Late at night, all was silent.
Soon, it was midnight.
In an old resettlement complex beyond the Fourth Ring Road of the Imperial Capital.
Room 402 of Building Three reeked of cheap tobacco mixed with low-quality alcohol.
Ling Xiaodong, once the feared King of the Underworld who had dominated overseas, was now wearing a yellowed, hole-ridden undershirt.
He lay sprawled listlessly on a creaking wooden bed, holding a battered phone with a cracked corner of its screen.
His thumb kept swiping up through Yin Yue's short-video feed, aimlessly scrolling through videos of beautiful female streamers scantily dressed and desperately skirting the line.
He was trying to use this cheap sensory stimulation to forcibly ease his utterly depressed and melancholy mood.
Ling Xiaodong had no choice but to be this despondent.
Three days ago, he had learned through an encrypted international report from his subordinate Leona overseas what was practically the worst possible bolt from the blue.
The last ten million US dollars remaining in his Swiss bank account.
Had actually been frozen and locked down by the Dragon King Hall through various means!
Not only had he lost the Underworld, the powerful rear base he had painstakingly built over many years.
He had also been reduced to a destitute loner who could not even pull a few red bills from his pocket...
The massive Underworld mercenary corps had scattered like monkeys from a fallen tree. Of his subordinates, only Leona had luckily escaped and was still barely willing to follow his orders.
What troubled Ling Xiaodong even more was this.
During his two brief satellite calls with Leona, he could clearly hear the dissatisfaction and resentment laced through her tone.
That blonde foreign woman from the Italian mafia, who had always worshipped strength and obeyed his every command.
Had clearly,