Lei Qiuping blinked, puzzled. "Zhengyang, weren't you tight with those North Wolf Gang punks? Why drive them out of the capital?"
Zhengyang shook his head, a cold edge to his voice. "Tight? They played me for a fool. Last year's Song Yingfei mess? Their handiwork. Kicking them out is just step one."
Qiuping grinned, baring his teeth. "Perfect! I'm itching to let loose. Zhengyang, Third Uncle's got your back. Should we clue in the old man? Could round up more hands."
Zhengyang chuckled. "No need for a circus. That'd make the Lei family look weak. Third Uncle, you always talk about drilling troops—this is your shot."
Qiuping's eyes lit up, slamming his bowl down. "You said it, kid. If this blows up, you're taking the heat. I can't keep up with your scheming brain, but training soldiers? That's my jam. Those lazy brats have slacked off while I was gone—they need a proper thrashing."
As night fell, the day's heat faded, giving way to a cool, seductive darkness. People, cooped up all day, spilled onto the streets, chasing the capital's electrifying nightlife.
The North Wolf Gang, a titan in the northern underworld, was led by Zhang Hengxiao, the "Northern Wolf King." A bloodthirsty warlord, he'd cut down over ten elite fighters, earning his fearsome legend. Like any major syndicate, they'd planted a hefty foothold in the capital—a branch hall run by Zhang Hengxiao's son, Zhang Feng.
Rumor had it the Wolf King had three sons: Zhang Qing, Zhang Feng, and Zhang Shou. Zhang Feng, the second son, held the title of young gang leader. His crew of skilled fighters made him a force in the capital, respected even by Lin Kuang's Elite Club. He'd joined Yangtian League, earning Zhengyang's favor with his loyal efficiency. Had Zhengyang not lived a second life, he'd never have suspected—or dared to move against—him.
Zhengyang, once a spoiled brawler, was no stranger to street fights but had never spilled blood. The North Wolf Gang's shadowy world of underground power was alien to him. Yet, where there's day, there's night—an eternal truth. Underworld forces thrived, coexisting with the law as long as they toed the line. From his past life's memories, Zhengyang knew the North Wolf Gang in the north and the Yang family in the south were key players in the Lei family's downfall. Now, he'd snuff out these threats before they could bloom. Targeting the North Wolf Gang was safe—no one would cry foul. He wasn't crushing them outright, just simmering them slowly, like frogs in warming water, until they boiled.
Zhang Feng was the first mark. This wasn't just revenge for past betrayals; it was a message: the Lei family wasn't to be trifled with. No one who crossed them would live carefree. It'd also weld Yangtian League tighter. By sending Third Uncle instead of stepping in himself, Zhengyang was flying a bold flag without showing his hand.
At the North Wolf Gang's capital headquarters, a glitzy nightclub named Wild Wolf glowed under neon lights. Not as elite as Yaochi Club, it was still a hotspot for rich young lords to burn cash. Amid the haze of liquor and flirtatious laughter, it was a paradise of pleasure.
Sprawling and lavish, the club hid the gang's deadliest edge. Among the staff patrolling the floors, many were North Wolf Gang members, not just bouncers but guardians of their capital stronghold.
A rumble of military trucks roared up, halting at Wild Wolf's entrance. Lei Qiuping, clad in crisp military garb, sat in a jeep. The lead captain, catching his signal, bellowed, "Team One, front building! Team Two, rear! Team Three, secure the exits! Everyone's getting checked. Suspects detained for military questioning. Move!"
As the trucks stopped, armed soldiers stormed in. North Wolf Gang guards at the doors moved to block them but were smashed down with rifle butts. This wasn't a drill—these were live rounds, and the soldiers meant business.
"Who the hell are you, stirring trouble at Wild Wolf?" a man strode forward, clearly a club higher-up. Even facing a swarm of soldiers, he barely flinched, radiating seasoned confidence. In the capital, only the battle-hardened thrived.
This was the club's manager, backed by dozens of burly gang members, unfazed by the soldiers' aimed rifles. They blocked the way, stalling the operation. Soldiers or not, the gang had connections in the military, and wheels were already turning to counter this raid.
"I don't care who you are," the captain snapped. "We've got intel on a high-level fugitive here. Cooperate, line up for inspection, or resistors get shot on the spot." Irked by their defiance, he drew his pistol, fed up with these punks hiding behind their backers.
"Sorry, no orders from above," the manager retorted, unshaken. "This is private property. We refuse your search. And you're overstepping—you're not cops." Years running the club had made him bold, rubbing elbows with officials and leaning on the North Wolf Gang's clout.
Bang! A gunshot cracked the air. The captain wouldn't dare fire, but Lei Qiuping did. Once the capital's most brazen hothead, he couldn't stomach a mere manager mouthing off to his men. Zhengyang's words echoed: Make a mess, it's fine—the Lei family needs an excuse. Old Master Lei, the "Leopard," was fiery but diplomatic, favoring balance in peaceful times. Zhengyang, though, saw the arrows aimed at their family beneath the surface. Strike hard, root out threats—that was his way. No grand ideals, just survival: You don't cross me, I don't cross you. You do, I'll bury you. He wasn't playing nice, and he'd kept Qiuping from telling the old man, knowing he'd veto this.
Screams erupted. The soldiers' arrival had drawn a crowd, mostly women—sultry, seductive types whose allure was skin-deep, their courage paper-thin. Seeing the manager's head explode, they cowered, clutching their heads. This wasn't a routine check—they were shooting for real.
Qiuping glared at the captain. "Move!"
Killing was a tool; the goal was leverage. If no dirt surfaced, Qiuping would make some to justify the gunfire—Zhengyang's orders. The soldiers, humiliated by the manager's earlier dismissal, surged forward with relish. The captain's order unleashed them, pummeling the gang members, who, leaderless, didn't dare fight back.
The troops swarmed, kicking open every private room. In a place like this, dirt was easy to find—drugs, debauchery, sex deals, you name it. Evidence piled up fast.
In the North Wolf Gang's third-floor command room, Zhang Feng watched the security feed, eyes narrowing at Lei Qiuping's image. He knew this man—Lei family, no question. The headshot on the manager screamed intent: this wasn't a random sweep. It was a direct hit on the North Wolf Gang.
"Order everyone to pull out," Zhang Feng hissed. "Tiger, we're leaving. I'll settle this score with the Lei family later." He stepped from the dim room, around thirty, handsome but grim, his eyes burning with fury, a vicious aura cloaking him.
Behind him trailed a lean, middle-aged man—Thin Tiger, the true boss of the capital branch and one of the gang's six deadliest fighters. Cold and merciless, he bristled at the retreat order but couldn't defy Zhang Feng, the Wolf King's son. Risking him wasn't an option.
Staring at Qiuping on the screen, Thin Tiger's killing intent flared, unmasked. In the capital, no one dared disrespect the North Wolf Gang.