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

West Kowloon Regional Headquarters, Serious Crimes Unit Interrogation Room.

This is the most oppressive place in the entire police station. One-way glass blocks the view between the inside and outside, and the pale white incandescent light overhead emits a crackling sound like the mournful cry of a dying cicada.

"Hong Wengang! Tell me, where did you get those counterfeit bills? Did you buy them from Brother Cheng?"

Mr. Hung sat in a specially made interrogation chair, his expensive trench coat removed and replaced with a gray detention uniform. Yet he still maintained that repulsive, morbid elegance. His eyes were closed, his fingers tapping lightly on the metal tabletop, as if listening to a symphony only he could hear.

"I want to see my lawyer."

This is the 300th time he has said this in the past twelve hours.

The boy sitting opposite me looked tired, holding a cup of coffee that had long since gone cold.

"Hong Wengang, you are now suspected of possessing a large amount of counterfeit money, illegal assembly, and assaulting a police officer," the young man said coldly. "For such serious crimes, I have the right to detain you for forty-eight hours."

"That's your right..."

Hong Wengang opened his eyes, his gaze behind his gold-rimmed glasses as cold as a snake. "But if my lawyer hasn't seen me by 48 hours, or if you can't produce more substantial evidence, I will sue you. I will let the whole of Hong Kong know how the police mistreat a legitimate businessman."

He was very confident.

Although caught red-handed, he insisted that he had been tricked and found the box while sightseeing at the beach. As long as he doesn't confess, it will take the police more time to convict him. And given time, his influence and legal team will overwhelm the police station, leaving them in a state of chaos.

As for why the police suspected that the counterfeit money came from Tan Cheng, Hong Wengang was perfectly aware of the situation and not surprised. After all, years of habitual transactions had already made him a "regular customer" of international counterfeit money syndicates in the eyes of the police, so this misunderstanding was perfectly reasonable.

But this was exactly what he wanted.

The inference that Mr. Yao had betrayed him lingered in Hong Wengang's mind like a venomous snake. He adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, a chilling glint of resentment flashing behind the lenses.

Ruan Wen's brilliance lies precisely in this—she never gives the answer directly, but rather, like a jigsaw puzzle, throws out fragmented clues, guiding Hong Wengang step by step to piece together the "truth" himself. And for a superior like Hong Wengang, who is extremely arrogant, there is an almost blind conviction in the conclusions he deduces.

Even if there were some shady dealings involved, Hong Wengang would be happy to play dumb. The more chaotic the situation, the better. Since the police have already set their sights on Mr. Yao, why should he bother clarifying things? It's easier to fish in troubled waters. As long as he keeps his mouth shut and plays along, Mr. Yao will have to take the blame whether he wants to or not.

Being able to "help" an old friend in prison can be a kind of fun. After all, Mr. Yao probably doesn't want the world to think he doesn't have the ability to create a super dollar.

In the adjacent monitoring room, a blond, blue-eyed foreign police superintendent stood with his hands behind his back, staring intently at the monitor screen with a furrowed brow.

"Sir, are you really not going to let him see a lawyer?" the adjutant beside him asked cautiously. "According to procedure, if the time limit is exceeded..."

"Fuck the procedure!"

The superintendent lowered his voice and roared, "Do you know what that batch of counterfeit money means? MI5 has already given the go-ahead. This counterfeiting case isn't just a security issue; it involves the financial security of the British Empire—a nuclear weapon that could shake the Western world!"

"Block the news! Strictly control it!" The superintendent pointed at Hong Wengang on the screen. "Before he confesses to his superiors, or before we arrest the core members of the counterfeit money ring, no one is allowed to disclose his arrest! Anyone who violates this rule will be skinned alive and fired!"

The police were well aware that once news of Hong Wengang's arrest spread, the real big fish—the international counterfeit currency syndicate—would surely flee and disappear without a trace. Therefore, they needed to turn Hong Wengang into a "silent prisoner," using this time difference to deliver a fatal blow to the counterfeit currency syndicate.

……

at the same time.

Inside a hillside villa in Deep Water Bay.

This is Tan Cheng's (Ah Cheng's) private residence. Compared to Mr. Yao's old-fashioned, luxurious castle, Tan Cheng's home is more like a showroom for a nouveau riche. There are gilded decorations everywhere, abstract paintings of dubious authenticity hanging on the walls, and wine cabinets filled with expensive foreign liquors.

But at this moment, the owner of this mansion is like a wild beast trapped in a cage.

"Aren't you going to buy it?!" Tan Cheng roared into the phone, ripping off his tie. "Not even at half price? Are you bunch of bastards trying to take advantage of our misfortune?!"

"Beep—beep—beep—"

The call had already been disconnected.

Tan Cheng angrily slammed the receiver onto the sofa, his chest heaving violently.

Throughout the day, he and Mr. Yao practically bombarded their contact list with calls. Like two humble salesmen, they tried to sell their old counterfeit banknotes to buyers who had previously begged them for supplies.

But the result was disheartening.

Lu Chen had already spread the news to the black market: "Super US dollars have been introduced," "A counterfeit money gang has goods that are of the real currency level," "A 1:5 fire sale price"... These messages spread like a virus in the underground world.

At this critical juncture, who would be foolish enough to buy those soon-to-be-obsolete "waste papers" from international counterfeit money groups?

"Damn it... damn it!"

Tan Cheng grabbed the whiskey on the table and took a big gulp. The pungent liquid flowed down his throat, but it couldn't extinguish the anger in his heart. He knew that the international counterfeit money syndicate was sinking, and he didn't want to go down with it; he needed to plan his escape route in advance.

Just then.

"Ring ring—"

In the corner of the living room, the landline suddenly rang shrilly.

He frowned as he walked over and answered the phone.

"Feed? Who?"

Good afternoon, Mr. Tan.

On the other end of the phone came a voice that had been electronically altered. The voice was elegant and composed, carrying an air of superiority and control.

"Who are you?" Tan Cheng asked warily.

"You can call me 'the painter,' but my paintings are Franklin."

Upon hearing the name, Tan Cheng's hand trembled violently, and he almost threw the phone away.

painter!

Could it be that mysterious person who drove them to the brink, stole Hong Wengang's order, and created the super-sized US dollar?!

"It's you?!" Tan Cheng gritted his teeth. "You dare call me? Do you know how much business you've ruined for us?"

"Huh?" The painter chuckled. "Mr. Tan, why do you complain like a child? The adult world is all about profit. If you can't make super-dollars, then you deserve to have your market taken away."

"So what exactly did you want to do by making that call? To show off?" Tan Cheng lowered his voice, a hint of murderous intent flashing in his eyes.

"No, I'm here to discuss cooperation," the painter's tone shifted, "Mr. Tan, I know your current predicament. The old counterfeit banknotes aren't selling, the men under you are demoralized, this ship is about to sink... Am I right?"

Tan Cheng fell silent. Because the other party's words were straightforward and precise.

"I have the best goods—super US dollars, while your international counterfeit currency group has a global sales network and customer list."

The painter continued his enticement, "How about we cooperate? I'll handle production, and you can handle sales. With this powerful alliance, the entire Asian, no, the entire world's counterfeit money market will be ours."

"cooperate?"

Tan Cheng was a smart man, but also an extremely selfish one. He instantly understood the underlying meaning: "Since your goods are so good, why come to me? Wouldn't you earn more if you sold them yourself?"

"Because of the risk."

The painter's voice carried a hint of helplessness and "sincerity," "Mr. Tan, to be honest, I made a deal with Hong Wengang last night. But that idiot was too careless; the cops actually tracked his movements."

"Last night at Black Reef Bay, I almost got caught up in it too. Although I escaped, that unlucky guy Hong Wengang is probably drinking coffee at the police station right now."

Tan Cheng gasped.

Hong Wengang has been arrested?!

No wonder we couldn't get in touch with that sickly guy all day; the cops had taken him down!

"Through this experience, I realized something," the painter continued, "I'm an artist, only good at creating. This kind of dangerous work involving being in the public eye and dealing with buyers is best left to professional 'businessmen.' And you are the perfect candidates."

Upon hearing this, Tan Cheng's heart began to pound.

The painter's caution gave him an opportunity—an opportunity to seize power! If he could obtain the exclusive agency rights for the super-sized US dollars, he could instantly replace Mr. Yao, control the international counterfeit currency group, and become the new king of counterfeit currency!

Tan Cheng narrowed his eyes, greed beginning to overwhelm his reason.

"Sir painter, I am very interested in your proposal, but I have a small suggestion."

Tan Cheng's eyes darted around, and his tone turned sinister. "Since it's a cooperation, why add Mr. Yao? He's already a useless piece of trash. Keeping him around will only cause him to take our money and boss us around."

"Oh?" The painter's voice held a hint of amusement. "So what you mean is?"

"What I mean is..."

Tan Cheng gripped the receiver tightly, a sinister smile spreading across his face. "Once I'm in charge, all the channels of the international counterfeit currency syndicate will be mine. We can still cooperate then, and the efficiency will be even higher."

"You're trying to kill your boss?"

"The capable should take the lead. Mr. Yao is already old. Why not let him 'retire' with dignity?" Tan Cheng made no attempt to hide his ambition.

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the phone.

"As long as the sales network remains intact, I don't care who's in charge," the painter gave Tan Cheng the answer he wanted most. "I only care about the results, not the process. Mr. Tan, if you can prove your abilities, then our cooperation will begin the moment you take that position."

A cruel glint flashed in Tan Cheng's eyes: "Fine! Give me three days, and I'll take care of these 'family matters'."

The painter smiled: "Mr. Tan is indeed a man destined for great things. I'll be waiting for your good news in three days."

"beep--"

The phone hangs up.

Tan Cheng threw away the receiver, walked to the French windows, and looked at the dark night outside.

There was no fear on his face, only a frenzied madness of someone about to take power.

"Old man, don't blame me for being ruthless."

Tan Cheng picked up another phone and dialed several trusted confidants' numbers.

"Hey, Big Fool, gather the brothers, grab your gear. Tomorrow night, we're going to Mr. Yao's villa. We're going to pull off a big heist."

……

The next morning.

Police Headquarters, Fox Hunt Task Force Office.

The air was thick with the smell of tobacco and the bitterness of overnight coffee.

Ya Zi and Song Zijie had been up all night.

"Madam, it's been 12 hours."

Song Zijie glanced at the clock on the wall, his brow furrowed. "That Hong Wengang still refuses to talk, insisting on seeing a lawyer. Besides, he has a heart condition, so the brothers can't easily take action against him... If this continues, we'll have to release him or transfer him to the prosecution. And once he's transferred, the news won't be able to be contained."

The boy rubbed his temples, his eyes bloodshot.

She knew the urgency of the situation; the counterfeit money ring was like a frightened fox, ready to scurry into its hole at the slightest hint of trouble.

Just then.

"Ring ring—"

The red dedicated phone on the table rang again.

The boy perked up and immediately picked up the phone.

"Feed? I'm a child."

"Madam, it's me."

On the other end of the phone came Song Zihao's steady but slightly tired voice.

"Brother Hao? Any new developments?"

"There is indeed good news," Song Zihao's voice carried a chilling undercurrent before a decisive battle. "According to my intelligence, Tan Cheng, that traitor, has been blinded by greed and is preparing to make his move in order to seize power."

"Make a move? Against Mr. Yao?" The boy was very surprised when he heard this.

"That's right," Song Zihao said coldly, "Tan Cheng has decided to get rid of Mr. Yao and force his way into power."

"Tonight at 10 PM, at Mr. Yao's villa. Tan Cheng will bring his trusted gunmen to 'force him to resign'."

The boy's eyes lit up.

Black eat black!

This is a golden opportunity!

"you mean……"

"They will all be here tonight."

Song Zihao gave his final advice: "Tan Cheng's men will be carrying a lot of heavy weaponry. You don't need to prosecute them for counterfeiting; just take them down in one fell swoop on charges of 'illegal possession of weapons,' 'organized crime,' and 'attempted murder'!"

"As for the evidence of counterfeit money... I'll find it for you when we arrest the people and search the villa and company."

"good!"

The boy slammed his hand on the table, stood up, and all the fatigue of the past few days vanished.

"10 PM tonight, Sai Kung Tai Long Wan, Yao Family Villa."

"Officer Song!"

Ya Zi looked at Song Zijie standing to the side.

"arrive!"

"All personnel assemble! This time, we're going to uproot this cancer!"

"Yes, Madam!"

……

At this time, in Kowloon Tong Villa.

Lu Chen put down his listening headphones and stretched.

Beside him, Ruan Mei was gently feeding "Sprite" like a baby, while the energetic "Cola" was jumping and thrashing about, treating Lu Chen's earphone cord like prey. Seeing Lu Chen's relaxed and contented expression after hanging up the phone, Ruan Mei, though unaware of the details, guessed it was good news. She blinked her big eyes and asked curiously, "Chen, is everything resolved?"

"That's about it," Lu Chen said with a smile, patting Ruan Mei's hair. "After tonight, Brother Hao should be able to get a good night's sleep."