Chapter 315
Although the city chief was not very familiar with Xiang Wentian, he had a good relationship with his father and usually gave Xiang Wentian some face, turning a blind eye to his actions as long as they weren’t excessive and didn’t put him in a difficult position. This time, out of courtesy, he agreed to Xiang Wentian’s request, but made it clear that he could keep the police in the area controlled by Xie Wendong from intervening—for just one hour. After that, he wouldn’t care anymore. Xiang Wentian knew this was the greatest concession the city chief could offer, so he didn’t dare ask for more and thanked him repeatedly, presenting a valuable gift as well.
This time, Xie Wendong learned of the situation two days in advance. Realizing that using the same tactic of calling the police again would not work—making the same mistake twice wasn’t like Xiang Wentian at all—he knew relying on Bo Zhanhui was out of the question as well; the latter was as cunning as an old fox, and tricking him would be nearly impossible. “It seems we’ll have to rely on ourselves this time!” Xie Wendong thought. He deployed everyone he could, putting everyone on high alert, ready to engage Xiang Wentian head-on and to test the true strength of the Nan Hongmen in Shanghai. On the 28th, under the evening moon—slanting like a hook in the sky—the mercury-like moonlight bathed the land and everyone’s faces.
The city chief gave Xiang Wentian only one hour—a short time, but not too short either. Hundreds of his followers could easily overwhelm the small Fresh Flowers Hotel. If it weren’t for Xie Wendong, both ends of the street had already been controlled by their respective sides, with all vehicles and pedestrians barred from passing. Fortunately, the Fresh Flowers Hotel wasn’t located in a busy part of the city, and it was deep at night, so there weren’t many pedestrians. The street was quiet and empty, with no cars parked. The wind blew, creating gusts that scattered papers, adding to the desolation. Then, a figure appeared at the end of the street; the moonlight stretched his shadow long, and the gleaming sword in his hand was particularly striking. One after another, more figures appeared behind him, until a sea of people filled the street, too many to count. The horn for the Nan Hongmen’s attack finally sounded, and chaos erupted inevitably.
This might have been the largest, most involved, and bloodiest clash between the Southern and Northern Hongmen in history. Members of both sides stood at opposite ends of the street, blocking it entirely; it was impossible to tell who first shouted “Kill!”, sparking the fight. Thousands from each side roared in unison and charged forward wildly. It was like two opposing waves crashing together, splashing water everywhere. Only this time, it was people colliding, and what splashed out was blood.
Those at the front made brief contact with the enemy and raised their knives to strike, but those behind could not stop in time, pushing and shoving. These poor “vanguards” became meat pies trapped between their own and enemy forces. In just an instant of contact, dozens fell to the ground, crying out in pain. Yet everyone’s eyes were fixed only on the enemy; they mechanically swung their knives, ignoring those who fell. Before long, the fallen stopped making sounds, their bodies covered in bloody footprints. Now, the number of those who fell was no longer counted in individuals but in piles. Xiang Wentian was not present at the scene, nor was Xie Wendong; instead, they stood by a window on the second floor of a hotel, watching the battle below.
The Southern Hongmen had a larger number of people but weaker individual combat skills, while the Northern Hongmen were brave and skilled in battle but at a disadvantage due to their smaller numbers. Both sides had their strengths, and the fight was evenly matched. In such a balanced struggle, it was the sides themselves who ended up hurt. Killing a thousand enemies meant losing eight hundred of one’s own—like a double-edged sword, with no winner in the end. On the battlefield, it was common to see Northern Hongmen disciples surrounded by several enemies, quickly stabbed countless times, covered in blood, and collapsing in agony. It was also common to see Southern Hongmen disciples stripped of their shirts, fighting bare-chested, as Northern Hongmen disciples pursued them like madmen, leaving them with no way out. The chaos continued, blood flowed endlessly, and there were over a hundred people lying on the street. Their blood reddened the ground, forming small rivers that flowed into the sewers along the road. The stench of blood filled the entire street, making people feel nauseous.
The dying struggles of the unharmed, the painful screams of those with severed limbs, and the clashing sounds of weapons on the battlefield merged into sounds from hell, like a razor cutting through people’s hearts. Such intensity was beyond what ordinary people could bear. Xie Wendong was human too, and he felt just as distressed. Seeing injured disciples from both the Southern and Northern Hongmen groaning everywhere, he felt an urge to vomit, but he held back. When you fight for something and war inevitably breaks out, you must first learn to endure certain things.
An hour seemed like a century to everyone involved in this struggle. Xiang Wentian and Xie Wendong ordered their sides to retreat almost at the same time. No one wanted to stay on those hellish streets for another second. Zhou Ting had suffered at least three deep wounds that reached his bones; his pale face was covered in a thick layer of blood crusts from coagulated blood. With great effort, he forced a smile, his facial muscles twitching as dry clumps of blood fell off. Shouting loudly, he said, “Retreat!” Following his cry, the South Hongmen retreated swiftly, like receding tide. Even if the North Hongmen wanted to pursue them, they lacked the strength to do so. From the top-ranking members like San Yan and Dong Xinlei to the ordinary followers, none was unscathed. In particular, San Yan had a gaping wound in his stomach, oozing blood. If not for holding it with his hand, his intestines might have spilled out.
After both sides withdrew, there were no fewer than three hundred corpses left on the field—some fully dead, others on the verge of it. Not long after the South Hongmen retreated, they sent another group of vehicles with dozens of people to clean up the mess. The North Hongmen members’ eyes turned red upon seeing them; they picked up their blood-stained swords again, ready to charge forward. Xie Wendong on the second floor sighed and said to Jiang Sen behind him, “Fallen leaves eventually return to their roots. Besides, we don’t have the energy to help the South Hongmen deal with the aftermath.”
Jiang Sen understood Xie Wendong’s meaning and hurried downstairs to stabilize his side, allowing the South Hongmen to clean up the battlefield. The South Hongmen thanked them and began collecting the corpses, carrying the seriously injured to vehicles for immediate transport to the hospital. The war lasted only an hour, but it took the whole night to clean up its aftermath. By the time the bloodstains on the streets were washed away, dawn was breaking, and the red sun began to rise. When sunlight shone upon the land once more, the darkness of evil would be forever hidden.
The battle between the North and South was unprecedented in scale, yet it was well concealed. There were no reports in TV or newspapers about it, but it couldn’t stay hidden from the underworld. The underworld was known for spreading news quickly. By the next day, everyone was discussing only one topic: who had won—the North or the South? Some said the South had won, after all, Xiang Wentian had ruled Shanghai for so many years, and his strength was obvious to all. More people believed Xie Wendong had won, or at least he hadn’t lost, as he was still alive and living in Shanghai, seemingly quite well.
By this point in the war between the Northern and Southern Hongmen factions, although neither side was severely damaged, they had both been weakened. Both needed time to recover and rebuild their strength. Yet just then, Xie Wendong prepared to launch his offensive. Unexpectedly, even for Xiang Wentian, he launched a lightning attack on the Harbour Hotel at the wrong time and place. Xie Wendong had thought this through carefully; he believed that this was the moment when the Southern Hongmen’s defenses were weakest.
It took him three days to gather his elite members. After much effort, he selected over 200 strong men without injuries and divided them into several teams, who secretly infiltrated the area around the Harbour Hotel. At the same time, he also got in touch with Bo Zhanhui. Upon hearing that they were going to attack the casino at the Harbour Hotel, the old fox immediately became enthusiastic. Without Xie Wendong needing to ask, he volunteered to do his best to “help.” This time, he kept his word—mobilizing his entire gang, taking charge personally, staying low-key, and following Xie Wendong’s instructions.
In early July, Shanghai was already very hot. During the day, most people stayed indoors to escape the scorching sun, either enjoying cool air or taking baths. Xiao Fang liked this too, but he had to go out to the Harbour Hotel. It was another day when the bank came to collect deposits, and without him, no one could open the casino’s vault. The bank sent someone to the Harbour Hotel every three days. Though they didn’t understand why such an ordinary hotel needed so much money to be transported, they didn’t dare ask too many questions, knowing that the person behind it was surnamed Xiang. Who would want to get involved in such matters? Xiao Fang also participated in the battle between the North and South at the end of the month and was injured—not seriously, just a two-inch deep cut in his arm that reached the bone. Fortunately, he was young and strong. Especially since meeting Xie Wendong, he seemed to have gotten used to getting injured. Within a few days, he could go out and stroll again with his arm in a sling. Today, Xiao Fang was in a bad mood. In the morning, he had just attended a brother’s funeral. That person had been stabbed sixteen times during the war between the North and South, received over fifty stitches at the hospital, and lost 1,500 units of blood, but still couldn’t be saved. Dressed in white with a white flower on his chest, Xiao Fang sat silently in the car.
Upon arriving at the Harbor Hotel, he was surprised by the busy atmosphere—people coming and going, traffic flowing constantly, groups gathering here and there, with others entering and exiting frequently. Xiao Fang found it unusual. Upon asking, he learned that Bo Zhanhui had arrived, bringing with him over a hundred people and millions of funds, seemingly ready to make a big gamble. Hearing this, Xiao Fang laughed mockingly and said, “Farmers will always be farmers. Just a few million—why such a big show?” He didn’t take it seriously, but his subordinates were worried. “Brother Xiao, we just had a fierce battle with the North Hongmen, suffering heavy casualties and a shortage of manpower. Could Bo Zhanhui’s arrival here be malicious?”
Xiao Fang smiled arrogantly and said disdainfully, “Him? Hmph! Even if he had a hundred times the courage, he wouldn’t dare act recklessly in our place!” “But I heard Bo Zhanhui has been getting close to the North Hongmen lately.” “So what? He’s just being smooth-talking!” Xiao Fang replied coldly, “When we went to war with Xie Wendong, did Bo Zhanhui send anyone to support him? Getting close to both sides just means he doesn’t want to offend either—typical double-dealing. No need to worry.” Full of confidence, he entered the casino. Upon pushing open the door, he saw a crowded room with at least ten air conditioners running simultaneously, yet the heat was still intense. Xiao Fang frowned slightly and asked his subordinate, “Where is Bo Zhanhui?”
The subordinate pointed to the crowd where there were the most people. “Over there!” Xiao Fang nodded, smiled, and walked over slowly. As soon as people saw Xiao, the King of the South Hongmen, they made way for him without him having to say anything. Bo Zhanhui seemed not to notice him, his attention focused on the cards in his hand. Perhaps too nervous, he crushed the cards, while his subordinates cheered loudly around him, creating a lively scene. Xiao Fang rolled his eyes, stepped forward, stood beside him, and asked gently, “Brother Bo, how much have you bet on this round?” Bo Zhanhui replied casually, “Fifty thousand!” “Ah!” Xiao Fang nodded seriously, “That’s quite a lot!”
Finally, Bo Zhanhui spread out the three crumpled cards. After seeing what they were, he deflated like a punctured balloon. Angrily, he slammed the cards on the table and said, “I’m unlucky today. I lost again, damn it!” He watched helplessly as the fifty thousand in chips was taken away from him, breathing heavily.
Xiao Fang really disliked people like Bo Zhanhui who gambled. He gave the dealer a wink, signaling that he should let Bo lose as much as he could. Nine out of ten times in gambling, there’s fraud—this was true. The outcomes of everyone around the gambling table were in the hands of the dealer. It wasn’t until the chips were taken away and the waiter started a new round of dealing that Bo Zhanhui noticed Xiao Fang beside him. He was startled and quickly said, “Oh, Xiao, when did you arrive?” Xiao Fang laughed and replied, “I just got here. Hearing that Brother Bo had the kindness to come, I came to take a look.”
Bo Zhanhui’s face turned red as he stammered, “What kindness? I just came to join in the fun and test my luck.” Xiao Fang asked deliberately, “How’s your luck, Brother Bo?” Bo Zhanhui sighed and said, “I’ve lost eight hands in a row. It’s strange!” Xiao Fang comforted him, “It’s okay. Losing first and then winning is common!” With that, he turned to leave. Although the bank staff hadn’t arrived yet, he didn’t want to waste time on them. But after taking a few steps, he heard Bo Zhanhui shout loudly, “I’m going all in on this hand! I’m betting one million!”
Oh? Xiao Fang was surprised. He turned around and walked back, watching quietly. Something must be really good about the cards if it made Bo Zhanhui willing to bet one million. Indeed, it was a great hand—three Kings. The odds of him losing were less than one in ten thousand. So, Bo Zhanhui was determined. Aside from two other players who continued to bet, everyone else folded their cards and left. Bo Zhanhui bet another million, and the other two players followed suit. After a few rounds, over four million had been bet by Bo Zhanhui, yet the other two players showed no signs of backing down. The chips on the table piled up into a small mountain. Bo Zhanhui’s eyes turned red. He picked up his cards again and checked them carefully. It was indeed three Kings, which gave him some comfort. He took out a blank check from his pocket and asked Xiao Fang, “Xiao, can I just use a check?”