The VIP ward of Zhanan People's Hospital was thick with cigarette smoke.
Five or six mid-level officers from the Dragon City Police Bureau crowded around Wang Daolin's bed, their voices low but brimming with anger.
"Changqing's people have gone too far," one of them spat. "Drag you into their mess? They've crossed the damn line."
Wang wasn't actually hurt. He sat on the bed, a cigarette dangling from his lips, the ember flaring as he took two hard drags.
"When Changqing first came in, they kept to their side of the river," he said flatly. "Never crossed us, never meddled. But these past few years? They've built their own chamber of commerce, buried their people inside the system, and now they strut around like kings. Today they dared to put a bullet through my hat. No. Not this time. I'm not swallowing that."
"Then don't," one of his old friends snapped. "Push it all the way. Between the arson, the riots, the assault on sanitation workers, and that damn shooting—there's enough dirt to bury them alive. Pick any one case, and Li Hongze will be shitting himself before sunrise."
Wang's eyes narrowed. "Brothers, you know what Su Lao'er's boy came to me about today?"
"What?"
"He made me an offer," Wang exhaled, a plume of smoke, his voice dropping. "If we move together, we can hit back—and come out ahead. And the best part? We've got every reason to. They started this. We're just answering the door they kicked open."
"What offer?" someone pressed.
"What's the price?"
The group leaned in close. Wang lowered his voice.
Ten minutes later, he stepped out of the ward and headed downstairs—just as Su Tiannan was being wheeled out of emergency care.
The bullet had torn through the edge of his abdomen, missing his organs but slicing through muscle and intestine. He was pale, sweat soaking his hairline, but conscious.
"Xiao Nan, you alright?" Wang walked alongside the gurney.
Su's voice trembled. "That was close, Uncle Wang."
Wang glanced at the nurse. "I'm with the Bureau. Give me a minute with him."
"Make it quick," she said. "He's heading into surgery."
When she left, Wang bent closer, his tone clipped and cold. "What we discussed at the restaurant—I'll handle it."
"Uncle Wang!" Su tried to sit up.
"Lie down." Wang pressed him back firmly. "I'll take care of the rest."
"Thank you—really, thank you!"
"Don't tip your hand yet. You and the other three companies hold steady. Once I move, things will start to shift—fast. Keep your people ready to catch the waves."
"I understand!"
Wang pulled a medication slip from the bedside table, scribbled a number, and tucked it into Su's hand. "Call this later."
Su's pulse spiked. "Got it."
"Rest," Wang said quietly. "We'll talk tomorrow."
He patted Su's arm and left.
Su watched him go, adrenaline pounding in his veins. Then he grabbed his phone and dialed his brother.
"Hello?"
"Big bro! I heard you got shot! We're on our way—don't move, don't—"
"Cut the crap!" Su hissed. "You probably know my wound better than the CT scan. Listen—Uncle Wang's in. Get Lu Feng's man ready. I'll send you a number. You and Tianbei deliver him—no screw-ups, no noise."
"Got it."
Five minutes after Wang's car left the hospital, three vehicles rolled into the second parking lot—a police sedan, followed by Li Hongze's and Lu Feng's vans.
Li Xing was first out. He hurried inside, straight to Wang's ward.
"Where's Old Wang? How bad is it?" he demanded from the officers at the door.
A lieutenant turned, smirking faintly. "Director Li."
"He inside?"
"He just left," the man replied. "That restaurant shooting caused a storm. Deputy Director Hong's already back at HQ for an emergency session. Wang's on his way there now."
"Damn it." Li Xing's frustration cracked through.
"Something urgent?" the lieutenant asked casually, but there was a faint edge to his tone.
"Nothing," Li Xing said after a pause. "He was at the scene. I came to check in."
"Right."
"Alright. You're busy—I'll go."
He left quickly, dialing as he went. No answer.
"Goddamn it," he muttered, yanking open the van door.
"Did you find him?" Li Hongze asked.
"No. He's at HQ, not answering."
"You need to talk to him," Hongze pressed. "We can't let this become a misunderstanding."
Li Xing shot him with a glare. "And what am I supposed to say? 'The guy who shot Su Tiannan wasn't ours'? You realize that's the same as admitting everything else was?"
"Drop him a hint," Lu Feng suggested.
Li Xing turned on him, eyes sharp. "Tell me the truth. Was it you who sent the shooter?"
Lu Feng froze. "What?"
The car went silent.
After a long beat, Hongze asked quietly, "Was it you or not?"
Lu Feng's voice cracked. "Ask me that again, and I'll blow my damn head off right here! I've said it a hundred times—the shooter's got nothing to do with me!"
Li Xing studied him, then exhaled slowly. "The Bureau can't bury this. A gunman fired on a division chief. That's above my pay grade. Now it all depends on Wang's next move. I'll call when I know."
He pushed the door open and stepped out into the cold air.
Inside, silence lingered. Finally, Lu Feng muttered, "Big bro… if it wasn't me, what if it was Wang himself?"
Hongze blinked. "What?"
"Hear me out," Lu Feng said, leaning forward. "Wang and Old Su were war buddies. Maybe he wanted an excuse to wade into this sanitation mess—but needed a reason. So he and Su Tiannan staged it. A fake hit, to gain leverage."
Hongze looked at him in disbelief. "Two days ago, I said you were finally learning to think. Guess I was wrong. He's a police director, you moron. You think he'd shoot himself three times in public?"
In another car leaving the hospital, Li Xing sat in silence, face like stone.
His driver hesitated. "Sir… if Lu Feng didn't do it, then who did?"
Li Xing snorted. "You actually believe that crap? Before he ever came to Dragon City, the guy had bodies trailing behind him. He's a trigger-happy lunatic, and the Zhanan turf means everything to him. Four companies joining forces? That's a knife to his throat. Maybe he didn't pull the trigger, but don't kid yourself—he's dirty. Men like him don't tell the truth. They just hide it better."
On a dirt road outside Zhanan, three vans idled in the dusk.
Su Tianbei stood by the roadside, cigarettes glowing in the dark, eyes scanning the empty fields.
Inside the middle van, Su Tianyu sat in the passenger seat, yawning. Across from him, the floral-shirted thug sat shackled, arms heavy with chains, eyes sharp and mocking.
"Kid," the thug rasped, "what the hell are you doing?"
Tianyu ignored him.
"You snatch us, don't hand us to the cops, don't finish the job—what's your endgame? You look more lost than I do." The man grinned. "I'll tell you one thing—if you let me out, you'll be crawling."
Tianyu sighed, turning toward him lazily. "Relax. The four companies and Changqing have already reached an agreement. Someone from the Bureau is coming to take you off our hands. Li Xing's people."
The thug paused—then chuckled. "Finally. Someone with senses."
"Yeah, well. We didn't haul you in for fun," Tianyu leaned back, ending the conversation.
Ten minutes later, two police vans rolled up. A dozen officers climbed out. After a few quiet words with Tianbei, they yanked open the van doors and began hauling prisoners out.
As they loaded the floral-shirted man into the police vehicle, he smirked. "Where's Li Ge? Didn't come himself?"
"Which Li Ge?" the lead officer asked flatly.
"Li Xing, of course. He's the one who sent you, right?"
The officer frowned slightly. "You know Director Li?"
"Hell yeah. We rip pants together every week. Had drinks two nights ago." The man grinned. "Which squad are you boys from, anyway?"
The officer leaned down, smiling as he offered him a cigarette. "Oh, we'll get to that. But first—where exactly did you and Li Ge go ripping pants, huh? Why didn't you invite us?"
Across town in Longkou District, a well-dressed middle-aged man sat up in bed, rubbing his temples. He walked into his study, phone to his ear.
"Has Lu Feng lost his mind? Shooting at Wang Daolin?"
"No clue," came the reply. "But it's blowing up fast. The Bureau's holding an emergency meeting."
The man exhaled. "Alright. Tomorrow, get word to the four companies. Tell them this—"
He paused, thinking carefully, then began dictating instructions to his secretary in a low, steady voice.