Shanghai, the French Concession, Dongjiadu.
Dongjiadu was a meeting point of land and water routes, and an important link between Shiliupu Wharf and the inland river wharves.
In the past, men Boss Huang had stationed in the police force had guarded the place.
Every boat coming or going had to pay a toll...
But after Boss Huang retired and Boss Du fled, the era of Shanghai's three tycoons came to an end.
Now, Boss Zhang-Zhang Xiaolin-and his men called the shots here...
East of Dongjiadu Wharf stood a row of low buildings, their roofs weighed down with tar felt and a few yellow lights shining through the windows. Zhang Xiaolin's men had occupied this lookout post for years.
After nightfall, whenever a boat turned off the outer river into Dongjiadu, the men here always heard about it a little before the police did.
More than half a day earlier, someone had passed along a tip: a shipment of opium from the southwest would enter Dongjiadu from Shiliupu that night, then head to the warehouses on Zhuhang Lane. It was a sizable shipment-the crates alone filled half the boat.
When the news reached the Zhang residence, Zhang Xiaolin was having dinner.
The table was laden with local Shanghai dishes, but he had little appetite.
Since the Japanese invasion, one of his two brothers had played the fool, while the other had simply fled.
Zhang Xiaolin had been running the Sanxin Company ever since.
But he had plenty of worries, too, because of the Japanese attitude toward him...
He had just received word that the Japanese were preparing a new government in Jinling and planned to put Liang Hongzhi in charge.
He wanted a piece of the action, too, but Japan refused. Their reason was simple: his background was too complicated. The new government had no need for someone like him; he would hurt its image.
For fuck's sake...
Why didn't you think there was anything wrong with my background when you were coaxing me into submitting?
Now you've started looking down on where I came from...
Japan's reply had stripped away every last shred of his dignity. Of course, Japan had not gone quite that far. Given Zhang Xiaolin's standing, they had ultimately arranged a position for him as chairman of Zhejiang Province.
In reality, it was only a title, with no real power whatsoever. No wonder he was too angry to eat.
Yet when the butler reported the shipment to him, Zhang Xiaolin did not lose control...
He gently set down his chopsticks and said coldly, "They've got the nerve to mess with me."
"Tell them to seize the boat and its cargo. Question them thoroughly, using whatever methods they like. I have just one demand: I want to know who has the gall to do this..."
"Remember, don't kill them before you get an answer!"
In the French Concession, nothing carried more weight than Zhang Xiaolin's word.
That night, several hidden lookout posts near Dongjiadu sprang to life. Not just Dongjiadu-even the men around Shiliupu Wharf were all transferred over.
Dozens, perhaps a hundred Green Gang disciples divided into three groups. Two guarded the banks, while the third patrolled back and forth across the river in speedboats.
Their guns were loaded, long guns and handguns at the ready. All they had to do was wait for the boat with the red lanterns to sail into their trap.
At nine fifty that night, a boat did indeed appear on the river.
Just as the tip had described, two red lanterns hung from its bow.
The men ashore recognized it at a glance.
One of Zhang Xiaolin's overseers, a man surnamed Wei and nicknamed Wei Three Fingers, was leaning against a concrete bollard by the sluice gate, smoking.
Spotting the boat in the distance, he tossed his cigarette butt to the ground and waved to either side.
A dozen or so figures spread out along the embankment, and the speedboats cut out of the darkness to intercept it.
Bang, bang! Gunshots rang out in the night.
Frightened, the skipper hurriedly pushed up the throttle lever.
Wei San led his men in surrounding the freighter, then boarded with the men from the speedboats. As the vessel slowly came to a stop, he shouted, "What are you doing?"
Chen Fan hurried over, took a pack of Hatamen cigarettes from his pocket, and said with an ingratiating smile, "Sir, I run a trading company on Wusong Road."
"A customer ordered a shipment of supplies and needed it urgently. That's why we're moving the cargo so late."
Wei San gave Chen Fan a sidelong look. "You run a trading company on Wusong Road?"
"You do business on Japan's turf, but you're shipping through the French Concession?"
Chen Fan pulled a woeful face. "Sir, you have no idea how hard it is to get by these days."
"We used to go through Huishan Wharf, but that's Japanese territory now. They'd seize these supplies before I could even unload them."
"Could you make an exception for us? We're all having a hard time..."
As he spoke, Chen Fan took several silver dollars from inside his clothes and slipped them into Wei San's hand.
"We're all having a hard time" and "We're already here" were probably the best phrases for winning sympathy. Hearing this and seeing that Chen Fan knew how things worked, Wei San softened his tone a little.
"What should I call you, boss?"
Chen Fan had already prepared his story. He waved a hand. "You're too kind, too kind. My humble surname is Chen-the character with 'ear' on the left and 'east' on the right. Boss Ye of the Shanghai Merchants Guild and I come from the same hometown. The Chen Trading Company on Wusong Road belongs to me."
"What are you shipping, Boss Chen?"
Chen Fan replied respectfully, "Nothing much. Forty crates of old-tree tea bricks, and a little tung oil."
"Here are the papers."
Wei San took the papers, glanced at them, then waved to his men.
His men lifted the tarpaulin and opened every wooden crate to inspect them.
But even after they rummaged to the bottoms of all the crates, there really was nothing but packages of tea and several dozen barrels of tung oil stacked in a corner. There was not a trace of opium.
To be safe, Wei San had his men search the hold inside and out. They even searched the engine bilge and the wooden box at the skipper's feet, but still found nothing...
"Sorry for the trouble, Boss Chen." Since the man was doing legitimate business, Wei San had no intention of making things difficult for him.
Zhang Xiaolin himself belonged to the Shanghai Merchants Guild, and the Boss Ye Chen Fan had mentioned really was in the same camp as Zhang Xiaolin and his associates.
Borrowing someone else's clout had finally gotten him through.
The boat slowly got underway. Meanwhile, the men Old Knife Handle had sent to keep watch from the riverbank were dumbfounded.
They had seen the freighter with its red lanterns arrive, and they had seen Wei San board with his men.
But what they had expected never happened. The boat simply sailed away.
Something was wrong. More than wrong.
Their leader hurriedly ordered one of the men beside him to go back and report to Old Knife Handle...
Meanwhile, in Shanghai, at Warehouse Three on Shiliupu Wharf.
Blood flowed across the warehouse floor. Long Si held a machete, his whole body drenched in blood.
But it was not his blood. It belonged to other people.
This was the leader of the Four Seas Gang, a ruthless man who had single-handedly swept through seven Black Tiger Hall establishments in one night with nothing but a blade.
Dealing with a few smugglers was naturally no trouble at all.
Elsewhere, Brother Bao and his men surrounded a small mountain of opium.
They had worked Shiliupu Wharf before and knew exactly how much this stuff was worth.
This little mountain was worth no less than a mountain of gold...
On the floor nearby, Agen lay groaning, wounds covering his entire body.
Brother Bao walked over and kicked him square in the chest. Agen hurriedly begged, "Spare me, hero! Don't hit me, don't hit me..."
Brother Bao crouched down. "I'm taking this shipment for now. Sorry for the trouble, but take a message back. If its owner still wants it, have two hundred thousand ready."
"Tsk, tsk, tsk. Look at the state of you. I'll give you time to go home, shower, change, and fuck your wife. Three hours should be enough."
"It's ten now. If I don't see the money by three in the morning, I'll burn the lot."
Burn it? Heh. If he really did that, the whole French Concession would be getting high tonight.
Ever heard of Lin Zexu destroying opium at Humen? This stuff had to be soaked in limewater. Anyone burning it clearly wasn't afraid of inhaling an overdose.
But a roughneck like Brother Bao really did not understand such things.
Agen screwed up his courage and asked, "What should we call you, hero? Where do we deliver the money?"
"Old Knife Handle should know the place." Brother Bao grinned, revealing a mouthful of white teeth. "Oh, right. My name's Brother Bao-the Bao in brutal..."