Chapter 340

It was two hours later when Xiang Wentian stepped out of the ward. No one knew what he had talked about with Xie Wendong. After coming out, he seemed in high spirits, with a broad smile on his face. First, he nodded at the Beihongmen disciples who were waiting outside, fully on guard, then waved at Zhou Ting and said, “Let’s go.”

After taking a few steps, Xiang Wentian stopped, as if remembering something. He turned back and asked, “Where’s Xiao Kou?”

Zhou Ting frowned in distress. After thinking for a while, he pointed upward and said with a wry smile, “He’s up there, basking in the… moonlight.”

Xiang Wentian was quite smart. Seeing his troubled expression and glancing around, he noticed that Sanyan was missing from the Beihongmen crowd. He figured out what had happened. “Sigh, what an active guy,” he sighed and turned to go up the stairs. Zhou Ting and Tian Fang exchanged glances and shook their heads secretly—it seemed Old Lu was in for trouble.

On the rooftop, Sanyan and Lu Kou were jumping around, fighting fiercely. Both of them were covered in injuries—Sanyan had bruised eyes and a split lip, with several large tears in his clothes from the fight. Lu Kou wasn’t faring any better either; his hair was messy, his sunglasses were missing, and there were streams of blood running down from his nose. From a distance, he looked almost like “Er Tiao,” with bruises all over his face and scratches left by Sanyan. At first, they could still shout and boost each other’s morale as they fought, but later, with no extra strength left and their throats hoarse, they could only emit strained noises. Their once precise moves turned into a messy struggle.

When Xiang Wentian arrived on the rooftop, the two were still locked in a struggle. Sanyan was gripping Lu Kou’s hair and pulling hard downward, shouting from time to time, “Will you give up?!”, while Lu Kou, not to be outdone, grabbed Sanyan’s face and twisted it violently, roaring, “Will you admit defeat?!”.

The Beihongmen and North-Hongmen disciples who followed Xiang Wentian couldn’t help but laugh at the miserable sight. There was no trace of a skilled fight here—just two hooligans fighting recklessly. Xiang Wentian rolled his eyes, cleared his throat lightly, and said, “Xiao Kou, enough.”

Perhaps his voice was too soft, or perhaps the two fighters were too engrossed in the fight. Instead of separating, Sanyan and Lu Kou became even more entangled.

One person choked the other’s neck while the other covered that person’s eyes, and they rolled around on the ground. Just as Xiang Wentian was about to step in to separate them, Lu Kou let out a painful scream, startling everyone around. Zhou Ting reacted quickly, drawing his sword at once. Upon closer inspection, he saw that San Yan had taken advantage of Lu Kou’s distraction to bite him hard on the back of his hand, causing such intense pain that Lu Kou jumped high into the air before kicking San Yan away. Holding his palm, he glared at San Yan in anger and shouted, “Are you a damn dog?”
San Yan got up from the ground, brushed off the dust on his clothes, and smiled calmly, saying, “If you think you’ve suffered a loss, you can bite me too.”
“Damn you…” Lu Kou tried to charge at San Yan again to fight to the death, but someone pressed down on his shoulder. He shook his shoulder hard, but the arm seemed glued to his body, not moving at all. Already enraged, he turned around without thinking and slapped the person, shouting, “Get away from me!”
“Where to go?” The person behind him waved his hand casually, easily deflecting Lu Kou’s slap, and said in a deep voice, “If you want to continue fighting here, I have no objection.” With that, he flicked his sleeve and turned to walk away. Hearing the tone, Lu Kou turned around and was terrified, sticking out his tongue in frustration. He glared fiercely at San Yan before rushing forward to explain, “Brother Tian, I was just warming up, practicing with some experts from the Wen Dong Gang.”
Xiang Wentian stopped and ignored him. He clasped his hands together and bowed to San Yan, saying seriously, “Brother, I must take my leave.”
San Yan didn’t know much about martial arts etiquette, but having seen pigs walk before, he imitated Xiang Wentian’s gesture and returned the bow. He stood still, smiling and saying, “No need to see me off. See you next time.” Xiang Wentian chuckled and said nothing more, turning to lead everyone off the rooftop. Once the people from the Nan Hong Men were out of sight, San Yan sat down on the ground with a thud, crying out weakly, “Hurry, call a doctor! The wounds on my body have split open again.”

Xie Wendong’s injuries were severe, but not life-threatening—at least not for him. Within a few days, he was able to sit up and cut apples with a fruit knife by himself, leaving even the doctors in disbelief at his recovery speed. Li Shuang and the others were less badly injured, with only superficial wounds that did not affect their internal organs or bones; they were fine but needed time to recover. Now, the North Hongmen and Wendong Club relied entirely on Sanyan and Dongxinlei for support. Since the South Hongmen, led by Xiang Wentian, had not launched any attacks, things had remained relatively calm. The relative easing of tensions between the North and South Hongmen brought mixed reactions from people.

Xie Wendong hadn’t invested much money in the Red Army, but it was still considerable. Moreover, he had a close personal relationship with Wu Ming, so when he wanted to see him, the latter arrived quickly.

Wu Ming was as usual—cold and reticent, dressed in a dark blue suit that made him appear much more mature. He deliberately grew a beard, adding a hint of ruggedness to his face.

His rapid arrival surprised even Xie Wendong. The first thing he said was, “Wu Ming, where did you come from?”

Wu Ming glanced at Xie Wendong lying in the hospital bed, his expression unchanged, though a hint of concern showed in the corner of his eyes. “I came from Japan. Are your injuries serious?” “So fast! I thought it would take at least half a month.” Wu Ming showed a rare smile. “Don’t you know there’s a modern means of transportation called a plane?” “Haha.” Xie Wendong laughed, but after a few laughs, he began to cough violently, his brows furrowed. Wu Ming stepped forward, concerned. “The Soul Group injured you badly.”

“Heh,” Xie Wendong said with a bitter smile. “It’s rare to get a chance to take my life. How could they be gentle? So, you even know that?” Wu Ming nodded, pondered for a while, then said, “You called me here because of the Soul Group, right?” Xie Wendong replied, “I hope you can help me.” Wu Ming had already guessed roughly Xie Wendong’s intentions. He remained silent for a long time before seriously saying, “I’ll do my best if I can.”

That was exactly what Xie Wendong wanted to hear. He smiled and said, “I guarantee you can definitely do what I ask.” Wu Ming stared at him blankly for a long time before murmuring, “It must not be a good task. Otherwise, why would you come to me?” “It’s actually quite simple,” Xie Wendong said gravely. “Help me deliver a gift to the Soul Group’s headquarters.”

Tokyo, Japan. The headquarters of Soul Group is located in a 30-story building in the city center. Despite the support of right-wing elements in the Japanese government, Soul Group’s activities are kept hidden from the public—firstly to avoid damaging the government’s image and secondly to prevent international condemnation. Thus, from its inception, Soul Group worked to create a plausible facade by having several powerful Japanese conglomerates secretly support it and form a company named Yamaguchi Technology. The building housing Soul Group is actually Yamaguchi Technology’s headquarters, and its members naturally become employees of that company. With this legitimate cover, Soul Group operates freely within Japan and other countries without hindrance. Even though the Chinese government is aware of Soul Group’s malicious intentions in its own country, it cannot find conclusive evidence and is powerless to do anything. It was for this reason that Xie Wendong was inadvertently accepted by Dongfang Yi and successfully joined the Political Department.

Today is Monday. On the bustling streets of Tokyo, one can see office workers in suits, with expressionless faces and hurried steps, heading to work. The pace of life in Japan is much faster than in China, and it’s rare to see people strolling around in the city streets, even among students.

Yamaguchi Technology’s headquarters. The lobby is deserted, with few visitors, a stark contrast to the busy scene and constant flow of important figures when Soul Group was first established. Even the security guards at the entrance lack enthusiasm, standing listlessly on either side. The decline in Soul Group’s activity is linked to the recent failures of its external operations. Soul Group’s main operations are abroad, with China being a top priority. However, China has Xie Wendong, Soul Group’s greatest rival. After numerous failed attempts at assassination, Soul Group has suffered heavy losses. Most recently, they sent over 200 assassins, many of whom were trained and hired at great cost, to China. Not only was Xie Wendong not killed, but all but a few of those 200 people died. This incident has left right-wing extremists in the Japanese government extremely disappointed with Soul Group’s performance. Coupled with the Red Army’s growing hatred toward Soul Group and its constant harassment of their overseas branches, the Japanese conglomerates that support them have also suffered varying degrees of losses. The chairmen of these conglomerates have already put on the agenda the decision to withdraw financial support from Soul Group. Facing internal and external pressures, Soul Group’s leadership is at a loss and resorts to an old tactic: changing its president.

Today, all the high-ranking members of Soul Group were present, aiming to elect a new president who is more capable and eloquent enough to persuade the government and conglomerates. “I wonder who the new president will be?” the security guards were whispering among themselves at the entrance. As members of Soul Group, they were also very concerned about its future; if Soul Group failed, their jobs would be at risk.

“I think Vice President Watanabe is the most likely candidate,” guessed a security guard with a round face and average build.

As they were exchanging opinions, a person entered from the main entrance. In his twenties, with a short beard, he was dressed in a delivery worker’s uniform and carrying a large package. As soon as he entered the lobby, he started smiling and nodding politely at everyone. His friendly smile made him likable and eased the guards’ wariness. One of them stepped forward and asked, “Do you have something to do?” The young man smiled and said, “I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m from Shinagawa Delivery Company. Here’s a package for you.”

“A package?” The security guard glanced at the others in confusion. “No one should be sending anything here. Who sent it?”

The young man shrugged and smiled. “I don’t know. I’m just responsible for delivering it. Please sign for it so I can report back.” With that, he handed over the package.

“Who should sign for it?” The security guard was puzzled. The young man replied, “It says right here. Take a look.” The guard took the package suspiciously. There was delivery information on it—the address was indeed the Yamaguchi Technology Building, but no specific name was listed. The sender was labeled as “an old friend from China.”

An old friend from China? The guard felt curious and said to the young man, “Wait a moment. I’ll go ask.” He picked up the phone and reported to his supervisor.

It was unclear what he said, but he kept nodding. After a short while, he came back, picked up the package, and said to the young man, “Wait a moment. I’ll be right back.” The guard took the package, gave the other guards a subtle signal, and went up in the elevator. The other guards understood what he meant and surrounded the young man, avoiding direct conversation and chatting about unrelated things. The young man kept smiling at everyone, giving off a pleasant impression. After a while, he checked his watch and muttered, “It’s almost time.” “Almost time for what?” the guards asked in confusion. “I just wanted to say goodbye to you,” the young man said, slipping his hands into his pockets.

The security guard smiled and said, “Didn’t I tell you just now? Wait a bit before leaving.” “Too bad, I’m not ready to say goodbye to this world yet.” No one expected that when the young man took his hand out of his pocket, he held a gun—black and shiny, a Browning with 21 bullets. Without warning, he raised the gun and fired at the head of the nearest security guard. “Bang!” A gunshot rang out, and blood sprayed. The distance was too close; the security guard could clearly see the dark muzzle, but there was no time to dodge. Two blood holes appeared in his head from front to back. “Ah…?” The other security guards were shocked. They never thought this smiling young man would be armed and kill so casually, clearly an experienced gunman. They tried to pull out their guns to fight back, but the young man didn’t give them that chance. The semi-automatic Browning fired continuously—20 bullets in just five seconds, leaving no bullets left in the magazine. Six or seven more bloody corpses lay scattered across the lobby. The young man’s face lost its smile, replaced by utter coldness, with a menacing gaze in his eyes. He stepped over the still twitching corpses and walked to the camera in the corner of the lobby. He raised his head, unbuttoned the buttons of his delivery uniform, revealing a white vest with two blood-red characters printed in the center: Red Army. Pointing at the red characters, he smirked coldly before walking out of the building with pride.