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

"Hahahaha!" Lu Xiaojia burst into maniacal laughter. He stepped forward, raised his military boot, and stomped hard on Du Risheng's right shoulder, grinding it down. "Boss Du, no matter how loudly you bang your head, will it put back in my two missing teeth? That old dog in the water dungeon, I'm going to kill him today!"

"Young Master, please calm down! Young Master, please calm down!" Du Risheng was sweating profusely from the pain, but his face was all smiles. "Boss Huang's worthless life is not worth getting your hands dirty. I'm here today to deliver 'battle' to the Marshal and the General."

He Fenglin, who had been sitting in his armchair smoking a cigar, narrowed his eyes: "Boss Du, what do you mean?"

Ignoring the military boots on his shoulders, Du Risheng pulled out a stack of documents from his pocket and raised them high above his head.

"General He, the Zhili and Anhui armies are about to clash. When the cannons roar, gold flows like water. The commander-in-chief is at the front, and what he needs most is military pay."

He Fenglin listened intently. "This is the shareholding agreement of Sanxin Company. From today onwards, all 70% of the shares held by Qingmen will be offered to the Commander-in-Chief and the General."

He Fenglin sat bolt upright. The Sanxin Company, which monopolized opium! They made tens of millions of silver dollars annually just from protection money!

Du Risheng didn't stop, continuing in the most humble tone:

"General, although the opium trade is extremely profitable, it's shady. You are the commander-in-chief, and the Marshal is a pillar of the nation. We can't expect our brothers in uniform to be carrying heavy loads at the docks and fighting with foreign police over a few ounces of opium, can we? That would severely damage the Marshal's reputation!"

Du Risheng gazed upon He Fenglin:

"These low-class, dirty, and tiring jobs should be left to us Qingmen's chamber pots! You take 70% of the shares, sit in the Governor's Mansion, and don't have to worry about anything. We'll deal with the foreigners in the French Concession, and we'll suppress the tens of thousands of laborers in the Sixteen Wharves. Every month, millions of dollars in military pay will be delivered cleanly to your residence."

He Fenglin's fingers, holding the cigar, froze in mid-air. He suddenly had a strange feeling that the emaciated, withered man kneeling in the mud was terrifying.

Du Risheng changed the subject:

"But General, to keep the foreigners in the French Concession and those tens of thousands of opium-addicted laborers in check, I, a sickly old man, can't do it alone. Only if Boss Huang holds the position of Chief Inspector of the Chinese Police in the French Concession will the foreigners accept it, and only then can the money flow keep going."

Du Risheng kowtowed again, saying heavily, "Therefore, I dare to beg the General to let Boss Huang go. Let him go back to be your slave and earn your military pay! If he dies in the water dungeon, the police will seize Sanxin's account books tomorrow, leaving tens of thousands of laborers leaderless, and those millions of taels of silver every month... will be wasted!"

Lu Xiaojia was about to explode again: "Bullshit! I don't need that little bit of money..."

"Xiao Jia! Shut up!"

He Fenglin suddenly changed his humble demeanor and shouted sharply. He stepped forward, pulled Lu Xiaojia aside, and personally took the contract from Du Risheng's hand.

"Boss Du, you really have a brilliant mind." He Fenglin gave Du Risheng a deep look, put the contract in his pocket, patted Du Risheng on the shoulder, and said, "You're right. As long as a dog can guard the house and bring back bones, a little discipline is enough."

He Fenglin waved his hand: "Go, bring Boss Huang out and return him to Boss Du."

A few minutes later.

Two military policemen dragged Huang Jinrong, who was covered in excrement, festering and stinking, out of the room.

"Thank you, General! Thank you, Young Master!" Du Risheng thanked him profusely again, then struggled to carry the 170-pound Huang Jinrong onto his thin back, and staggered out of the hall, bowing and scraping.

The moment the door closed.

A pale white flash of lightning streaked across the pitch-black, rainy night outside.

Du Risheng, carrying Huang Jinrong on his back, lost all traces of his obsequiousness and fear in that instant.

"Risheng..." Huang Jinrong, who was on his back, opened his eyes with difficulty, "Seventy percent of the shares...you gave them all...this grudge..."

"Brother Huang, keep your breath."

Du Risheng opened the black umbrella to shield himself from the wind and rain. He looked up at the deep darkness of the night.

"Contracts are dead, but people are alive. He Fenglin took the 70% share, and from today onwards, he will not only not kill us, but will also send troops to protect our opium ships. I've essentially bought a battalion of his military police to be our security with a blank check on paper."

A cold, venomous smile slowly crept onto Du Risheng's pale face.

"Let him swallow the money first. Once the Zhili-Anhui war breaks out, I'll have a major strike at the docks. At that time, he won't be able to ship the bullets, and Lu Yongxiang will personally take his head. I'll make the Anhui clique pay for the hundreds of thousands of silver dollars in funeral expenses with their lives."

"Risheng... the warlord has heavy machine guns. Our workers are on strike... He Fenglin will just start killing them. What can we do to fight him head-on..."

Upon hearing this, Du Risheng stopped in his tracks.

"Brother Huang, if this were in the past, we would have been low-class thugs, and if a warlord had a gun to our heads, we would have just swallowed our anger."

He turned his head, his gaze piercing through the rain, looking towards the direction of the French Concession:

"But things are different now. In this stagnant pool of Shanghai, a great sage has arrived who dares to overturn the Heavenly Palace."

Huang Jinrong was stunned for a moment, and a glimmer of light flashed in his cloudy old eyes.

"You've seen that young man before." Du Risheng, trudging through the mud, carried the former king of Shanghai on his back, step by step into the darkness ahead.

"Gong Hexiang, Fifth Master Wen."

……

Late at night, a torrential downpour began. In Wen Xiao's private office, part of the French police station.

Wen Xiao had just rushed back to the bureau from the hospital. As soon as he took off his soaking wet coat, the bakelite telephone on the table started ringing frantically.

Wen Xiao walked over and picked up the receiver.

"Good evening, Inspector Wen. I hope I haven't disturbed your enjoyment of your bedtime brandy, because my bottle of 1890 Bordeaux was completely ruined this evening by the vibrations of the conveyor belt!"

On the other end of the phone came the voice of MeanMean, the French Consul General in Shanghai.

Wen Xiao's lips curled into a smile: "Consul General, I heard that Marshal Lu's son is in our territory tonight, without even knocking on the door."

"Knock on the door? My God, if they knew how to knock, I'd even buy them a cup of coffee!" the consul roared.

"A British armored vehicle, leaking oil and reeking of diesel fuel, so crudely crushed the exquisite brass and mahogany gate of the Gongwutai! Heaven knows how much I loved the carvings on that gate! These uncivilized soldiers are a blatant desecration of French aesthetics!"

Wen Xiao struck a match and lit a cigarette: "So, what does the Consul General intend to do? Send the strongest diplomatic note to the Governor's Mansion?"

"A diplomatic note? Oh, dear Wen, are you kidding me?"

The consul general scoffed on the other end: "Diplomatic notes are for fools who warm up their champagne at dinner parties. We don't write letters when someone drives a tank and splatters mud on the French flag. We write epitaphs."

Wen Xiao exhaled a puff of smoke: "What do you mean?"

"I don't care how loud you are to give them this etiquette lesson. I only have one request, Inspector."

"Please speak."

"Try not to splatter blood on the plane trees on Avenue Joffre. Those cleaners are too slow; the dark red blood clots will seriously ruin the color balance of the whole street. Have a pleasant evening, Inspector Wen."

"Click." The call ended.

Wen Xiao put down the receiver and chuckled softly.

"Creak—"

The door was pushed open without knocking.

Wen Xiao reached for the pistol at his waist. He looked at the thin figure at the door and raised an eyebrow.

Du Risheng was wearing a soaking wet gray coarse cloth long shirt, and his whole body reeked of a sour smell.