Aftermath

The next day, the news of the Black Tiger Gang's annihilation swept through the streets and alleys of Linhe County like a cold wind carrying the scent of blood in late autumn.

On street corners and in teahouses, everyone whispered to one another, their faces filled with shock and uncertainty.

There were commoners clapping in delight, wealthy families feeling a sense of shared grief, and countless speculations that grew more bizarre with every retelling.

Police had hurriedly cordoned off the street where the Black Tiger Gang headquarters stood, but the soaring stench of blood and the vaguely visible carnage had already leaked through door cracks and over walls, becoming the perfect seasoning for rumors.

When the sun was high, a shiny, pitch-black Ford automobile pulled up outside the police cordon.

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

He was Song Li. He was not a county official, but his background was mysterious; even the county magistrate would bow and address him as Mr. Song upon meeting him.

At this moment, the bloodstains covering the courtyard floor had already begun to turn black and congeal.

Although the severed limbs had been roughly gathered and covered, the shocking traces of the slaughter remained impossible to ignore.

Mr. Song's gaze swept slowly across the scene, his expression shifting from initial calm to a deepening gloom.

It was not out of fear or disgust, but rather anger and the dark realization that things were slipping out of his control.

The Black Tiger Gang, a dog he had only just managed to put a secure collar on using special methods, had been slaughtered overnight, its entire nest uprooted.

Moreover, he had told Zhou Wenren just last night that the matter with the Black Tiger Gang was resolved, and now this happened—was this not a vicious slap to his own face?

"Explain in detail." Mr. Song's voice was low, yet carried a chill.

The coroner and the police chief nearby hurried forward, reporting with trembling voices: the victims had all been killed in a single strike, the wounds were extremely sharp and smooth, and could not have been caused by ordinary blades.

Lei Tiger had been decapitated, Scarface had been nearly cleaved in two diagonally, and the rest of the gang members had mostly been struck in vital areas like the neck or abdomen.

Financial losses were heavy, especially in Lei Tiger's bedroom, which was now completely empty.

Mr. Song walked to Lei Tiger's headless corpse, crouched down, and ignoring the filth, carefully examined the severed neck, then checked the terrifying wound on Scarface nearby.

He traced a line in the air with his finger, simulating the trajectory and angle that would cause such wounds, his brows knitting tighter and tighter.

"Not a martial arts style from the underworld." He muttered to himself, stood up, and walked toward the bedroom.

Inside, apart from a few empty crates and scattered debris, everything else had been cleared out.

"Mr. Song, regarding the Inspection Bureau..." the police captain began, then hesitated.

"What does the Inspection Bureau say?" Mr. Song raised his eyes.

"Captain Yue seemed to have made a discovery in the south of the city last night and briefly exchanged blows with someone, but the opponent's movement techniques were too elusive to intercept."

"Even Yue Shan personally took action and couldn't keep them?" A cold curve tugged at the corner of Mr. Song's mouth. "Very well. It seems a master who doesn't understand the rules has truly come to our little county. And they specifically chose to strike at a courtyard I had just finished tidying up."

He turned around, his tone carrying an unquestionable chill: "Investigate. First, everyone the Black Tiger Gang has had contact with recently, especially those who don't look like they walk the path of the underworld.

"Second, keep a close watch on all pawnshops, silver shops, and antique stores in the county and surrounding areas for any large or suspicious movement of wealth.

"Third, increase manpower at the docks, the station, and all major exits from the city; keep an eye out for anyone acting strangely."

Having said this, he stopped looking at the wreckage of the room, turned directly, and walked toward the black car outside.

"Pah! What's he acting so high and mighty for?" A young policeman with a hint of naivety still on his face spat toward the direction of the car. "He's not our bureau chief, yet he acts even more imposing when giving orders! Look at him, what does he take us for?"

"Exactly. Our brothers have been busy all morning without even a drop of water, and he just sits in his car, points fingers, covers his nose because he thinks it's dirty, and then just leaves!" Another slightly older policeman couldn't help but complain, kicking a piece of rubble hard.

Captain Wang, who had just seen Mr. Song off, was already feeling a splitting headache. Hearing his subordinates' grumbling, his face darkened instantly: "Shut your mouths, all of you! Do you not want your jobs anymore? You dare to spout anything that comes to mind!"

The policemen were startled and fell silent, though the resentment in their eyes remained clear.

Captain Wang scanned the surroundings, and seeing only his own men, lowered his voice further: "Do you know who that was just now? Mr. Song! Song Li!"

"I know, he's just someone with a background..." the young policeman muttered.

"A background?" Captain Wang sneered and pointed toward the sky. "Forget our bureau chief; even County Magistrate Zhou has to be polite and address him as Mr. Song when they meet."

"If I hear any more brainless talk from you lot, watch out for a slap to the face."

Captain Wang warned them before mounting his half-old bicycle and wobbling away, leaving the policemen staring at each other in place.

The young policeman rubbed the back of his head, still feeling indignant, but his voice was much lower: "The captain is being way too careful..."

Another veteran policeman nearby, who hadn't said much until now, slowly lit a low-quality cigarette and took a deep drag: "Kid, you haven't been in the bureau for more than two years, have you? The waters in Linhe County are deep."

Funeral Street, Deliverance Studio.

Chen Mo opened the door early as usual and began sweeping the entrance.

However, his complexion was even paler than yesterday, almost to the point of being bloodless.

After sweeping the two steps at the entrance, he was already panting for breath.

He leaned against the doorframe for a long while before moving back into the shop to sit in the old rattan chair. He fished the small celadon bottle from his robes, his hand shaking so violently as he poured out the pill that he nearly dropped it.

This bottle of medicine was exactly what he had found in the Black Tiger Gang's secret room—a Qi-Replenishing Pill for restoring essence and blood, which cost ten silver dollars a bottle on the market.

After finally swallowing the pill and closing his eyes to rest for a moment, the noise from outside surged in, wave after wave.

Boss Zhao from the Fortune Longevity Coffin Shop across the street had the loudest voice, filled with a bravado-laden sense of satisfaction: "...They deserved it! Damn right they did! Heaven has eyes! They even reserved a golden nanmu coffin? Pah! Leaving them to feed the wild dogs in the street is getting off easy!"

Old Man Li, who sold incense and paper money nearby, lowered his voice: "Brother Zhao, keep it down... but come to think of it, does this mean the monthly hygiene management fee... won't need to be paid anymore?"

"Hand them over? Hand over my ass!" Boss Zhao spat, "Everyone's dead and buried, you want me to hand them over to King Yama?"

"Are they really all dead?"

"All the ones who could fight are gone; the few petty thieves left won't amount to anything."

At this moment, the shopkeepers from several storefronts along the street gathered around, their sallow faces showing a rare lightness, as if a heavy burden had been lifted.

Chen Mo sat in the dim shop, listening to these discussions. His face remained bloodless, but his fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest of his rattan chair, the tempo somewhat erratic.

Suddenly, the chatter at the end of the street died down in an eerie silence.