Courtyard House: A Start with Black Gold Swallowing 100,000 Silver Dollars

"It's almost certainly true! Brother Chicken, you have to avenge me! Teach these ignorant country bumpkins a lesson!"

Where will they stay?

Chicken Bro swallowed two shrimp dumplings in one gulp, his cheeks bulging, his voice deep and muffled.

"20 Queen's Road, the entire fifth floor of the building, has been rented out."

The boss answered with certainty.

In fact, Li Wenguo had already bought out the property rights of that building, but he was kept in the dark.

"Queen's Road?"

Chicken Brother frowned. That place was teeming with foreigners, and the police patrolled it very frequently. These "shorty mules" dared not set foot there easily—if they caused trouble, the chains would be on their wrists within five minutes, which was not worth it.

What's more troublesome is that a new gang called "Wo Lien Shing" has emerged in the last six months. Although there are not many people, the leader of the gang is just as capable as me. If we run into each other on their turf and a fight breaks out, the outcome is hard to predict.

After all—crossing the line is tantamount to starting a war.

Hong Kong triads have long since drawn lines and established boundaries, recognizing owners for their territories; wherever a flag is planted, that's who it belongs to.

Anyone who dares to cross the line and provoke us will either fight to the death or kneel down and plant a flag to admit defeat.

In the early years, the Central and Western District was teeming with foreigners, and the police presence was so tight it was like a sieve. Many gangs tried to take a bite out of this lucrative area—collecting protection money, smashing up places, and robbing people—but they were all handcuffed and jailed within days. As time went on, everyone simply avoided the Central and Western District, which allowed Wen San and his gang to smoothly and steadily take over the territory.

Li Wenguo was well-off, and he pulled Lian Sheng along purely to support his own business. He didn't extort, blackmail, or bully others. The patrol officers were too lazy to bother with them—after all, they couldn't even find any criminal records against them.

In this way, He Liansheng became a rare sight in the gangster circles full of fighting and killing: clean, keeping to his boundaries, and not causing trouble.

But no sooner had Brother Chicken accepted the boss's "tea money" than the boss was tricked and his money was wasted. How could he swallow this insult? He immediately ordered ten of his men to intimidate Li Wenguo and force him to pay up and admit defeat.

In the blink of an eye, ten thugs with fierce eyebrows and arms thicker than a normal person's legs blocked Queen's Road.

The two passing patrol officers looked up, their brows immediately furrowing, their gazes sharp as knives, fixed intently on them.

"Oh, gentlemen, don't be nervous! We're just taking a stroll and getting some fresh air. We won't cause any trouble, so please don't worry!"

The gang leader, Fatty, immediately put on a smiling face, bowed and nodded, his hands hanging down by his trouser seams, as respectful as if he were serving his own father.

"Listen up—this is the Central and Western District, not your territory to run wild, you short mules! If you dare to lay a finger on me again, I'll blow your skull off!"

A patrolman slapped his gun holster on his waist, the sound as cold as a block of iron hitting ice.

"No, no! I absolutely won't cause you any trouble!"

Fat Biao patted his chest and swore an oath, only straightening up after the two patrol officers turned and walked away.

"Oh--!"

"Pooh!!!"

He spat a mouthful of phlegm onto the ground, rolled his eyes, and said with a mocking smile, "What the hell, you stinking cop!"

"We'll skin you alive sooner or later!"

His men joined in the commotion: "Yes! Skin them alive! Tie up their wives and daughters too... let them know what real thugs are like!"

"Let them open their dog eyes and see who the real masters of this street are!"

He's tough on the outside, but he's actually insecure inside.

Passersby spotted the group from afar and quickly grabbed their bags and pulled their children away, keeping a safe distance.

"Alright, alright, stop talking nonsense! We need to get down to business!"

We've arrived at Building 20.

Two men in suits and black leather shoes stood at the door. They were both tall and straight with calm eyes. They looked refined, but they were like two breathing walls.

"Stop! What are you doing?"

As soon as they saw Fat Biao and his group approaching, the two men immediately tensed their jaws and lowered their voices, speaking in a harsh tone.

—Just by looking at their setup, you can tell they're not here for afternoon tea.

"You guys from Brother Chicken's gang in Wan Chai! You'd better get out of here, or I'll beat you so badly your own mother won't remember your nickname!"

Fat Biao stiffened his neck, his chin raised so high it almost touched the sky.

"snort."

The man on the left sneered, his hand already on the baton at his waist: "This building is under Gui He and Lian Sheng's protection. If you dare to cause trouble here, you'll be fed the sea fish today."

The person on the right didn't say anything, but simply waved his hand lightly towards the inside of the glass door—the meaning was clear: there were more people behind, and more than one.

That's right, they are the thugs who have a winning streak.

He was forced to wear a sharp suit and polish his black shoes, and even practiced his posture three times. On the surface, he looked like a senior executive of a financial company; who would recognize him as a gangster? Not to mention, when patrolling, he couldn't even be bothered to lift his eyelids.

They don't collect protection money, don't get involved in prostitution, gambling, or drugs, and they rarely even engage in street fights. Even the police station tacitly acknowledges them as "outliers."

And a winning streak?

What the hell!

So this building was their territory!

Fatty's face twitched violently.

The local bullies in the Central and Western District aren't just making things up. My own small force is at best a nobody; if we really run into this wall, we'll probably get our teeth smashed.

As he hesitated, the door burst open with a "bang"—more than twenty burly men, all dressed in suits and ties and holding batons, rushed out and surrounded them in the blink of an eye.

"The Central and Western District is He Liansheng's territory. You're coming here to collect 'protection money,' which is overstepping your bounds. We can break your legs one by one and throw you into Victoria Harbour to feed the sharks."

The leader's voice wasn't loud, but every word struck the ground, making people's eardrums vibrate.

"Wait! It's a misunderstanding! It's all a misunderstanding!" Fatty Biao quickly waved his hands, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "We're here to discuss cooperation, to talk business! We're really not here to cause trouble!"

—The situation is pressing, so even if you're stubborn, you have to be as soft as a marshmallow.

The group of thugs behind him who had been baring their teeth just moments before were now all shrugging their necks, their palms sweating, and they didn't dare to look around.

To put it bluntly, they're just lazy bums who drift through life.

But this group of people in front of me, dressed in black suits with steel-like bodies, stood in a circle like professional bodyguards hunting wild beasts—who wouldn't be afraid?

"To discuss business?"

The leader scoffed, his eyes sharp as knives: "You bunch of losers, you think you're worthy to talk business with us?"

Fei Biao and his gang all had dragon and tiger tattoos on their arms, wore faded work pants, and creaky flip-flops. They were shouting about doing business—to anyone who heard them, it sounded like chewing on a piece of stale, leftover rice.

It's obvious they're here to collect protection money.

"Absolutely true! We're really here to discuss business! Yellow River Industry on the fifth floor, right? That's the only one upstairs, and we came here specifically to find them!" Fatty's forehead was beaded with sweat, and his tongue was slurring. He just wanted to rush upstairs in three steps at a time, intimidate those people until their legs went weak, and then slip away.

He didn't want to stay there a moment longer—uniformed police officers stood in front of him, and Lian Sheng's men squatted behind him; damn it, it felt like he was sandwiched between two guillotines.

In the past, when I came to scout locations, everything always went smoothly. But today, all the bad luck seems to have come at once.

"Are you really here to discuss business?"

The man in the suit who was leading the group squinted, his hand on his waist, not letting up.

It's not that I don't believe it at all—there really is a new Yellow River Industry store upstairs, and it's even being overseen by our own second-in-command; several groups of people have come to ask for directions these past few days, so it doesn't seem fake.

"More real than real gold! More efficacious than the Buddha statues in temples!"

Fat Biao quickly patted his chest, his knuckles thick and fleshy, but the gesture betrayed his guilty conscience.

"Okay, then you go up alone."

The man in the suit hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

If a real customer is turned away and business is delayed, the Second Master will blame him, and he'll be in deep trouble.

"Me? Just me?"

Fatty's eyes widened, and he poked his nose with his index finger, his chubby finger trembling.

He came here to establish his authority, but barging in alone is like going begging with an empty bowl in hand.

I'm afraid I'll be kicked out before I even open my mouth.

"Yes, only you are allowed."

"...Success! Success!!"

As soon as he said it, Fatty Biao's Adam's apple bobbed, and he swallowed back the rest of his sentence, "I admit defeat."

If they really turn around and run, wouldn't that be like revealing their hand? Where would Chicken Bro's face be then?

He glanced at his underlings outside the door, signaling them to wait where they were, then gripped the hem of his shirt tightly and plunged into the building's revolving door.

The elevator stopped on the fifth floor with a "ding".

As soon as he stepped out of the sedan chair, he was immediately struck by the black signboard with gold lettering on the wall—Yellow River Industry! The four large characters were so imposing that it was hard to breathe.

Two men in black suits stood ramrod straight at the door, their eyes as cold as ice crystals, guarding the glass door without moving an inch.

Fei Biao entered the building smoothly, but now that he was all alone, how scary was that?

Not to mention the two towering men at the door; just a sidelong glance from them sent chills down his spine.

But the task assigned by Brother Chicken cannot be abandoned.

If you can't be the leader, you'll have a hard time even making a living in the future.

Back then, he carried a watermelon knife and led seven or eight brothers to sweep through the entire streets of Wan Chai, spilling blood everywhere. Although he's lost some of his fiery temper now, that ruthlessness in his bones is still there.

At worst, we can just greet him with a smile, say a few polite words, and get by—after all, he's the only one with a mouth, so whatever he says goes.

Besides, he has He Liansheng backing him up. Would he dare to make a move? Does he have a death wish?

He took a deep breath, strolled to the front desk, and grinned at the girl: "Excuse me, could you please call your boss?"

The girl glanced up and her brows immediately furrowed – this face, this attire, this gaze, he looked exactly like a street hustler, not a businessman.

Her eyelids drooped, and her tone was as cold as well water: "Did you make an appointment?"

"No...no appointment."

Fei Biao's throat was dry, and his fingers unconsciously picked at the seam of his pants.

In Wan Chai, who needs an appointment? Kick down the door, smash the table, and the boss signs with his leg shaking—the whole process is so familiar that you could go through it with your eyes closed.

He always acted arrogantly over there, and no one dared to stop him.

But this is the Central and Western District.

Even a powerful dragon can't suppress a local snake; one must bow one's head when necessary.

He's long past the age of wielding a knife and hacking people; now he believes more in the saying: "If you can keep your eyes open, you'll live longer."

"No appointment? Sorry then." The girl crossed her legs and tapped the counter lightly with her fingertips. "The boss earns tens of thousands a minute, he doesn't have time to waste on idle people."

Fatty Biao gritted his teeth, cursing under his breath: Damn it!

If this were Wan Chai, they would have dragged you into a back alley and made you drink a bucket of fish ball soup!

He's done this kind of thing more than once.

But here? He didn't even dare to shout.

"It's really urgent! Please make an exception and take me to see the boss."

He took half a step forward, his voice soft and sticky.

"No." The girl's face hardened, her tone as firm as iron. "The boss doesn't see people without an appointment. Please leave."

Before she could finish speaking, she had already pressed the button below the stage: "If you don't leave now, I'll call security."