his phone with its cracked screen, his eyes glazed over as he stared at the tacky imitation Western oil painting on the opposite wall, his mind blank and buzzing.

This is only the first day.

How did the sky suddenly become so dark that you couldn't see any light?

Admit defeat?

This thought, like a wet, slippery snake, silently crawled into Fatty Li's mind and took hold.

Fat Lai has always considered himself a "cultured man" and looks down on the gang leaders of Hung Hing from the bottom of his heart.

The Crown Prince? A mere warrior, his mind is filled with nothing but muscles and swords.

Handsome Kun? He used to sell fish balls on the street, and he always smelled fishy.

Thirteen Sister? A delinquent girl who grew up with a brothel madam, not presentable in public.

Even Jiang Tiansheng, in his eyes, was nothing more than a young master raised by a triad family, still retaining that roguish air in his bones.

In a respectable family, who would let their child inherit such a shady business? Now that they've reached the position of head of the family, don't they know to send their children to prestigious universities abroad, so they can become lawyers, doctors, or start their own companies? Wouldn't that be better than living on the edge of a knife?

Do people like Liang Kun and Yip Tin even deserve to fight Fat Lai?

But what happened in the early hours of the morning was like a heavy hammer, hitting him squarely on the back of the head, making him see stars and unable to recover for a long time.

Those people in Mong Kok... they're really ruthless.

They struck his most vulnerable spot right away! (Printing plant)

Two miles outside the factory, the road was littered with triangular nails! Is this something a human being would do?

Hiring a ruthless man like Wu Zhaonan, who specifically targets his brothers' hands and feet, isn't he afraid of being called a traitor in the martial arts world?

ruthless.

That's fucking ruthless.

Fatty Li felt a sharp, throbbing pain in his chest.

He wasn't heartbroken for the injured henchmen. In his eyes, those men were no different from printing presses—tools; if they broke, they broke; if they were ruined, they were ruined; at most, he'd just replace them. What he was heartbroken about was the money!

In just one morning, 20 million was gone just to fill the hole in the hospital.

This is not over yet.

It takes a hundred days to recover from a broken bone, and then there are the medical expenses, resettlement allowances, lost wages... all of which cost money. It would take at least three to five million to settle things.

What's even more problematic is his magazine.

That was his lifeline, his money-printing machine, and the "cultural brand" that allowed him to establish himself in Hung Hing and be respected by others.

As long as the magazine exists, President Lai will exist; if the magazine's sales stop, Fat Lai will just be an ordinary, disliked gangster boss.

Should we admit defeat?

Or... should we just accept it?

A chilling fear, unlike anything I'd ever felt before, slowly crept up from the soles of my feet.

He suddenly realized with absolute clarity that he was a scholar, someone who used his brain; while Ye Tianliang and his gang were desperate criminals raised on blood. They dared to gamble their lives away, but he didn't.

Fatty Li comforted himself: My life is precious, it's not worth fighting to the death with these worthless bastards.

But he just couldn't swallow that anger.

On what grounds?

Fat Lai, a prominent "cultural businessman" in Hong Kong, has already shown them great respect by condescending to share the spoils with these thugs. How dare they turn around and bite him?

I can't save face.

But if he really wants to continue fighting... he has no one left to rely on.

Four hundred able-bodied men were killed in one morning. Who among the rest would dare to follow him to Mong Kok and risk their lives?

Greyhound? Big Fly?

Dream on. Those two old foxes would love to see him and Mong Kok both suffer heavy losses so they can profit from it; they would never lend him a hand.

North Point, there's really no one available.

Fatty Li irritably grabbed his thinning hair, cursing under his breath, when suddenly he stopped.

"Wu Zhaonan... the Number Gang..." He blinked, then slapped his thigh hard, his flesh trembling. "If he can borrow troops, why can't I?"

Thinking of this, he immediately swiped on the broken phone screen, found He Xingsheng Huoshi's number, and dialed it.

The phone rang seven or eight times before being answered. Huo Shi's voice sounded like he'd just crawled out of a powder keg, full of impatience: "Fatty Li! Are you fucking crazy? It's not even dawn yet and you're already waking your grandpa up!"

Fat Li suppressed his anger, making his voice sound calm, even with a hint of enticing sweetness: "Fire Shit, there's a big business opportunity, wanna do it?"

"Business?" Huo Shi scoffed on the other end of the phone, his tone full of mockery. "What big business could a guy like you selling erotic books possibly have? I don't do business selling ass."

"I need someone." Fatty Li cut to the chase. "One person costs 100,000. How much can you offer?"

He was certain that Huo Shi was notoriously greedy for money and had a group of ruthless characters under his command who were willing to risk their lives for money. He absolutely couldn't refuse a price of 100,000 per person.

There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone. When Huo Shi spoke again, his tone had changed, becoming somewhat playful: "Fatty Lai...you want to borrow troops to attack Mong Kok?"

Fatty Li's heart skipped a beat, and his voice tightened slightly: "How did you know? Who told you?"

Huo Shi chuckled, his laughter like a dull knife scraping the bottom of a pot: "This news... considering our years of friendship, I'll sell it to you cheap, two hundred thousand."

"Two hundred thousand?" Fatty Li's anger flared up again. "Why don't you just rob the vault? Two hundred thousand for a piece of information?!"

"Buy it or don't, it's up to you." Huo Shi didn't care. "If you're not buying, I'm hanging up. I'm sleepy."

"Buy it!" Fatty Li spat out the word through gritted teeth, "But you'd better be worth the price!"

"Don't worry, I, Huo Shi, live by my word." Huo Shi said slowly, "Ye Tian from Mong Kok has already made his name known throughout the underworld."

"If anyone dares to lend troops to Fat Lai, he'll offer double the men and double the price, and fight them to the death. If you lend ten, he'll find twenty to kill them. And he's made it clear: as long as you're willing to risk your life, the price is negotiable."

Fatty Li's mind went blank for a moment, as if someone had struck a broken bell in his ear.

"What...what did you say?"

"I'm telling you, they've had you figured out all along." Huo Shi couldn't hide his schadenfreude. "My brothers are my breadwinners. If I lend them money, they'll be surrounded and attacked by twice as many people. I might get the money, but they need to be alive to spend it. Besides, Fatty Lai, you've probably bought up all the beds at Hung Hing Hospital in North Point, haven't you? How much cash flow do you have left to squeeze out? Trying to outdo Liang Kun in wealth? You must be dreaming."

"Two hundred thousand, remember to transfer it to my account. Bye."

The busy signal sounded again.

Fatty Li, phone in hand, froze on the sofa, the color draining from his face until it was ashen. Suddenly, he sprang to his feet and slammed the phone to the floor with all his might!

"Snap! Crash!"

The already shattered phone completely disintegrated, with parts scattered everywhere.