Whom Should the Gun Be Pointed At?

The car door opened.

There were no ambushing gunmen outside, only what looked like an ordinary shantytown.

Such shantytowns were scattered across Tokyo like stars, too numerous to count.

Within the urban area, major syndicates, financial conglomerates, and powerful forces maintained basic order, so things were somewhat better. But in the distant outskirts, these shantytowns hid even more filth and evil, lawless and unrestrained.

Wang Dafa's white leather shoes stepped onto the filthy ground, into the muck, yet he did not care in the slightest. "Look over there. What do you see?"

Shi Tiexin looked over.

He saw brazen daylight robberies, small-time gangs too shabby for the stage gunning each other down, corpses tossed into roadside corners, their foul blood reeking as flies circled overhead. The cause of death might have been nothing more than someone taking a fancy to his phone.

Wang Dafa pointed at the dead man. "See that guy? Look at the pile of trash beside him and tell me—what is that thing surrounded by flies?"

Shi Tiexin saw it clearly and said heavily, "A hand."

Wang Dafa sneered. "Describe that hand carefully."

"A right hand. A child's hand, a child who had only recently been born. The skin is rotten and shriveled, with bite marks." Shi Tiexin looked at Wang Dafa. "What are you trying to say?"

Wang Dafa smiled faintly and changed the subject. "You think dealing Unique Product devastates the country and harms the people, that it should not be done, right? Then let me ask you: if selling drugs should not be done, does that mean manufacturing and selling counterfeit currency should be? Does that mean arms trafficking should be?"

Shi Tiexin shook his head. "It's different."

Wang Dafa shot back, "How is it different? I get it. Do you think drug use