Late that night, the man in the floral shirt—the one who bragged about being "blood brothers" with Li Xing—was hauled into the Bureau in cuffs. Within the hour, Wang Daolin gave the order: sweep Zhanan District, pick up anyone tied to Changqing. By dawn, more than twenty people had been detained or summoned—every one of them Changqing employees.
Did Wang act because that floral-shirt idiot had flipped?
Not even close.
By the time the thug realized the officers hauling him in weren't Li Xing's men, he'd already been processed into the holding wing. He shut up and refused to say anything. That didn't matter. Changqing's muscles were an open book: a dozen-plus street toughs, fattened on the company payroll, mouths to feed while walking around under Li Xing's shadow. Once the Bureau started pulling threads, the dirt unraveled on its own.
Wang's play was straightforward—pressure from every side. Use the restaurant shooting, the riots, the arson, the assaults. Arrest first, interrogate later. Classic police pressure: create ripples, see who follows the waves.
Word that Changqing's men were being rounded up spread fast. At three a.m. Li Xing called Wang again—no answer. This time, Wang hung up on him.
By dawn, Li Xing was a wreck. Rumors said the floral-shirt guy had already "told"—claimed they'd once "tore pants together." The sheer absurdity set Li Xing's blood racing. He didn't sleep; by seven he was at headquarters desperate to find Wang. But Wang's subordinates said he'd gone out on assignment and wouldn't be back all day.
No contact. No control. Damage uncontrollable.
Pressed, Li Xing swallowed his pride and rang a deputy director with enough clout to broker a truce.
Around noon, Wang's patrol car pulled up outside a teahouse. He climbed to a private tatami room on the third floor and found Deputy Guo waiting—calm, measured, the sort of man who smelled of bureaucracy and old favors.
"No outsiders," Guo said as he poured tea. "Let's be blunt. Li Xing came to me."
Wang smiled thinly and didn't answer.
Guo pushed on. "You really want to take this that far?"
Wang took a drag from his cigarette. "If I'd been an inch taller last night, those three shots would've blown my brains out. These Changqing bastards have gone too far. Even if I wanted to let it slide, the Bureau can't ignore a shooting at one of its own."
"Li says it's a misunderstanding," Guo offered.
"A misunderstanding?" Wang snorted. "So it wasn't Lu Feng? Was it me? Did Su Tiannan pull a stunt on himself?" He flattened his gaze. "I watched Tiannan get hit. Li Xing is trying to talk his way out because the heat's on. He thought I wouldn't move. Now I might."
Guo leaned back. "Li was backed by the Fuzi Chamber and Changqing. My advice: don't corner him. Give him a little face. For everyone's sake."
Wang's jaw tightened. "Did I get any faces when Lu Feng marched into Su's yard? Did Li Hongze or Li Xing give me a heads-up when they pushed? I asked for a simple meeting between father and son and Li's office shut me down. Where was my face then?"
Silence sat between them. After a long pause, Guo sighed. "Alright—give me a little face, Wang."
"How?" Wang asked.
"Let the foot soldiers be the first to answer. If they talk, fine. If they don't… it's out of my hands. But for now, stop at the underlings. Fair?"
Wang considered, then nodded. "You spoke. I'll respect it. What happens next depends on Changqing."
Guo smiled faintly. "Appreciate it, old friend."
"You're still the boss, Deputy Guo," Wang replied.
— — —
At Zhanan People's Hospital, Su Tianyu idly scrolled his phone while Su Tianbei fussed beside him.
"Did you take my piece?" Tianbei demanded. "My gun was in the car—now it's gone. You hid it, right? You didn't want me causing trouble."
"You're out of your mind," Tianyu said.
"I've been up all night!" Tianbei pressed.
Tiannan only stared, then deadpanned, "With your IQ, don't hang around Tianyu. He'd sell you for pocket change, and you'd help carry the boxes."
"Excuse me?" Tianbei demanded.
"Shut up before you give me a headache," Tiannan said, and the room dissolved into the kind of banter only brothers can trade.
Bai Hongbo arrived grinning like a fox. "How are you holding up, Tiannan?"
"Try not to spike my blood pressure," Tiannan rasped.
"Good news," Bai said. "A friend at the City Management Committee told me the higher-ups aren't happy with Changqing. There's a new official—Yu Jinrong—who's been calling out Zhanan's chaos. He thinks Changqing's monopoly is bad for the Bureau's image. My source says we should go see him."
Tiannan's face lit. "That could help."
"You're injured," Tianbei objected. "You should stay. Liuzi and I will go."
"Seal the deal," Tiannan said. "Bring him in."
Soon after, Tianyu, Tianbei and Bai were driving toward Longkou District, hunting for an ally.
— — —
That afternoon in cell 403, a bald, wiry guy flicked through a worn romance novel while the new arrival—floral shirt—sat across from him.
"What landed you here?" the cell boss asked.
"Wrecked a garbage plant," the floral shirt muttered.
"Which one?" the bald man asked casually.
"Su family's in Zhanan," came the reply.
The bald man froze mid-page. "You said whose site?"
"Su family. Zhanan Su's place."
"Bang!"
He sprang up and clocked the floral shirt in the face. "All right, boys—anybody here train? Let's teach this bastard some manners."
— — —
Outside, quietly and without fanfare, the tide was starting to turn. Arrests and pressure, whispers of political unease, and a fresh official with his own grievances—it wasn't luck. It was the accumulation of choices: the Su family's stubbornness, Wang's movement, and the sudden visibility of Changqing's methods.
Power in Dragon City shifted slowly—and sometimes, when the right stones were pushed, it crept away from those who thought themselves untouchable.