The Aftermath

The next day, news of the Black Tiger Gang's downfall swept through every street and alley in Linhe County like a blood-tainted, late-autumn gale.

On every street corner and in every teahouse and tavern, people whispered among themselves, their faces full of uncertainty.

Some common folk clapped their hands in delight; some wealthy households mourned the gang's fall like a rabbit mourning a dead fox; and countless rumors grew wilder with every retelling.

The police hurriedly sealed off the streets around the Black Tiger Gang's headquarters, but the overpowering stench of blood and the chaos faintly visible through the cracks and over the walls had already leaked out, becoming the finest seasoning for the rumors.

As the sun climbed high in the sky, a gleaming black Ford pulled up outside the cordon.

The car door opened, and a middle-aged man in a dark blue silk gown slowly stepped out.

He was Song Li. He wasn't a county official, but his background was mysterious, and even the county magistrate greeted him with a cupped-fist salute and called him Mr. Song.

By then, the blood covering the courtyard had begun to darken and congeal.

The severed limbs had been roughly gathered and covered, but the horrifying traces still lingered.

Mr. Song's gaze slowly swept across the scene. His expression, calm at first, gradually darkened.

It wasn't from fear or disgust, but from anger—and the gloom of something slipping beyond his control.

The Black Tiger Gang had been a dog he'd only just managed to put on a sturdy leash through special means. In the blink of an eye, someone had slaughtered it and wiped out its den.

And just last night, he'd told Zhou Wenren that the Black Tiger Gang matter had been settled. Then this happened right away. Wasn't that a brutal slap in the face?

"Tell me everything." Song Li's voice was quiet, but it carried a chill.

The coroner and police captain hurried over and nervously reported that every victim had died from a single blow. The wounds were extraordinarily sharp and smooth, unlike anything ordinary blades could inflict.

Lei Tiger had been beheaded, Scarface had been nearly split in two diagonally, and most of the other gang members had been struck in the neck or abdomen.

The gang had suffered devastating property losses, and Lei Tiger's bedroom had been left completely empty.

Mr. Song went to Lei Tiger's headless corpse and crouched down. Ignoring the filth, he carefully examined the severed neck, then inspected the gruesome wound on Scarface beside him.

He traced a line through the air with his finger, mimicking the path and angle that had caused the wounds. His brow furrowed tighter and tighter.

"This isn't the work of a martial artist." He muttered under his breath, stood up, and walked toward the bedroom.

Aside from a few empty boxes and scattered odds and ends, everything else had already been cleared out.

"Mr. Song, about the Investigation Bureau..." The police captain hesitated.

"What did the Investigation Bureau say?" Mr. Song glanced up.

"Captain Yue seems to have found something in the south of the city last night. He briefly clashed with someone, but the other party's movements were too strange, and he couldn't stop him."

"Yue Shan went out personally and still couldn't catch him?" Mr. Song's lips curled into a cold smile. "Well, it seems our little county town really has welcomed an expert who doesn't know the rules. He chose to target a place I'd just finished setting in order."

He turned around, his voice cold and commanding. "Investigate. First, look into every stranger the Black Tiger Gang had contact with recently, especially anyone who doesn't look like they belong to the martial world.

"Second, keep an eye on every pawnshop, silver shop, and antique store in the county and the surrounding area. Watch for any large or suspicious transactions.

"Third, put more men at the docks, train station, and every major road out of town. Pay attention to anyone acting strangely."

After that, he paid the wrecked room no further attention. He turned and walked straight out toward the black car.

"Pah! What's he so high and mighty about?" A young officer, his face still tinged with boyish innocence, spat toward the car. "He's not even our bureau chief, but he gives orders with more swagger than the chief! Look at him—what does he think we are?"

"Exactly! We've been working all morning without so much as a sip of water, and he just rides up in his car, points fingers, covers his nose because the place stinks, then dusts off his hands and leaves!" Another officer, somewhat older, also couldn't hold back his complaints. He kicked a loose stone hard.

Captain Wang had just seen Song Li off and was already feeling a headache coming on. When he turned and heard his men grumbling, his expression immediately darkened. "Shut your mouths! Do you not want to keep your jobs? You'll say anything that comes into your heads!"

The officers jumped in fright and sulkily fell silent, though their resentment remained plain in their eyes.

Captain Wang looked around. Only his own men were nearby, so he lowered his voice. "Do you know who that was just now? Mr. Song! Song Li!"

"I know. He's just some big shot with connections..." the young officer muttered.

"Connections?" Captain Wang sneered and pointed upward. "Forget our bureau chief—even County Magistrate Zhou has to treat him with respect and call him Mr. Song."

"If I hear any more brainless talk from you lot, I'll knock your teeth down your throats."

After warning them, Captain Wang climbed onto his battered old bicycle and pedaled off at an unhurried pace, leaving the officers staring at one another.

The young officer rubbed the back of his head, still looking somewhat disgruntled, but his voice had dropped. "The captain's way too cautious..."

Only then did another veteran officer, who'd barely said a word the whole time, leisurely light a cheap cigarette and take a deep drag. "Kid, you haven't been in the bureau long, have you? The waters in Linhe County run deep."

Funeral Street, Deliverance Studio.

Chen Mo opened the shop early as usual and got up to sweep the area outside.

But his complexion was even paler than yesterday, almost completely drained of color.

After sweeping the two steps outside, he was already gasping for breath.

He leaned against the doorframe to catch his breath for a long while before shuffling back inside and sitting down in the old wicker chair. He pulled a small celadon bottle from his clothes, his hand trembling so badly as he tipped out a pill that he nearly dropped it on the floor.

The bottle had come from the Black Tiger Gang's secret room. It held Qi-Replenishing Pills, which restored vital essence, and a bottle went for ten silver dollars on the market.

After finally taking the pill and closing his eyes to rest for a moment, he heard the clamoring outside swell louder and louder.

Boss Zhao from the Fortune Longevity Coffin Shop across the street had the loudest voice, his jubilation edged with forced bravado. "...Serves them right! Damn right they deserved it! Heaven has eyes! They even kept a coffin of golden-threaded nanmu in reserve? Bah! Leaving them to rot in the street and feed the wild dogs would've been too good for them!"

Old Man Li, who sold incense, candles, and paper offerings nearby, lowered his voice. "Keep it down, Brother Zhao... But come to think of it, does this mean we don't have to pay that monthly sanitation fee anymore?"

"Pay? Pay my ass!" Boss Zhao spat. "They're all dead. Should I pay the King of Hell?"

"They're really all dead?"

"All the ones who could fight are dead. The few left who steal chickens and dogs won't amount to anything."

Just then, the owners of several shops on the street gathered around, their sallow faces unusually light with the relief of having a burden lifted.

Chen Mo sat in the dim shop and listened to them talk. His face was still bloodless, but his fingers tapped lightly on the wicker chair's armrest, their rhythm somewhat erratic.

Suddenly, the chatter at the end of the street eerily died down.