47: Chapter 47 The Aftermath of the Storm

Yan Zheng's good mood lasted until the next morning.

May 19th, 8:00 AM.

Yan Zheng sat behind the counter on the first floor of the Antique Shop, a pot of freshly brewed Longjing tea in front of him. He held a teacup in his left hand and flipped through a copy of the "New York Antique Appreciation Quarterly" with his right. He turned the pages very slowly, his gaze not really resting on the paper.

He was waiting for a call.

At 8:17, his phone rang.

The screen showed Liu Kun's number.

Yan Zheng picked it up, and before he could even bring the phone to his ear, the voice on the other end exploded.

"Boss Yan! It's over! It's all over!"

Yan Zheng held the phone two centimeters away and took a sip of tea.

"Good morning, Liu Kun."

Yan Zheng: ( ˘ ω ˘ )

"What good morning! Something happened at the fight club!"

Liu Kun's voice sounded like a cat that had its tail stepped on, twisted out from the phone, sharp and fragmented.

"My men went to open the door this morning, and the backstage was covered in blood! Six guards are dead! All the Mutants are gone!"

"Six dead?"

Yan Zheng's tone carried just the right amount of shock—not too much, not too little, just enough for an "investment partner who just heard the bad news."

"What happened? Didn't you clear the place out last night?"

"Clearing it out didn't help! Someone snuck in during the night and killed everyone!"

Liu Kun's breathing was as heavy as a bellows, his speech so fast that the words overlapped.

"And the scene is full of The Hand's stuff! Shurikens, masks, blade marks, and they even carved a hand symbol on the wall!"

"The Hand?"

"It's them! It must be them! This is the kind of thing those damn bastards do under Hells Kitchen!"

Yan Zheng: ( ˵ ꐦ ˘ ᴗ ˘ ˵ )

"Boss Liu, calm down. Where are you now?"

"At the entrance of the fight club. I didn't dare go in, so I had my men take pictures and send them over. I wanted to throw up just looking at it..."

"Does Wesley know?"

"Not yet, I didn't dare call! The handover is at ten o'clock, everyone is gone, the data is gone, the safe was pried open, and the blood samples are all shattered on the ground!"

Boss Liu's voice reached its peak.

"Kingpin will kill me, Boss Yan! He'll throw me off the roof!"

"Boss Liu."

Yan Zheng set down his teacup, his voice dropping half a degree, but every word was steady.

"Listen to me, take a deep breath. Inhale first."

The other end of the line was silent for three seconds, then a long intake of breath could be heard.

"Good. Now, send me the photos you took of the scene."

Ten seconds later, six photos arrived on his phone.

Yan Zheng flipped through them one by one, the corners of his mouth curving into a faint arc behind the teacup.

The backstage corridor in the photos was stained with blood, and the guards' bodies were lying in their respective positions. The angles of the blade marks were uniform, and the characteristics of the fatal wounds were standard.

The emblem of The Hand on the wall was striking under the flash.

Shurikens were pinned into the brick joints, and mask fragments were scattered at the entrance.

Everything was exactly as he had set it up.

"Boss Liu, I've seen the photos."

"How are they?"

"This is standard operating procedure for The Hand, no doubt about it."

Yan Zheng tucked the phone between his shoulder and ear, picked up his teacup with both hands, and took another sip.

"The style of the shurikens, the stitching on the masks, the emblem on the wall, including the angle of the blade marks—it all matches."

"How does an antique dealer know all this?"

"Learned it from watching the Discovery Channel."

Yan Zheng: ( ✧ ꈊ ✧ )

"Boss Yan, stop joking. What am I supposed to do now? I don't dare not answer Wesley's call, but what do I say if I do?"

"You don't need to say anything."

Yan Zheng placed the teacup on the table and gently traced the rim with his finger.

"Let your men keep the scene exactly as it is. Don't touch a single shuriken."

"Then wait for Wesley to come."

"Wait for him to come? Let him see it himself?"

"Let him see it himself."

Yan Zheng's tone was patient to the point of being unsettling.

"Liu Kun, think about it. You can say 'The Hand did it' a thousand times, but Wesley might not believe you."

"But if he sees the ninja markers all over the floor and six guards killed by ninja swords with his own eyes, he will draw his own conclusions."

"People only believe what they see with their own eyes, right?"

Boss Liu was silent for five seconds.

"What if he thinks I staged it?"

"He won't."

"Why?"

"Because six of your security guards are dead, Liu Kun."

Yan Zheng's voice was as light as if he were stating an inconsequential fact.

"Six human lives aren't stage props. Wesley isn't a fool; he can tell which methods of death are real."

"The way those six security guards of yours died is real."

The other end of the line went quiet again.

Yan Zheng: ( ꐦ ˘ ‸ ˘ )

"Fine."

Liu Kun's voice went hoarse, as if he had swallowed something back into his stomach.

"I'll listen to you. I'll wait for Wesley to come and let him see for himself."

"Good. Wait for news."

Yan Zheng hung up, placed his phone on the counter, and picked up the Longjing tea to take another sip.

The tea had gone cold.

He went to the back kitchen to boil a kettle of water, brewed a new cup, and then returned to the counter, opening the quarterly magazine to continue pretending to read.

At 11:00 AM, his phone rang again.

It was Liu Kun again.

"Boss Yan, Wesley has been here. He's seen it."

"What did he say?"

"He didn't say anything."

Liu Kun's voice was trembling, but it was different from the morning; it wasn't the hysterical tremor, but a tremor squeezed out from the cracks after being pressed down by something heavy.

"After he finished looking at the scene, he stood there for about five minutes, then made three phone calls. I couldn't hear a single word; he was whispering into the phone the whole time."

"And after the calls?"

"After the calls, he walked up to me and asked me a question."

"What question?"

"He asked me, 'How many bases does The Hand have in Hells Kitchen?'"

Yan Zheng's finger paused on the teacup.

Yan Zheng: ( ˵ ≖ ω ≖ ˵ )

"How did you answer?"

"I said I didn't know. I'm just a guy running a fight club; I have no connection to ninjas."

"Did he believe you?"

"I don't know, but he said one thing before he left."

"What did he say?"

"He said, 'Mr. Fisk will handle this matter personally. Mr. Liu doesn't need to worry about his own safety, only about The Hand's.'"

Yan Zheng put down his teacup and leaned back in his chair, his gold-rimmed glasses reflecting the gray sky of Hells Kitchen outside the window.

"Wesley is indeed a smart man."

"He saw the evidence of the ninjas, and connecting it to The Hand's recent activities in Hells Kitchen, the puzzle in his mind automatically fell into place."

"The Hand doesn't want Kingpin to get the Mutants, so they struck first, killing people and destroying the data."

"This logic loop is so perfect that even I almost believe it."

"Boss Yan, what exactly are you talking about?"

"Praising myself."

"Huh?"

"Nothing, Boss Liu. You are safe now."

Yan Zheng's tone was as gentle as if he were coaxing a fussing neighbor.

"Kingpin's wrath has been successfully transferred to The Hand. You are just an unlucky bystander caught in the crossfire, not a sinner."

"The only thing you need to do now is shut up. You don't know anything, you didn't participate in anything."

"Can you do that?"

"Yes, I can do that."

"That's good."

Yan Zheng hung up the phone and stood up to stretch.

"The first domino has been pushed."

At 2:00 PM, Yan Zheng went out to Old Jack's bar on the corner.

There weren't many people in the bar; only three or five daytime drunks were slumped over the bar counter, dozing off.

Old Jack was wiping glasses behind the counter. When he saw Yan Zheng come in, he fished a beer out from underneath and pushed it over.

"Boss Yan, what brings you here today?"

"Stifled, came out to get some air."

Yan Zheng sat down in the corner of the bar, took the beer, twisted off the cap, and took a small sip.

"Jack, any new news under Hells Kitchen lately?"

Old Jack's hand, which was wiping the glass, paused. He looked up, scanned the other customers in the bar, and after confirming no one was paying attention, lowered his voice.

"You really asked at the right time. It exploded early this morning."

"What happened?"

"Liu Kun's fight club was taken out. A bunch of guards died, and those thugs locked inside are all gone."

"I heard. Liu Kun called me at noon."

"Then have you heard about Kingpin's reaction?"

Yan Zheng shook his head and turned the beer bottle half a turn.

Old Jack leaned in two inches.

"Kingpin has gone crazy."

Yan Zheng: ( ꉺ ᗜ ꉺ )

"Starting at noon today, everyone Kingpin has who can move has been sent out, searching all of Hells Kitchen for The Hand's bases."

"Word is that Wesley has already contacted the Russian Gang in the East District, as well as the biker gangs in the South. Kingpin has offered a price: $500,000 for every base of The Hand they take out."

"$500,000 each?"

"$500,000 each."

Old Jack whistled.

"Kingpin has been in this business for twenty years and has never offered such a high bounty to the underground forces."

"It means he really has murder in his heart."

Yan Zheng held the beer bottle, the curve of his mouth hidden behind the bottle opening.

"Jack, do you think Kingpin can find The Hand's bases?"

"Hard to say. The Hand are like rats; they know how to dig holes and have been hiding underground for decades. Ordinary people can't find them."

"But Kingpin isn't an ordinary person. He has money, people, and a network, and now he's united with the Russian Gang and the biker gangs. All three parties are searching simultaneously."

Old Jack turned the clean glass upside down on the rack.

"I estimate there will be the first conflict within a week."

"By then, it'll be as lively as the New Year under Hells Kitchen."

Yan Zheng took a sip of beer, his gaze looking through the dark windows of the bar at the gray streets outside.

"Jack."

"Hm?"

"During the New Year, who is the happiest?"

Old Jack thought for a moment.

"The kids setting off fireworks?"

"Not quite."

Yan Zheng placed the empty beer bottle on the bar counter, stood up, and patted the non-existent dust off his pants.

Yan Zheng: ( ˵ ꐦ ✦ ᗜ ✦ ˵ )

"It's the person selling the fireworks."

"The more the fireworks go off, the better their business is."

Old Jack's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Boss Yan, why do you sound like a coffin?"

"Jack, the beer in your bar just tastes a bit heavy, it's tainted."

Yan Zheng walked to the door with a smile, then turned back halfway.

"Oh, right, Jack."

"What now?"

"If there really is a fight underground later, help me keep an eye out for which alleys have things people threw away after fighting."

"What kind of things?"

Yan Zheng pushed open the bar door. The May sunlight spilled onto his gold-rimmed glasses, making the lenses shine brightly.

"Anything. I'm not picky."

"As long as no one wants it, I'll take it."