Chapter Seventeen: Eliminate the Weeds at the Root

Although Qiao Yuan had already spread the news that he would marry Cheng Qing on the eighth day of next month, his mind was not on it at all.

Since Sato Ichiro refused to make the deal with him, he naturally had his own way of finding Huang Jinhu and Liang Kuan.

After Lin Jintang was injured, he was determined to seek revenge on the two men. All these years, he kept Huang Jinhu alive only to lure out these rats in the shadows.

That day, Qiao Yuan received a message from Uncle Chen, so he led his men to intercept the person.

The abandoned warehouse, its corrugated iron roof gleaming reddish-brown under the gloomy sky.

Qiao Yuan stood before the crowd, his gaze like an icy blade, sweeping over their terrified faces. "Listen up, all of you. Today, I will personally settle the score between Huang Jinhu and Liang Kuan. Considering our past as brothers in the Black Tiger Gang, I will give you a way out: those who wish to submit to the Crescent Moon Gang, stand behind me; those who do not, leave now, and I will not stop you. But if you stay, you will be my enemy, Qiao Yuan, and you will bear the consequences of your actions!"

The warehouse was deathly silent, with only the crackling of the burning torches.

After a brief hesitation, several figures staggered and scrambled out of the gate, disappearing into the gray morning mist; the remaining two or three exchanged glances, then lowered their heads and silently moved behind the Crescent Moon Gang members, not daring to meet Qiao Yuan's eyes.

In an instant, the vast space was left with only Golden Tiger and Liang Kuan trapped in the center, like two cornered beasts. Liang Kuan's facial muscles twitched, his eyes filled with resentment; Golden Tiger, on the other hand, hunched over, trying to hide the fear in his eyes and feign composure.

Qiao Yuan slowly took a few steps forward, his leather shoes echoing dully on the dusty ground. He stopped in front of the two men, his gaze sweeping between Huang Jinhu and Liang Kuan, a cold smile curving his lips. "Huang Jinhu, all these years, what haven't you put me in? You knew it was a den of dragons and tigers, yet you forced me to venture in; you knew it was a near-death experience, yet you forced me to gamble! Do you think I, Qiao Yuan, am a fool? You just wanted to use me as a tool to kill, to fill the hole of your ambition with my life! But I came back, and I came back alive every time."

Qiao Yuan suddenly turned to Liang Kuan, his eyes sharp as knives, "And you, Liang Kuan! You're jealous of my rapid rise, afraid I'll take your place, so you've tried to trip me up, both openly and secretly. How many times have you done this? I've tolerated it out of consideration for our shared school! But you shouldn't have crossed my bottom line!"

Qiao Yuan's voice suddenly rose, exploding in the empty warehouse, filled with thunderous rage: "That ambush in the French Concession, with its hail of bullets, was aimed at taking my life! Huang Jinhu, you knew about it! You tacitly approved it! You even rejoiced, wanting to use Liang Kuan to get rid of me, this thorn in your side! But if you wanted to take my life, that would be one thing, but why did you have to harm my wife to this extent?"

He took a step closer, the invisible pressure causing Liang Kuan to instinctively retreat. "I spared you once, leaving Huang Jinhu alive. But you insisted on courting death! Colluding with outsiders and causing trouble time and again, do you think I, Qiao Yuan, am a clay idol? Today, it's time for you to reap what you sow!"

A chilling atmosphere of judgment enveloped the entire space. Golden Tiger's lips trembled; he wanted to defend himself but couldn't utter a sound.

A fierce glint flashed in Liang Kuan's eyes, and he hissed, "Qiao Yuan! Stop putting on airs! I have the Japanese backing me! It's Sato Ichiro! If you dare touch me, Mr. Sato won't let you get away with it!"

"Japanese?" Qiao Yuan sneered, his laughter particularly jarring in the deathly silence, filled with utter contempt. "Even if you're the Jade Emperor's man, I'll still send you to heaven today!" Without further ado, he flipped his wrist and pulled a gleaming Colt revolver from his waist.

Qiao Yuan skillfully swung open the magazine, emptying five bright yellow bullets in full view of everyone, leaving only one lone bullet stuck in the chamber.

The crisp sound of metal clashing echoed through the warehouse.

With a "click," the magazine closed, and Qiao Yuan stretched out his arm, steadily handing the muzzle-down pistol to the ground between Huang Jinhu and Liang Kuan.

"There's only one bullet in the gun." Qiao Yuan's voice regained its calm, yet it was more chilling than his previous roar. "I'll give you a chance. Russian roulette, the old rules. You take turns pulling the trigger on your own heads. Whoever gets shot, I'll let the other go. This is your only way out."

No sooner had he finished speaking than a frantic survival instinct ignited in Liang Kuan's eyes! Like a hungry wolf cornered on the edge of a cliff, he lunged forward and grabbed the pistol from the ground with incredible speed!

A deafening gunshot rang out in the confined space! The pungent smell of gunpowder instantly filled the air. Golden Tiger's massive body shuddered violently, a glaring bloody hole appearing on his forehead. His face froze in shock, and he collapsed forward like a sack of potatoes with its bones removed, landing with a thud on the dusty ground, lifeless. Blood quickly seeped into a dark red pool beneath him.

Looking at the dead Huang Jinhu, a twisted sense of pleasure and relief flashed across Liang Kuan's face. He was panting heavily, his hand holding the gun trembling slightly. He looked up at Qiao Yuan and hissed, "Master Qiao! According to the rules, you should let me go! I fired the shot, he's dead!"

Qiao Yuan's face was expressionless, only a cold, almost cruel mockery flashed in his eyes. He slowly raised his right hand, and before he knew it, another identical revolver was in his hand, the dark muzzle steadily pointed at Liang Kuan's heart.

"Bang!"

The second gunshot was crisp and clean. Liang Kuan's ecstatic expression froze instantly. He looked down at the rapidly spreading blood on his chest, his eyes filled with disbelief, shock, and resentment. He opened his mouth as if to curse, but only a mouthful of bloody foam came out. He then collapsed heavily beside Shang Wen's corpse, twitched a few times, and remained motionless.

The warehouse was eerily silent, with only the smell of gunpowder and blood silently permeating the air.

Qiao Yuan expressionlessly tucked the gun back into his waistband, as if he had only done a trivial matter. He waved his hand, and immediately, people behind him stepped forward and silently and swiftly disposed of the two corpses.

Qiao Yuan turned around and strode out of this bloody battlefield.

The biting morning wind blew in my face, slightly dispelling the smell of gunpowder in my nostrils, but it couldn't dispel the heavy gloom in my heart.

Outside the door, Uncle Chen had been waiting for a long time.

"It's all been cleaned up." Qiao Yuan's voice carried a hint of barely perceptible fatigue. He paused, took a deep breath of the cold air, which smelled of rust and blood, and felt a sharp pain in his lungs, but it couldn't suppress the surging bloodlust in his heart.

It was Huang Jinhu, the once high-spirited leader of the Black Tiger Gang, who glanced at him in the crowd, and that one glance dragged him into this bottomless quagmire.

From then on, every step was a perilous journey. To snatch food from someone else's bowl with bare hands required risking one's life; negotiating with a smiling tiger at the negotiating table meant every toast might conceal poison; to climb the ladder, one had to step on the corpses of others, listening to the creaking sounds seeping from between one's own bones—sounds even one despises…

Behind every so-called "promotion" lay countless dead ends meticulously designed by Huang Jinhu to squeeze out the last bit of value from him. He was like a caged beast bound by chains, struggling to survive in a thicket of blood and betrayal.

The solemnity on Uncle Chen's face did not dissipate because of Qiao Yuan's words; on the contrary, it deepened. His brows were furrowed, and his deeply lined face was filled with worry. He hesitated several times before finally letting out a deep sigh, his voice lowered, carrying a hint of barely perceptible anxiety.

“Master Qiao, Huang Jinhu and Liang Kuan deserve to die, but... Liang Kuan is indeed a lackey of Sato Ichiro. Sato is ruthless, vengeful, and cunning. This time... we've probably offended him badly. The days ahead may not be peaceful.”

Qiao Yuan remained silent.

The morning mist clung to his skin, icy and biting, yet it couldn't extinguish the raging fire burning in his chest. Uncle Chen's worried words seemed to drift through a thin layer of water, blurring his vision, while all he could see was the pale light at the end of the hospital corridor.

The smell of disinfectant was so strong and pungent that it could barely mask the fresh stench of blood.

He held her, so lightly, as light as a leaf that might shatter at any moment.

The hem of her cheongsam was stained with large patches of dark red, stinging his eyes. Her hands gripped his arm tightly, her nails digging into his flesh, her voice trembling uncontrollably, each word like an icicle piercing the deepest part of his heart:

"The baby...can't be saved..."

From that moment on, Lin Jintang in his arms, the crabapple blossom in his memory that faced the sun with a touch of stubbornness and scholarly spirit, withered away completely.

Later, she became the impeccable "Mrs. Qiao" in everyone's eyes. Her skills, shrewdness, and composure were second to none among the gang leaders' wives. She handled everything with impeccable grace and managed the internal affairs of the Crescent Moon Gang in an orderly manner.

But he only felt unfamiliar with it.

Occasionally, only very occasionally, he would catch a glimpse of her at the study door. She would sit alone on a soft chair by the window, holding a book in her hands, the sunlight slanting across her profile, outlining her gentle features.

Or perhaps she was simply gazing quietly at the old photographs hanging in the lobby, in which she smiled with her eyes crinkled, radiating a long-lost, pure vitality.

At these moments, Qiao Yuan felt as if an invisible hand was gripping her heart tightly. Was she looking at a photograph? Or was she looking through the photograph at someone long since buried by time? Was it that man named Bai Mu?

Once the thought popped into his head, it grew wildly like a poisonous vine, coiling around his heart and suffocating him.