Chapter Eight: The Mightiest Gentleman

"Clatter!"

Chen Mingsheng’s legs trembled with fear, his pistol slipping from his grasp and landing on the floor. Without another thought, he spun around and dashed for the elevator.

Normally, Chen Mingsheng was quite adept at putting on airs, but he understood well: in the face of absolute power, the more you pretend, the quicker you die. What was there to wait for if he didn’t run?

“Die.”

Zhao Che reached out, and an overwhelming force seized Chen Mingsheng, dragging him back from seven or eight paces away as if he were nothing but a ragdoll.

“Zhao Che, don’t kill him just yet.”

The voice was not loud, yet it seemed to brim with an irresistible authority, sending chills through everyone present and making even the murderous Zhao Che bow his head and stand as obediently as a child at his side.

It was as if the speaker possessed some mysterious, unfathomable power.

Ling Feng strolled in with an unhurried grace from outside.

“All hail the War Emperor!”

Zhao Che, whose body was forged of iron and steel, as imposing as a mountain and who had stood tall like a javelin since his arrival, suddenly placed his right hand over his heart and knelt on one knee.

It was only then that Zhao Sisi noticed a man, dressed with remarkable plainness, had appeared in her line of sight.

He was tall and slender, with a passable air and features that could be considered handsome. But that was all—nothing particularly noteworthy. She could not comprehend why this monster, who had caught bullets with his bare hands and slain a hundred men with a single punch, would kneel to him.

He lacked Chen Mingsheng’s intimidating presence and the domineering arrogance of a typical big shot. He seemed to be nothing more than an ordinary man, utterly unremarkable.

Yet this living god of slaughter knelt before him with such devotion, as if worshiping a deity, without a hint of hesitation.

Such a person, under normal circumstances, would have long been mocked and thrown out by her.

Zhao Sisi felt as if the fabric of reality had twisted; she sensed that the very sky over Jiangzhou was about to change.

Only those who have seen the vastness of the sea can understand how insignificant they truly are.

“Ling Feng, I know who you are. You’re nothing but that penniless son-in-law from the Chu family, a country bumpkin. Do you think I’m afraid of you just because you’re Chen Black-and-White’s driver? You think I’d fear you just because you found a monster? Our Flourishing Commerce Guild has plenty of brothers—you can’t afford to cross me!”

Though he had been steeped in despair, seeing Ling Feng walk in from outside suddenly rekindled hope in Chen Mingsheng’s heart, relieving much of the pressure weighing on him.

He refused to believe that a worthless son-in-law, even with a madman in tow, would dare lay a finger on the dignified vice president of the Flourishing Commerce Guild.

After all, the true strength of the Guild was far more than it appeared. If the man behind them was provoked, not even ten thousand son-in-laws could bear the consequences.

“Oh, so you have so many brothers? Good, very good. In that case, call them all here. I’ll wait,” Ling Feng said with a smile, seating himself comfortably on the sofa and instructing Zhao Sisi to bring him a cup of coffee.

Zhao Sisi wanted to resist, but found herself incapable of doing so once their eyes met. Helplessly, she fetched him a cup of coffee.

“Did you hear the War Emperor’s order? Call them,” Zhao Che barked.

Chen Mingsheng thought he was doomed for sure, but to his surprise, Ling Feng allowed him to call reinforcements—what a fool! He wasted no time, grabbing the phone and dialing frantically.

Soon after, another seventy or eighty people burst in from outside, shouting raucously.

“Who the hell dares provoke the gods like this?”

“Come out here! We’ll wipe out your whole family!”

“Edict, Article Twenty-Eight: In the presence of the War Emperor, any insolence is punishable by immediate execution!”

Zhao Che let out a sinister laugh, his left fist rising and slamming into the floor. The entire hall trembled with the impact. Then, as his arms swung, blue arcs of blade-light slashed through the air, felling another group of bodies in a blood-soaked massacre.

“Keep calling people,” Ling Feng said, sipping his coffee.

Chen Mingsheng was near hysterics, gritting his teeth as he howled into the phone, “Boss Li, it’s bad! Someone’s here causing trouble at the Guild—they’ve already killed over two hundred of our brothers! If you don’t send real help, we’re finished!”

“Oh? Is that so?” The man’s voice on the other end was startled, but quickly steadied. “Don’t panic. With me here, the sky won’t fall. I’ll send the Sharpshooter Squad right away.” He hung up.

Not long after, as Ling Feng was finishing his second cup of coffee, the sound of screeching tires echoed from the marble plaza outside.

About a hundred armed men stormed in, dressed in black trench coats, wearing black sunglasses and boots—they looked like a squad of cold-blooded movie assassins.

“Song Chao, you’re just in time! Turn them into sieves—fire! Fire!” Chen Mingsheng grasped at this lifeline as if drowning.

With their arrival, even Zhao Sisi felt reassured. She knew well the Sharpshooter Squad’s reputation—they were the Guild’s backbone, unstoppable in Jiangzhou. The shallow-minded girl couldn’t help but cast a contemptuous glance at Ling Feng, who was reclining so nonchalantly. Keep pretending—just keep it up.

And you even made me fetch you coffee.

I’ll see you dead!

The leader, about forty, clad in a black trench coat, exuded a fierce and commanding presence. His skin was dark, his expression cold and ruthless. This was Song Chao, once a killer for over a decade, infamous for his cruelty. Hearing Chen Mingsheng’s words, he grinned wickedly, stepped forward, and aimed his gun at Ling Feng.

“You must have a death wish, barging into the Guild and making trouble. I’ll send you straight to hell—”

“Whoosh!”

Before Song Chao could finish, a spray of blood erupted from his throat. Reaching up, he found a transparent hole in his neck—a puzzled thought flickered through his mind before his body crumpled to the floor.

“No one approaches the War Emperor within five steps without royal edict. Death!”

At the same time, Zhao Che’s figure became a blur of light, darting into the crowd. Crackling sounds rang out—a hundred armed men fell without so much as a scream, dispatched to the afterlife.

“No one draws a blade before the War Emperor without royal edict. Death!”

Two hundred lives, wiped out in an instant. And these were the Guild’s most formidable fighters. The sight made Chen Mingsheng wet himself in terror.

“Convey the royal edict: Chen Mingsheng, don’t you have more brothers? Keep calling them,” Zhao Che said, his voice low, advancing on Chen Mingsheng with each step.

What nonsense is this? What royal edict? This bumpkin son-in-law is taking his act too far. Does he think this is ancient times?

“N-no more, really! I-I don’t have any more brothers. Even with more, they couldn’t survive this slaughter. Big brother, whatever he’s paying you, I’ll give you a thousand times, two thousand times! Just don’t kill me!” Chen Mingsheng cowered on the floor, clutching his head.

“You think everyone can be bought? You really think you’re that rich?” Zhao Che sneered, his massive hand hovering over Chen Mingsheng’s head. “But if you can pay back that ten billion, perhaps the War Emperor might spare your pathetic life.”

Ten billion!

Damn, I’ve never met anyone more ruthless than me!

In less than a day, five hundred turned into ten billion!

“I—I don’t have that kind of money! I’ll call my boss right now, let him figure something out—”

“Actually, we could just call ourselves,” Ling Feng said with a faint smile, giving Zhao Che a meaningful glance.

Zhao Che’s eyes flashed coldly. He pressed down with his palm, and Chen Mingsheng’s head exploded with a sickening sound.

“Sorry if I frightened you, miss. Debt collection is always troublesome. Would you kindly call Li Jimao and tell him to send over twelve billion? I have other matters this afternoon and can’t linger here,” Ling Feng said to Zhao Sisi with a gentle smile.

Damn, not even two minutes later and the debt’s already increased by two billion!

Zhao Sisi nearly coughed up blood.

How black-hearted could these people be?

Li Jimao received the call while singing at a club. The moment he heard Zhao Sisi’s message, he hung up.

As the true head of the Flourishing Commerce Guild, Li Jimao was not a reckless man. Unlike the notorious Chen Mingsheng, he preferred to remain behind the scenes, and so was far less known in Jiangzhou.

After hanging up, Li Jimao, his expression grave, dismissed the beauties around him, stood up, and addressed the burly man opposite him, “Take me to the Jiang Residence.”

On the outskirts of Jiangzhou.

A courtyard, ancient and elegant, with carved beams and painted rafters. A plaque of purple sandalwood hung over the gate, bearing the inscription: Jiang Residence.

Outside, a small bridge arched over flowing water, painting a picturesque scene. The lake’s ripples shimmered like a living scroll.

Jiang Qin, a leader among Jiangzhou’s elite, wielded immense influence in both the underworld and the upper echelons. Outwardly, he was a venerable elder, respected and esteemed, the city’s most powerful gentleman.

But beneath that kindly exterior, he had cultivated criminal enterprises like the Flourishing Commerce Guild, holding a thirty percent stake in its shares.

Both Li Jimao and Chen Mingsheng called him Old Jiang in public, but in private, they called him godfather.

When Li Jimao entered the Jiang Residence, he found Jiang Qin—his hair snow white—basking in the sun in the courtyard. Dressed in a white silk tai chi uniform, he reclined on a chaise lounge, while a stunning young woman sat with her back to the door, dozing as she trimmed his nails.

“Godfather!” Li Jimao knelt.

The courtyard, full of flowers and greenery, exuded a tranquil elegance. On the surface, Jiang Qin’s days seemed idyllic.

But Li Jimao knew this was a façade. The old man was a schemer, with twenty-odd beauties living in the residence, choosing a new companion every night before bed.

“What brings you here today?” Jiang Qin did not even lift his eyelids at the sight of Li Jimao kneeling.

“Godfather, your child is in serious trouble—there was no other way but to come to you. In Jiangzhou, only you can save me,” Li Jimao replied, his expression bleak.