The car door closed without a sound, shutting out all the clamor from outside.
The license plate of the Hongqi limousine read "Jiang A·00001." Its interior had been modified to the highest specifications. The windows were one-way bulletproof glass—pure black from the outside, but from within, the dazzling nightscape of Jianghai City stretched out in its entirety, like a luminous sand table model.
The space inside the car was improbably large for a sedan, more like a mobile private lounge. There was no scent of new car leather, only a faint, soothing aroma of sandalwood.
In the driver's seat, a gaunt, middle-aged man who looked like a scholar with his gold-rimmed glasses glanced at Su Yang through the rearview mirror. His eyes brimmed with barely contained excitement and fervent reverence.
"My King… you've finally returned."
His voice was hoarse, tinged with a tremor.
He was Ghost Uncle—his real name unknown to anyone. To the outside world, he was one of the most mysterious top financiers in China's business circles, managing a vast commercial empire whose scale defied estimation. But before Su Yang, he was simply the intelligence chief codenamed "Ghost Hand," serving under "Cold Edge."
Su Yang leaned back into the soft leather seat, undid the top two buttons of his suit, and instantly relaxed his posture. Yet the innate sense of pressure he exuded grew even more palpable.
"Old Ghost, years apart, and you're still as long-winded as ever."
Su Yang spoke mildly, his gaze drifting to the neon lights speeding past outside the window.
Ghost Uncle chuckled, the excitement on his face calming slightly as he started the car. It moved in near silence, gliding as smoothly as if on water.
"My King, the matter you instructed has been handled," Ghost Uncle reported respectfully while driving. "All public and non-public information regarding Lin Corporation and Lin Wanxin was sent to your encrypted mailbox three minutes ago. Additionally, regarding the 'settlement' you mentioned at the engagement banquet, the finance department has prepared three plans. We can activate them at any time, guaranteeing that Lin Corporation's market value will evaporate by at least thirty percent within twenty-four hours."
This was Ghost Uncle's way of operating.
A single word from the King was, to him, an imperial decree to be executed with the highest efficiency and most perfect results.
Su Yang waved a hand dismissively, as if uninterested in a plan that could ruin any family.
"No rush."
His left hand rested casually on his knee, his index finger unconsciously rubbing a ring on his ring finger.
The ring's design was unusual. It wasn't gold, silver, or any known precious metal. Its surface was a dull brass color, carrying the cold, metallic texture unique to such materials, with a few extremely fine scratches—marks left by some tool during polishing.
It was a ring crafted from a shell casing.
A casing that had been stained with blood, touched by fire, and witnessed life and death.
As his fingertip brushed over it, that icy sensation acted like a key, instantly unlocking a long-sealed door deep within Su Yang's memory.
His thoughts were abruptly dragged back three years, to that torrentially rainy night in Paris…
…
Three years ago, Paris, France.
Deep night in the Père Lachaise Cemetery district. Rain poured down in sheets. The cold downpour washed over ancient tombstones, adding an extra layer of eeriness to an already grim place.
*Thwip!*
A soft, almost rain-muffled sound.
A sniper hiding behind a gravestone now had a precise, bloody hole in the center of his forehead. His expression of shock was frozen in place as his body slumped to the ground.
Su Yang's figure emerged like a true phantom from the shadows behind the sniper. In his hand was a P226 pistol fitted with a silencer, a wisp of smoke still curling from its barrel.
His combat suit was soaked through, clinging to him and outlining rock-solid muscles. Rain streaked down his sharply defined face, but his eyes were colder than the chill night rain.
"Point A cleared."
He uttered four words into his encrypted comms.
"Received. The 'Vulture' squad, all twelve members, have entered the encirclement. Firepower configuration is standard US Delta Force level. Awaiting your orders, my King." Ghost Uncle's calm voice came through the earpiece.
"Clean them up."
Su Yang's reply was simple and direct, devoid of any emotion.
His mission this time was to rescue a Chinese woman kidnapped by the international terrorist organization "Vulture." The client's information stated her identity was of utmost importance—she must be retrieved alive at all costs.
The "Vulture" organization was a remnant of several top assassin groups he had personally dismantled, and they saw him as a thorn in their side.
This was both a rescue and a reckoning.
He moved, darting at high speed through the complex maze of tombstones like a black panther hunting in the dark—elegant and lethal.
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
The gunshots were like the whispers of death. Each one signified the end of a life.
These top assassins, who struck fear in the hearts of the shadow world, were as fragile as paper dolls before him. They couldn't even catch a glimpse of Su Yang's shadow before a precise bullet, fired from an unexpected angle, pierced their skulls or hearts.
In less than five minutes.
The entire cemetery returned to silence. Only the sound of pouring rain remained, washing over the blood rapidly spreading across the ground.
"Perimeter cleared." Su Yang reloaded a fresh magazine and walked toward the abandoned chapel at the cemetery's center.
He kicked open the rotten wooden door.
Inside the chapel, the last three "Vulture" members surrounded a woman tied to a chair. Seeing Su Yang walk in alone, the three were first stunned, then their faces twisted into ferocious grins.
"'Cold Edge'! You actually dared to come alone!" the lead bald brute roared in broken Chinese, leveling his AK-47 at Su Yang.
Su Yang's gaze didn't linger on them for more than a second.
He saw the woman tied to the chair.
She wore what must have been a top-tier white evening gown, now torn and tattered, smeared with mud and blood. Her hair was plastered wetly to her face, her complexion as pale as paper. Her mouth was sealed with tape, allowing only muffled whimpers.
But what was most striking were her eyes.
A pair of extremely beautiful peach-blossom eyes, now filled with utter terror and despair.
The moment she saw Su Yang, that fear peaked. To her, this man who had suddenly burst in might be of the same ilk as the thugs who had kidnapped her.
Su Yang moved.
The instant he did, the three thugs opposite him simultaneously pulled their triggers.
Rat-a-tat-tat!
Fierce tongues of flame erupted instantly. A storm of dozens of bullets, enough to shred an elephant.
Yet, Su Yang's figure, using a physics-defying, bizarre sidestep, had already slid to the side a split second before they fired. The bullets grazed his afterimage, blasting chunks of rubble from the wall behind him.
At the same time, three soft reports sounded from his P226.
*Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!*
The thugs' laughter died abruptly.
Each of their foreheads bore an identical, perfectly precise, bloody hole.
Everything happened in the blink of an eye.
The woman tied to the chair hadn't even processed what was happening before the world fell silent again.
She stared dumbly at the man walking calmly toward her.
The cold, bloody aura of killing intent he radiated made her whole body tremble uncontrollably.
Su Yang walked up to her, crouched down, deftly ripped the tape from her mouth, and cut the ropes binding her wrists and ankles with his tactical dagger.
Freed, the woman's body, weakened from prolonged restraint and terror, went limp, threatening to collapse.
Su Yang instinctively reached out and steadied her shoulder.
His hand met cold, damp silk.
He then noticed the woman had been shot in the left shoulder. Likely a stray bullet from earlier. Blood was steadily seeping from beneath the torn gown, staining a large patch red.
Su Yang's brow furrowed slightly.
He retrieved a first-aid kit from his tactical vest, opened it, and took out antiseptic gauze and bandages.
"Don't move."
Two words, spoken in a low, gravelly voice devoid of any warmth.
The woman flinched at his icy tone but gritted her teeth and forced herself to remain still.
Su Yang showed no particular gentleness. He directly tore open the gown around her shoulder, exposing the bloody, mangled wound. His movements were professional and swift—disinfecting, applying medicine, bandaging—all in one fluid sequence.
Throughout, the woman shook with pain, cold sweat pouring down her face, but she stubbornly bit her lip and didn't make a sound.
Her eyes, however, never left the man before her.
His focused expression, his calm gaze, the thick calluses on his fingers from years of gripping a gun, and that powerful aura he exuded—both frightening and inexplicably reassuring.
All of it was deeply imprinted in her mind.
After finishing the bandaging, Su Yang stood up, ready to leave.
His mission was to rescue, not to chat.
"W-wait!"
The woman finally found her voice, choked with tears, calling out urgently.
Su Yang's steps paused briefly, but he didn't turn around.
"You… who are you? H-how can I repay you?" Her voice was filled with gratitude and a trace of dependency she herself hadn't noticed.
Su Yang didn't answer.
He took a chocolate bar from his pocket—emergency rations for energy—and tossed it over his shoulder without looking back.
"For energy. Wait here for my people to collect you."
With that, his figure melted into the curtain of rain outside, as if he had never been there.
He left only the woman, staring blankly at the chocolate bar still warm from his touch, gazing in the direction he had disappeared for a long, long time.
She hadn't even gotten a clear look at his face.
…
"My King? My King?"
Ghost Uncle's voice pulled Su Yang back from the depths of memory.
Su Yang returned to the present, finding his fingertip still rubbing against the cold shell casing ring.
This casing had been ejected from one of the thugs' guns that night. He had, on some inexplicable impulse, picked it up later and polished it into this ring.
Even he couldn't explain why.
Perhaps it was because that woman's desperate yet beautiful eyes had left a faint, almost imperceptible ripple in his eternally frozen heart.
"Never mind." Su Yang collected his thoughts, his eyes regaining their well-like calm. "Cancel the plan from earlier."
"Ah?" Ghost Uncle was startled. "But the Lin family…"
A playful smile tugged at the corner of Su Yang's mouth.
"The game of cat and mouse would be rather dull if the mouse was squashed at the very start."
He looked out the window at the towering headquarters building of Lin Corporation and said mildly,
"I just reviewed the materials you sent. Lin Wanxin is indeed a capable woman. A pity Lin Corporation's foundations have long been hollowed out by rot. Internal factions are divided, and there are several hungry wolves eyeing it from the outside. Within three days, she'll encounter a major trouble she absolutely cannot solve on her own."
Ghost Uncle instantly understood Su Yang's meaning, a look of "this will be interesting" appearing on his face.
"My King, you mean… we step in when she's backed into a corner?"
"No." Su Yang shook his head, a glint of cunning flashing in his eyes. "When she's backed into a corner… I will step in personally."
He paused, then added,
"Tomorrow, arrange an identity for me. I'm going into Lin Corporation."
Ghost Uncle was stunned. "My King, you're going personally? In what capacity?"
Su Yang leaned back in the seat, closed his eyes, and uttered five words.
"Personal secretary to the CEO."