It was a crisp, starlit night.
Three old vans rolled down the road with the wind at their backs, stopping less than three hundred meters from the Su family scrapyard.
The man in the floral shirt—the one everyone called Bao-ge—stepped out first, leading his crew.
He wasn't masked. He just held up his phone and asked calmly,
"Boss Lu, how hard do we go?"
On the other end, Lu Feng's voice came through the line, flat and unhurried.
Don't kill anyone. But make it as ugly as possible.
The Su family wants to play tough? Then beat them until they remember who runs Dragon City.
Break them first—then we talk.
"Got it."
Bao-ge hung up.
Somewhere across town, Lu Feng leaned lazily in his chair, flicking a mahjong tile between his fingers, his laughter echoing across the smoky room.
You might wonder—why would a company as big as Changqing still resort to street violence?
Why not settle disputes with lawyers, paperwork, or quiet bribes?
But that's the thing—this wasn't an age of peace.
Even in so-called civilized times, history was full of powerful corporations that used blood and fists long after they'd "made it."
Violence, after all, was fast, direct, and effective—if you could afford the consequences.
Lu Feng understood that better than anyone.
If he hadn't moved quickly—crippling a few mid-level managers, spreading fear down the chain—those four sanitation companies would still be shouting at government doors.
By scaring them silent, he'd ended the protests in less than four days.
Dirty, yes—but efficient.
Li Hongze could afford to play patient politics.
Zheng Fuan, freshly promoted, couldn't.
Changqing had grown fat and ruthless in chaos.
Their rule was simple:
If you don't obey, we'll make you.
Whoever sticks their head up first—gets it cut off.
And since the Su family had led the resistance, it was their turn.
So Bao-ge came—with three vans, a dozen hired ghosts with no papers, no pasts, and nothing to lose.
By dawn, Dragon City would smell of blood.
Outside the scrapyard, Bao-ge pulled on a pair of wool gloves and ordered quietly,
"Grab your tools."
Steel pipes, gleaming knives, and rusted machetes were drawn from the vans, the moonlight catching every edge.
Then, with a single word—
"Go."
They moved in.
Inside the scrapyard's main building, Su Miaomiao, the Su brothers' third sister, was packing up the personal things she'd left behind earlier that day.
In the front hall, Da Xiong—the massive, stammering night guard—spoke up timidly.
"Th-th-third s-sister… it's late. L-let me walk you out."
"You can't even drive," she said with a laugh. "Go on, finish your shift."
"O-okay… j-just b-be careful. The streetlights are out there."
His voice hitched as it always did when he saw her, cheeks flushing red.
She smiled faintly and walked toward her car.
Da Xiong followed instinctively, still mumbling warnings, standing by the vehicle like an anxious child.
Then it happened.
From the gates came shouting—steel clanging on the pavement.
A night-shift worker near the entrance looked up.
"Hey! Who are you people?"
No one answered.
Two men broke off, charging him with raised weapons.
"Intruders! They've got weapons!" the worker screamed, bolting inside.
"Bao-ge, that's Su Tian'nan's sister!" one of the thugs shouted, pointing toward Miaomiao, who was just about to get into her car.
Bao-ge's eyes flashed.
"Get her!"
The command cracked like a whip.
Ten men surged forward, blades glinting.
Miaomiao yanked the car door open—but it was too late.
There was no time to drive.
"Run!" she shouted to Da Xiong. "Get inside!"
The big man turned instantly, pounding toward the main hall.
But his sheer size—over six foot two, nearly two-fifty—made him slow.
The pavement shook under his feet.
A thug caught up and swung a steel pipe—
"Sit down, fat boy!"
The blow landed on the back of Da Xiong's head with a sickening crack.
He froze, eyes wide, and crouched down obediently.
"D-don't hit me… I—I can't—afford a doctor…"
The thugs blinked in disbelief.
"What the hell—this guy's an idiot!"
They left him and rushed past, storming into the main hall.
Inside, seven workers were already running out to see what was happening.
But when they saw a dozen armed men, all resolve drained away.
"Against the wall!" Bao-ge barked, raising his knife.
Then he pointed straight at Su Miaomiao.
"That woman—hit her face!"
They hadn't come to hurt laborers.
They'd come to hurt the Su family.
Make them bleed. Make them fear.
The workers froze. A few made to move—but when three thugs charged at them with blades, they dropped immediately to their knees, trembling.
"Think you can play hero?" one man sneered, grabbing Miaomiao by the arm.
"I'll carve up your face—see how your rich daddy likes that."
But Miaomiao wasn't the type to beg.
She twisted, sank her teeth into the man's forearm, and a bit hard.
"Ahhh!" he screamed, kicking her violently to the ground.
Bao-ge lunged forward, raising his knife to strike—
And then—
CRASH!
A heavy chair from the hall corner flew through the air and smashed into Bao-ge's back.
He stumbled forward with a grunt, spinning around in fury.
It was Da Xiong.
The big man's face was red, his eyes wet.
'D—don't hit women! He shouted, charging forward.
The same man who'd cowered a moment ago now moved like a bull.
"You stupid bastard!" Bao-ge snarled, raising his blade.
Just then, from the stairwell above, Su Tianyu came running down, wrapped in his thick military coat.
He saw Da Xiong standing tall in the center of the chaos—his huge hands gripping the registration desk at the door.
And then—unbelievably—he lifted it.
The whole damn desk.
For a split second, everyone froze.
"Y-you dare hit me?" Bao-ge stammered, stepping back instinctively.
Da Xiong roared, swung the desk like a giant hammer, and brought it crashing down on Bao-ge's head.
THUD!
The man in the floral shirt dropped instantly—dead weight hitting concrete.
"R-run, third sister!" Da Xiong shouted, swinging wildly as the others closed in.
Blades slashed his arms and shoulders—one, two, three cuts—but he didn't fall.
He just kept swinging, clumsy but unstoppable.
Tianyu reached the bottom of the stairs, grabbing Miaomiao and pushing her behind him.
He pulled off his glasses—his calm eyes now sharp and cold.
The real fight had just begun.