Chapter Fifty-Nine: All Show, No Substance

When Li Zishen saw the appearance of the White Tiger Squad on the surveillance monitors, he could hardly contain his joy, feeling as though he had waited an eternity for his prey to finally arrive. He hurriedly called his men, ordering them to stay sharp and be ready. His plan was sound: he had his people lie in ambush on the same floor as the White Tiger Squad, scattered throughout various rooms. The moment Hai Feng and his team stepped off the elevator and reached the center of the floor, his men would burst out simultaneously, surrounding them so tightly that they would have no way to escape.

Li Zishen watched as the White Tiger Squad ascended in the elevator, floor by floor, his heart pounding faster with excitement. In his eyes, the White Tiger Squad was growing ever closer to the gates of hell, and his army was about to send them through it. Soon, he would return in triumph to boast before Pan Lun.

When Li Zishen finally saw the squad step out of the elevator and move into the middle of the floor, he gave the order without hesitation. His men charged from the rooms with a roar, but the next scene left Li Zishen dumbfounded.

Upon hearing the shouts, Liu Zhiyang was the first to leap forward, charging at the black-clad assailants. What followed was a vivid demonstration—a masterful judo lesson: double-handed reap, air throw, floating drop, foot sweep, scissors kick, waist sweep, shoulder wheel, crotch throw, scarf hold, upper four-corner hold, cross arm lock, naked choke, wing choke, single wing choke, ten hands, benevolent shade, bright mirror, rock crane, precious hand, cloud hand, and crown. Liu Zhiyang executed these techniques with such precision that Li Zishen’s men were scattered across the floor, battered and defeated, while the rest retreated in fear, unwilling to advance.

On the other side, the black-clad men fared no better. Zhang Mufeng, who appeared gentle and frail, unleashed his iron fists: straight punches, swings, uppercuts, jabs, whip punches, side snap kicks, front thrust kicks, side kicks, sweeps, and intercepts—an endless array of techniques that left the attackers questioning their life choices.

Hai Feng stood impassively, with hardly a chance to intervene, only finding the occasional amusement in subduing the few black-clad men who managed to stagger to their feet and attempt another attack.

Li Weiwei stood there, utterly astonished, unable to believe the spectacle before her. To her, it felt as if she had been transported into an action film—witnessing such a live display of combat left her in awe. She couldn’t help but ask Zhao Zhijie beside her, “Are all police officers this skilled?”

Zhao Zhijie shook his head awkwardly. “I didn’t graduate from the police academy, I can’t fight, and most officers I know can’t either. Cops who can fight like this are rare. These thugs are just having a streak of very bad luck!”

Hearing Zhao Zhijie admit he couldn’t fight, several nearby black-clad men surged toward him. Zhao Zhijie showed no panic. He reached into his backpack, swiftly drew out a gun, and fired at the closest assailant, who dropped to the ground, convulsing.

Zhao Zhijie turned to Li Weiwei. “That’s why I usually use a gun.”

Li Weiwei stared at the fallen man, then looked at Zhao Zhijie, surprised at this unexpected trick. She eyed him curiously, as if a thought had struck her. “How were you able to bring a gun here?”

Zhao Zhijie replied with a smile, “A regular firearm definitely can’t be brought in, and I didn’t apply for one, so it’s impossible to have a gun here. This is a homemade stun gun. It was nothing but a pile of parts when I brought it in—no problem at customs. I assembled it myself after I arrived, just in case.”

While the black-clad men were being ruthlessly battered by Liu Zhiyang and Zhang Mufeng, and picked off by Zhao Zhijie’s occasional shots, they finally broke and scattered, fleeing in all directions.

Li Zishen was utterly terrified by what he witnessed. When his men turned tail and ran, he rolled up his sleeves, mustered his courage, pushed open the door to the surveillance room, and, without a second thought, dashed to his car. With his entourage, he sped away in panic back to the casino.

Pan Lun had expected to wake from his nap to hear Li Zishen recount with relish the White Tiger Squad’s miserable defeat. Instead, he was greeted by battered, panic-stricken subordinates. Seeing Li Zishen still in shock, Pan Lun’s face turned livid with rage.

He couldn’t believe that the seemingly frail police officers had frightened his men—whom he had cultivated for years—into such a state. Pan Lun felt he really had raised a pack of useless fools. He erupted in fury, sweeping everything off the table. Yet Li Zishen just stood there in silence, showing no intention of mounting another attack, no matter how Pan Lun berated him.

Seeing Pan Lun’s anger, Wang Zhi stepped in to mediate. “Li Zishen isn’t a coward. I’ve seen the brothers he brought back—they’re bruised and battered, beaten badly. Clearly, those few have some real skill. Maybe we should hire assassins from outside to get rid of them.”

Pan Lun looked at Wang Zhi and sneered, “Hire assassins? You know any assassins here?”

Wang Zhi shook his head. “No, but maybe we should lie low for now and deal with them once we find someone?”

Pan Lun was even more infuriated by this reply, glaring so fiercely at Wang Zhi that he couldn’t meet his gaze. “Lie low? For how long? Until they wipe us out?”

At this, Li Zishen finally spoke, stammering, “Maybe... maybe we should just pull out and set up somewhere else? Let’s not fight Hai Feng anymore.”

Pan Lun was beside himself with rage. “Pull out? After one encounter, you’re this scared? Are they tigers or monsters? You want to retreat after just a skirmish?”

Li Zishen dared not reply, knowing Pan Lun was venting his anger and could only endure it.

After taking a deep breath to calm himself, Pan Lun sat on the sofa. “You want to pull out? And what about the casino? Just abandon it? Who’s going to cover a loss of over a billion? You?”

He jabbed a finger at Li Zishen. “Did you leave your brain at home? Do you know what you’re saying? Just a few petty police officers and you’re all scared out of your wits? Where’s all your bravado now? Have I really been raising a bunch of useless fools all these years?”

After his tirade, Pan Lun’s anger abated somewhat. He gestured impatiently, and Wang Zhi hurried over to pour him a drink. Pan Lun downed it in one gulp and closed his eyes to think. Li Zishen and Wang Zhi stood silently, not daring to speak.

After a while, Pan Lun opened his eyes and said, “Forget it. I can’t blame you entirely. You’ve had a long day. Go rest. Don’t provoke Hai Feng’s group anymore—just have someone keep an eye on them.”

As Wang Zhi and Li Zishen were about to leave, Pan Lun called Wang Zhi back. “Tell the brothers at the casino to keep their eyes sharp. The moment Hai Feng’s group shows up, report to me at once.”

Wang Zhi nodded and left with Li Zishen. Once they were gone, Pan Lun took out his phone, glanced at Song Xin’s profile picture on JuLiao, and started a video call.

Song Xin’s elegant face soon appeared on the screen. “Mr. Pan, why are you contacting me so late? Is something wrong?”

Pan Lun replied wearily, “My men got beaten back by ‘Grim Reaper’ and his group. I never imagined more than fifty couldn’t handle seven. Since when did police officers become so formidable?”

Seeing his dejection, Song Xin understood his operation had failed. “I warned you before—‘Grim Reaper’ isn’t so easily dealt with. You underestimated them. What will you do next?”

Pan Lun sneered, “What will I do? How about you find me a few assassins?”

Song Xin shook her head. “That’s not something I can help with—I don’t know any assassins.”

Pan Lun laughed mockingly. “Aren’t you supposed to be resourceful? You don’t know any? Not even Xu Wei?”

Song Xin replied, “I’m just a businesswoman. If even you, the general manager of the Pan Group, can’t find an assassin, how could I? And let me remind you again—these matters have nothing to do with Commissioner Xu. You shouldn’t involve him.”

Pan Lun’s voice turned cold. “Trying to clear Xu Wei’s name now? Do you think you can? Listen to me—if I go down, neither you nor Xu Wei will escape. We’re all in the same boat; if one sinks, we all do.”

Song Xin answered, “I have no intention of running, but I genuinely don’t know any assassins. Even if I wanted to find some, it wouldn’t be quick. And Hai Feng’s group are police officers—even abroad, killing them would only bring more trouble.”

“My advice: return home. You’ve spent years building your reputation as minister of the underground in Mingnan. You’ll be safer back home than in Madagascar.”

Pan Lun’s stern expression disappeared, and he burst out laughing. Leaning close to the camera, he said, “Just because Hai Feng’s group is here, you want me to run? Are you so scared of him?”

He continued, “I’m not running. I’ve already ordered surveillance on Hai Feng’s group. As long as they’re not after me, I don’t care what they do here. If they are, well, no matter how tough they are, I don’t believe they’re bulletproof.”

Song Xin replied, “Since you’ve made up your mind, I have nothing more to say. But I still suggest you move your betting website back home—put it on your own turf, where it’s safer.”

Pan Lun retorted, “Is that really necessary? Just because Hai Feng showed up in Madagascar? If he returns home, should I move the entire Pan Group overseas?”

Song Xin responded, “It’s just a suggestion. You don’t need to move everything—your casino here has a license and can stay. Just move the betting site back. It’s a loss for me, too, but it’s safer. Better to sacrifice a limb than lose everything.”

Pan Lun was growing impatient. “Are you sure Hai Feng is here for me? Or are you just panicking because he’s in Madagascar?”

“If you’re all so scared, why not just surrender? With that kind of courage, you won’t last in business anyway.”

Ignoring his sarcasm, Song Xin continued, “I know it’s hard for you to accept, but sometimes you have to make tough decisions. Think carefully about what I said.” With that, she ended the call.

Pan Lun sat alone on the sofa, unable to understand why Song Xin was so adamant about moving the betting site home, or why Hai Feng’s arrival in Madagascar should provoke such a strong reaction from her. He sensed she might know something, but perhaps no more than he did.

Hai Feng’s arrival had shattered Pan Lun’s peace in Madagascar. Though he still didn’t know why Hai Feng was here, he felt increasingly uneasy—his sense of security in Madagascar was gone.

Night had fallen over the city, and a deep calm enveloped everything. But for Pan Lun, this tranquil night brought only torment.

His once-unshakable resolve began to waver. He started to consider whether he should take Song Xin’s advice.