Chapter Thirteen: The Clown, Laughable

Hong Shenglian had a lawyer specifically responsible for securing releases from the police station.

Of course, such lawyers were usually disreputable scoundrels with a notorious reputation in public. That was why they took on jobs for gangs to earn a living, often mocked as sleazy “junk lawyers.”

However, these junk lawyers were quite professional when it came to securing releases. In less than an hour, all the paperwork was done, and Yang Sheng and the others were led out.

At the police station entrance, many of Hong Shenglian’s men stood guard. The moment they saw Yang Sheng and the others emerge, they rushed over, shouting “Brother Sheng! Brother Sheng!” They even sprinkled pomelo leaves over them, a ritual to ward off bad luck.

Although Yang Sheng didn’t want to be drenched, he followed local customs and didn’t refuse, especially since these men were overly enthusiastic.

These men were not sent by Uncle Chang.

It wasn’t that Uncle Chang lacked such intentions, but even if he did, he wouldn’t care about such trivial details.

Originally, Hong Shenglian’s gang was a fading organization. Aside from the three elders and some trusted lieutenants under Di Wei, the rest of the men lived meager lives.

They had no lucrative territories and were constantly bullied by other gangs.

While other gangs’ leaders would assist their men when they were harassed, Hong Shenglian’s men were left to meekly retreat.

For years, Hong Shenglian’s gang was like a stagnant pool, devoid of vitality, with members living aimlessly.

That changed when Yang Sheng rose to prominence during the Dragon City Battle, killing Ruan Feng, the notorious double-flower red baton of the Yinglian Society.

Then, leading six men, he launched a surprise attack on the Yinglian Society’s strongest enforcer, Luo Rong, and eliminated Nanshan Tiger Yao Hui.

For these grassroots thugs, such exploits were legendary stories that greatly boosted morale.

Compared to the elder who only talked about the bigger picture and was rarely seen, Yang Sheng was definitely more admired.

Such stories were common within gangs; most double-flower red batons earned their status through their fists.

For instance, Ruan Feng, who died at Yang Sheng’s hands, had taken control of three streets in Ma You Di with a military dagger, which was why Luo Rong endorsed him as a double-flower red baton.

Otherwise, as a Vietnamese, even if Luo Rong funded him, Ruan Feng wouldn’t have had the prestige or credentials to hold that position.

The junk lawyer who redeemed them wore gold-rimmed glasses, was bald and sleazy, exuding the air of a cultured scoundrel.

He yawned and said, “Brother Sheng, I’ve completed the task your boss assigned. Go home and rest well tonight. Come to the hall meeting at noon tomorrow.

Ah, money from Hong Shenglian’s gang isn’t easy to earn—having to come out in the middle of the night to bail people out.

Do you know that lack of sleep causes hair loss?”

After this complaint, the junk lawyer drove away, and Yang Sheng and the others each returned home to rest.

…

After getting out of the taxi, Yang Sheng walked back to the small loft he rented in Kwun Tong.

The narrow street was lined with crooked dai pai dong stalls, with sewage flowing at his feet and dim, patchy lighting. Many poor residents in the housing estates worked in factories during the day and ran small businesses at night to supplement their income.

Compared to the brightly lit nights of Yau Tsim Mong, Kwun Tong, a poor district, felt like two different worlds—one above and one below.

Of course, it was still relatively decent here. As long as a family was healthy, they wouldn’t starve. So this was the world above.

The true underground was Kowloon Walled City—a cyberpunk hell on earth.

Yang Sheng pushed open the creaking rusty iron gate and took out everything he had taken from Luo Rong’s safe to inspect.

Besides some valuables, there were indeed numerous documents and reports detailing the supply and sales channels of Luo Rong’s counterfeit goods, even including price breakdowns.

Yang Sheng glanced through them and was somewhat surprised.

The counterfeit goods alone generated monthly sales profits amounting to over a million, while the costs were less than a tenth of that.

Moreover, Luo Rong was involved in high-interest loans, finance, film, and other businesses, with monthly net profits beyond imagination.

No wonder this guy was so arrogant, even looking down on Chai Jiu, the Yinglian Society’s gang leader.

This money alone could sustain the entire Yinglian Society.

Although Luo Rong had business acumen, he was somewhat short-sighted.

Coming from gang roots, his vision was limited to the gang’s small domain.

If he were willing to share some of his profits with Chai Jiu and other enforcers, and give up trying to overthrow the gang leader, choosing instead to go legit as a businessman,

the Yinglian Society would not be his enemy but rather a covert ally.

Packing these materials into a file bag, Yang Sheng planned to hand them over to Chen Wenyao the next day.

Having endured two battles in one night, Yang Sheng was utterly exhausted both physically and mentally.

In his sleep, he felt enveloped by endless blood-red hues.

At times, the Lin family’s dead came back to life, lunging at him to tear him apart.

At others, he was trapped by Lin family henchmen in a hotel suite.

Whether human or ghost, Yang Sheng swung his blade madly in the dream, fighting until the blood-red around him thickened, before jolting awake.

Sunlight filtered through the grimy red curtains, casting everything in a crimson glow.

He glanced at the time—already past ten in the morning.

Rubbing his head, he packed the documents Chen Wenyao requested into his backpack and went out to eat a bowl of cart noodles.

Cart noodles were the mixed offal noodles featured in Stephen Chow’s “God of Cookery.”

Typically, they consisted of thick noodles topped with pork blood, pig intestines, pig skin, radish, curry fish balls, and other inexpensive ingredients—typical Hong Kong poor man’s fare.

As people grew wealthier, the toppings diversified, adding beef brisket, assorted beef offal, pig’s trotters, chicken wings, and even abalone, though the taste seemed to have changed over time.

Yang Sheng devoured the noodles like a whirlwind, then headed to the police station to hand the documents to Chen Wenyao.

Of course, Yang Sheng himself wouldn’t go as a model citizen.

Though Chen Sir appeared to be a good cop, he was far from simple.

He had once been an undercover agent within the gangs—a role with the highest mortality rate in the police force.

The risks were great not only during the undercover operation but also afterward, when reporting back to the police.

Gangs had zero tolerance for traitors.

Being exposed by an undercover agent was the ultimate betrayal. Even if only one gang member remained, they would rather die together than let the mole live, lest they lose all face in the underworld.

Chen Wenyao had been an undercover agent in the gangs and had now risen to senior inspector in the Organized Crime and Triad Bureau—a role that was anything but simple. Yang Sheng had to be wary of him.

Wearing a baseball cap and mask, Yang Sheng found a kid on the street, gave him ten dollars, and had him deliver the fingerprint-wiped file bag to Chen Wenyao at the police station.

After the kid came out, Yang Sheng discarded his disguise and went to Wan Chai to attend Hong Shenglian’s hall meeting.

By then, many members of Hong Shenglian’s gang had already gathered inside. Seeing Yang Sheng arrive, many greeted him with respect and enthusiasm, shouting “Brother Sheng!”

Having taken down two double-flower red batons from the Yinglian Society in one night and eliminated their strongest enforcer, Luo Rong, when had Hong Shenglian ever been so triumphant?

Yang Sheng was generous, too—he handed out sixty thousand dollars after risking his life with six men all night. No other big shot in Hong Shenglian had ever been so generous, which fueled the young men’s fervor.

However, some older members of Hong Shenglian looked at Yang Sheng with wary and strange eyes.

Hong Shenglian was a small gang; when a newcomer rose, the elders had to step aside.

Yang Sheng’s overnight fame meant it was his time to shine, but who was to make way?

At that moment, Gwailo Wen appeared out of nowhere, poked Yang Sheng furtively, and whispered, “Handsome, you had your moment today, but that’s all it is—just a moment.

I’ll give you a heads-up, don’t overthink the other stuff; prepare yourself mentally.”

After speaking, Gwailo Wen slipped back into the crowd, wandering off somewhere unknown.

Looking around the hall, Yang Sheng sneered inwardly.

Mental preparation? He’d had that since last night.

Entering the hall, a subordinate promptly arranged a seat for Yang Sheng.

It was quite close to the front, just below the three elders and Di Wei.

Within half an hour, all the main lieutenants of Hong Shenglian had arrived.

Yang Sheng scanned them and shook his head silently.

Four words: a rabble of incompetents.

The three elders of Hong Shenglian tightly guarded their power, so among the dozen or so main lieutenants, only Di Wei was a red baton; the rest were mere foot soldiers.

They were generally older, mediocre in ability and fighting skills, and could only guard the outskirts of Tuen Mun and Kwun Tong—essentially a bunch of dead weight.

Elder Chang, his face flushed with pride, stood and pointed at Yang Sheng, loudly declaring:

“This young man is Ah Sheng, the rising star of Hong Shenglian!

He killed the Vietnamese tiger Ruan Feng at the Dragon City Battle, shocking all the gangs in Hong Kong!

Last night, that no-good Luo Rong broke the rules and came after Ah Sheng’s life.

Although Hong Shenglian is now called a sunset gang, we won’t hand over our men lightly!

So last night, Ah Sheng requested permission—and with six men, took down Luo Rong!

I’ve already negotiated with Chai Jiu.

This matter was Luo Rong’s violation of the rules, and the Yinglian Society has no face to avenge him.

But this is a personal feud between Hong Shenglian and Luo Rong, not a turf war.

Therefore, we relinquish Luo Rong’s territory back to Chai Jiu.

So, gentlemen, is Luo Rong formidable? Is the Yinglian Society formidable?

But Hong Shenglian is not a gang that anyone can easily control!”

Elder Chang’s words were not without merit; that was indeed the gist of the matter, though the tone felt somewhat off.

Yang Sheng didn’t expose it and maintained a radiant smile, appearing sunny and amiable.

Just like when he was undercover at the Shenghao Grand Hotel, no one could tell he harbored blood feuds and was ready to kill whole families at any moment.