Hong Kong variety show: The mastermind behind the scenes is emerging.

Time seemed to flow out of Kowloon Walled City, disconnected from the outside world.

While the outside world goes crazy over every fluctuation of the Hang Seng Index and is in an uproar over the still unsolved "billion dollar bank robbery" at the Hong Kong Jockey Club, the Walled City remains as dark, damp, and bustling as ever.

During these sixty days, Hong Kong Island was in turmoil.

Wu Rensong of Siasun Group, holding the "Golden Street" plot of land he bought for ten million, wandered around that wasteland every day like a miser, but still couldn't get the legendary "document". Rumors even began to circulate that Boss Wu had been bewitched, how could he be so fond of a piece of wasteland?

In the past two months, he has only gone out twice.

All of this was for the sake of seeing Cheng Yiyan.

Under Cheng Yiyan's management, Jiahe International, like a greedy young shark, quietly bared its fangs in the financial market. After this period of intensive study, Cheng Yiyan made rapid progress. Lu Chen only gave a few key instructions, and Cheng Yiyan, with his amazing comprehension and his daring, opportunistic spirit, managed to quadruple the company's assets. Now, Cheng Yiyan, dressed in a suit and tie, chauffeured in luxury cars, is already showing signs of becoming a "tycoon."

Lu Chen, the mastermind behind all of this, was like an invisible man, spending his days holed up in that dimly lit barbershop in Kowloon Walled City, like a dormant spider, entrenched in the barbershop's attic, silently weaving his own web.

……

"Splash—"

In the dark room of the barbershop, Tornado placed a thin piece of paper on the table, with so many zeros on it that it was dazzling.

"This is the last one."

Tornado lit a cigarette, his brows relaxing slightly. "With this addition, your 120 million in 'dirty cash' is now completely laundered. After deducting the 40% that went to those bloodsuckers in the water room, you're left with 72 million, all in these UBS promissory notes."

Seventy-two million.

In those days, this amount of money was enough to buy half a street of prime retail space in Yau Tsim Mong, or even an office building in Kowloon.

Lu Chen picked up the few thin bank drafts and gently rubbed them between his fingertips. Although the 40% reduction was painful, the money was now clean, and even if he flaunted it in front of the police chief, no one could arrest him.

"Thanks, Brother Long," Lu Chen said, putting away the promissory note. "Thank you for your help these past two months."

"It's not so much trouble, it's just heartbreaking." Tornado exhaled a smoke ring. "Over forty million, just gone like that. Those money laundering bastards make money faster than robbery."

"That's why I'm going to find someone to do it myself."

Lu Chen narrowed his eyes slightly and casually brought up the matter he had previously asked Long Juanfeng to inquire about, "By the way, Brother Long, is there any news about that 'painter' you were asked to investigate?"

"Yes, but not many." Tornado flicked his cigarette ash. "There was indeed a big shot in the underworld called 'The Painter,' whose 'super dollars' could even fool a money detector, but that was five years ago. I heard he was doing business with a bunch of Eastern Europeans in the Golden Triangle, double-crossed them, and got shot to death in a hail of bullets. Even his body was fed to crocodiles."

"Dead?" Lu Chen raised an eyebrow; this news was somewhat expected.

"He's dead. The title 'Painter' disappeared after that." Tornado looked at Lu Chen. "Why are you looking for a dead man?"

"The tiger is dead, but the cubs are still alive."

Lu Chen's eyes were deep. He was familiar with the plot of "Project Gutenberg." The old painter who was killed was just the previous generation, while the new generation of "painters" was still lying in wait. Although the film released a lot of smoke and mirrors about the mastermind behind the scenes, he believed that the real mastermind was not that "Wu Fusheng" or Li Wen, but the seemingly harmless female painter who only wanted to paint—Ruan Wen.

"Brother Long, keep an eye out for someone for me." Lu Chen lowered his voice, dipped his finger in tea, and wrote two words on the table: "Ruan Wen. Female, painter, with a very special temperament. On the surface, she may be an artist, but her background is not simple."

Although in the movie, Ruan Wen claims that she was studying at MIT before she became famous, he has a feeling that she will definitely be seen on Hong Kong Island before her comeback.

"Okay, I'll have someone investigate." Although Tornado didn't understand why Lu Chen wanted to find a woman, he knew that Chen always had his own ideas, so he wouldn't ask any more questions.

"It's alright, Brother Long, there's no rush," Lu Chen said, pulling himself out of his thoughts. The Ruan Wen connection was a long-term strategy; right now, he had a more important and urgent goal. "What about the other piece of information I asked you to find out?"

Upon hearing this, Tornado's expression became somewhat strange, even showing a hint of regret.

"That 'Little Ma' guy?" Tornado picked up an outdated gossip magazine from the side, pointing to an inconspicuous corner. "The person you're looking for is probably him. The once-famous 'Double-Gun Little Ma,' he was incredibly powerful back in the day, what a pity..."

Tornado shook his head. "Three years ago, in that bloody battle at Maple Pavilion in Taiwan, although I avenged my brother, one of my legs was crippled. Now I hear he's working as a valet at a hotel in Tsim Sha Tsui. He's bossed around every day, and he has to shine shoes for a few dollars in tips. My former brother is now being trampled on."

At this point, even a seasoned veteran like Tornado couldn't help but sigh, "That's how the world is; people come and go. When you're successful, everyone fawns over you; when you're down on your luck, even dogs won't want you."

As Lu Chen listened to the description of the tornado, images from the movie "A Better Tomorrow" came to mind.

The man in the trench coat, the match in his mouth, the cigarette lit with a dollar bill. The man who fought his way back into the bloodbath alone for his brothers. The man who, even with a limp, still possessed unwavering pride.

Now, just before the story begins, is the darkest and lowest point in his life.

It's easy to add flowers to brocade, but difficult to provide charcoal in the snow. What Mark (Little Ma) lacks most right now is not money, but dignity and a chance to turn his life around.

Give him a fulcrum, and this man can overturn the entire martial arts world.

"Brother Long, which hotel is he at?"

"That Fudu Nightclub next to the Peninsula Hotel." Tornado gave Lu Chen a strange look. "What? You're interested in him? He's crippled now and can't do anything but wash cars. Besides, his former underling, Tan Cheng, is very powerful now. Anyone who gets involved with Little Ma is going against Tan Cheng."

"As long as your heart isn't broken, even if your legs are lame."

Lu Chen stood up and straightened his collar. The past two months of seclusion had made his skin a little paler, but his eyes, weathered by time, had become even sharper.

……

At the entrance of Fu Du Nightclub in Tsim Sha Tsui.

The night was as dark as ink, and neon lights painted the streets in a bizarre and dazzling light. Luxury cars flowed by like a river, and the air was filled with the fermenting scents of perfume, alcohol, and money.

Lu Chen was alone, without Xin Yi or Chen Luojun.

He was wearing a dark blue bespoke suit and holding a long-handled black umbrella, standing quietly across the street.

His gaze cut through the traffic and landed on the busy figure at the entrance of the nightclub.

The man was wearing a dirty blue overall, over which he wore a faded old trench coat. He had a limp in his left leg and was carrying a rag and a boxed lunch.

That coat may have been very stylish in the past, but now it's covered in oil and dust, and the hem is badly worn.

He was sitting next to the front of a brand-new Mercedes, with his boxed lunch on the hood, wolfing it down. The food looked very simple: a few green vegetables and two pieces of fatty meat.

Suddenly, a series of hurried footsteps approached.

"Hey! Cripple!"

A thug wearing a floral shirt and with a fierce face walked over and kicked over the lunchbox on the hood of the car.

"Snapped!"

Food was spilled all over the floor, and soup splashed onto the old trench coat.

"Who gave you permission to eat in a customer's car? Can you afford to pay for the mess?" the gangster yelled, pointing at the man's nose. "Brother Cheng's about to get down, hurry up and clean the floor! Or I'll break your other leg today!"

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

The once-powerful Little Ma was now bowing his head and apologizing incessantly. He silently bent down and used a rag to wipe away the rice grains and oil stains on the ground bit by bit, even picking up a relatively clean piece of meat and stuffing it into his mouth.

His eyes were numb and empty, as if his soul had died and he was just a walking corpse struggling to survive.

The thug walked away cursing, spitting on the ground before he left.

Little Ma still didn't look up, just silently wiping the floor, his movements mechanical and humble.

Just then, a pair of shiny black leather shoes came into his view.

Little Ma instinctively thought it was another customer or gangster causing trouble, so he quickly tried to move away, mumbling, "Sorry, boss, I'll clean it right away, right away..."

"Will wiping it clean restore your dignity?"

A gentle yet slightly stinging voice sounded above his head.

Little Ma's hand, which was wiping the floor, suddenly stopped.

He slowly raised his head, and through his messy hair, his cloudy eyes peered at the newcomer from his face covered in grease and stubble.

Lu Chen stood there, hands in his pockets, looking down at him. There was no mockery, no pity, only a calm scrutiny.

"Who are you?" Little Ma's voice was hoarse, as if it had been sanded on sandpaper.

Who I am is not important.

Lu Chen crouched down, his gaze level with Xiao Ma's. He took out a clean white handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to him.

"The important thing is, I know who you are."

"Little Ma".