We agreed on the twelve zodiac animals, but you've transformed into the Monkey King?

Two machine gunners stepped forward and, with a loud crash, slammed two heavy, water-cooled Maxim machine guns onto the edge of the stage, aiming the muzzles at the boxes on the second floor.

Huang Jinrong's four fastest-reacting henchmen roared as they pulled Browning shirts from their waists and charged forward.

The military police company commander brandished his Mauser rifle.

"Bang bang bang bang!"

A dense volley of rifle fire. Four notorious double-flowered red sticks in the French Concession were instantly riddled with bullets, crashing straight onto the red carpet.

Two thousand spectators were so terrified they wet themselves and covered their heads under their chairs. The only sound in the huge theater was the clanging of spent cartridges being ejected from gun barrels.

The sound of military boots separated them.

Lu Xiaojia walked in. He looked up at the figure on the second floor, revealing his sparse teeth.

"Boss Huang, the show's over. It's my turn to give you the final toast."

Huang Jinrong stood before the second-floor railing, his eyes twitching violently. Only now did he finally understand that his proud underground empire was nothing but a fart in the face of warlords.

"Go! Drag that old face down from upstairs!" Lu Xiaojia roared.

A dozen or so fierce military police rushed up to the second floor with their guns drawn and kicked down the door of the private room.

Before Huang Jinrong could even draw his gun, a military policeman reversed his rifle without hesitation, and the heavy wooden stock slammed into the back of his head.

"Buzz—"

Huang Jinrong's obese body collapsed heavily.

Two military policemen stepped forward, each grabbing one of his legs, like a butcher dragging a dead pig that had just been knocked unconscious.

"Thump! Thump! Thump! Thump!"

They grabbed Huang Jinrong by the ankles and dragged this tycoon of the Qingmen family down the wooden stairs, one step at a time. His dark blue robe was torn, his face slammed against the steps, scraping off the skin and smearing blood all over his face.

After wiping away the spilled tea and mud from the onlookers, it was thrown in front of Lu Xiaojia's leather boots under everyone's gaze.

No one dared to breathe during the entire performance. Lu Lanchun, who had just been gracefully moving her flowing sleeves on stage, was now slumped on the ground, trembling like a leaf in the autumn wind.

Huang Jinrong struggled to open his eyes, blood flowing into his pupils.

He looked at Lu Xiaojia, then at the ruins of the room, and suddenly let out a hoarse chuckle.

"You little beast... can you build this stage... can you take it down?"

"Still pretending to be a Buddha, huh?!" Lu Xiaojia kicked Huang Jinrong in the mouth. "Throw him into the water dungeon of the Military Governor's Office. I'll make him beg me to return that slap!"

……

St. Mary's Hospital, the VIP ward on the top floor.

A languid chanson played from the gramophone. Shelly sat on the velvet sofa, her long legs crossed, a slender Moore cigarette between her fingers.

A hand-drawn map of Shanghai was spread on the coffee table, and Wen Xiao's finger was pointing to the location of the Longhua branch factory in the XH district.

"Lu Yongxiang's front lines are fighting, and they need tens of thousands of bullets every day." Wen Xiao frowned. "To kill this old bastard, we must take over the outer perimeter of the arsenal. Cut off his logistics, and he won't be able to continue fighting."

"Detective, would you like to go downstairs and register as well?"

Lying on the hospital bed, Meng Huai clutched his bandaged back, wincing in pain: "That's an arsenal! He Fenglin has a full-strength military police battalion stationed there! What do we have? Five hundred laborers at the docks? Or those few dozen spineless cowards in the police station who'd change their pants at the mere sound of firecrackers?"

Shelly flicked her cigarette ash, ruthlessly shattering Wen Xiao's illusions:

"Lieutenant Meng's words may be rough, but they make sense. Jardine Matheson has money. As long as Inspector Wen gives the word, I can get a batch of the latest Thompson submachine guns tomorrow. But the problem is, who will fire them?"

She stood up and walked to the map:

"Detective Wen, in Shanghai, there are only two conditions that would allow you to crack this nut. First, a miracle occurs, and the French Consulate General suddenly goes mad and is willing to mobilize warships and artillery to fully support you; second, the tens of thousands of Qingmen workers in the factory suddenly become disillusioned and are willing to join you in rebellion."

Shelly chuckled and exhaled a long, thin smoke ring: "But neither of these possibilities exists. The French only care about money and would never provoke a warlord; and those workers only recognize Huang Jinrong and Du Risheng. Inspector Wen, admit it, this is a dead end."

The ward fell into dead silence.

Wen Xiao stared at the map, rubbing his temples in frustration. There were still a little over two days left before the mission ended. Two nodes remained to be captured.

Just then—

"Bang!"

The mahogany door to the ward was smashed open.

A junior police officer from the French Precinct leaned against the doorframe, gasping for breath.

"Detective... Detective! The sky has fallen! They've broken in!"

Wen Xiao frowned: "Speak clearly! Who called in?"

"Warlord! Lu Xiaojia!" Xiao Zhao swallowed hard. "Lu Xiaojia mobilized a battalion of military police, driving an armored tank, and smashed through all the roadblocks and the gate of the Gongwu Stage in our French Concession!"

The ward fell eerily quiet. Only the gramophone continued its mournful sound.

The young police officer was completely oblivious, still gesturing and shouting, his voice cracking:

"Heavy machine guns were set up on the main street! In front of two thousand people, they ripped all four of Boss Huang's bodyguards to shreds! Boss Huang was dragged by the ankle all the way out of the French Concession and thrown into the Governor's Mansion's water dungeon!"

Shelly's finger twitched, and the expensive cigarette fell onto the carpet with a "thud".

Wen Xiao and Meng Huai exchanged a glance and blurted out in unison:

"Holy crap, a miracle has happened!"

……

Night, the interrogation hall outside the dungeon of the Longhua Military Governor's Office.

In the center of the hall, Lu Xiaojia was furiously kicking over a military doctor. The peak of the eight-hour cell exudation period had arrived, and half of his face was completely swollen, resembling the comical yet vicious pig's head from Angry Birds.

"Useless! Would it kill you to wipe it gently?!" Lu Xiaojia stomped on the medic's hand, grinding it hard. "Get me some salt water and splash that old bastard in the cell! I want to hear him scream!"

"Xiao Jia, calm down." He Fenglin lit a cigar and exhaled a thick cloud of smoke. "Huang Jinrong has been soaking in sewage for three hours. If we keep him alive, he'll die. We need to keep him alive to catch bigger fish."

The voice just fell.

The wooden door in the hall, covered with sheet metal, was pushed open.

A man in a blue robe folded up his dripping black cloth umbrella, hunched over, and squeezed in with a forced smile.

"Oh dear! Sirs, be careful of accidental discharge!" He shuddered in fright, skillfully pulling two large yellow croakers from his sleeve and stuffing them into the guard's hand at the door. "Please be lenient, sirs. I'm here to apologize to General He and Young Master Lu!"

"Hey, Boss Du Risheng." Lu Xiaojia released the military doctor beneath his feet, his snarling teeth flashing a mocking smile. "I thought your Qingmen would be bringing tens of thousands of people to storm the prison. What, you're the only one here to die?"

Du Risheng ran all the way to the center of the hall, and with a "thump," he knelt down on the floor tiles and kowtowed three times.

"General He! Young Master Lu! It's all the fault of the Qing Clan! Boss Huang was blind to recognize the true dragon that is Young Master. Young Master did well; consider it as cleaning house for the Qing Clan!"