Chapter 22: Then If You Die by My Hand, You Can’t Call It Unjust

The headquarters of W Group was under siege—danger loomed at every corner.

The attackers stormed in, opening fire and killing those inside W Group with precise coordination, commanding their units to advance floor by floor. Their actions were swift, as if they had lain in wait for this very moment for a long time. The entire building was engulfed in the hail of bullets.

Gunshots rang out from the first floor. Black-clad defenders descended from the upper levels, attempting to resist, but it was clear they were no match for the special forces and international police units assaulting the headquarters.

Darkness shrouded both sides as they exchanged fire, the chaos of battle consuming everything. Moments before, an explosion had erupted outside the building, and the flames still flickered fiercely. Within, the air was thick with smoke, vision obscured, making it impossible to distinguish friend from foe.

In less than a heartbeat, the staccato of gunfire echoed—deafening, piercing the eardrums. One by one, the defenders fell, struck by bullets.

If not for the darkness, one could see that the grand lobby, once filled with black-suited bodyguards, was now littered with their corpses—a grim, suffocating sea of death.

Everything happened too quickly.

Yu Mo and Shen Zhaoxi hid behind a marble pillar, their position just enough to shield them from the onslaught. Yu Mo crouched down, his eyes dark and intent as he spoke to her, “It’s dangerous outside, Miss. Stay here and don’t go out, I’ll handle this.”

His voice was low and urgent, as if he had done this countless times before—shielding her from the bloodshed that so often plagued the group.

With a tight press of his lips, Yu Mo rose, gun in hand, and darted out into the chaos.

Gunfire screamed through the pitch-black halls. Shen Zhaoxi could not see where Yu Mo had gone, nor did she know if he was safe.

What mattered was that W Group’s headquarters was being attacked—by international military forces, special operations units, and Interpol.

“Boss, where are you?” Suddenly, amidst the barrage of gunfire in the darkness, Jiang Chen’s voice came through the micro earpiece hidden beneath her black hair. The assault was progressing rapidly—the crackle of bullets suggested the main force had broken in.

“They planted explosives under the cars. I didn’t have time to warn you.”

In joint military operations, split-second decisions had to be made, and it was not uncommon for information to arrive too late. But this time, Jiang Chen’s delay had almost sent Shen Zhaoxi to her death—almost cost her her life.

Leaning against the pillar, Shen Zhaoxi felt the bandage over her chest grow heavy and wet with blood. Even without looking, she knew the wound had reopened. The pain was intense.

“Thanks to you, the injury’s only gotten worse.”

Jiang Chen, seemingly unaware of her condition, replied earnestly, “As long as you’re okay, Boss. I’ll come get you soon.”

He charged forward with reckless bravery, breaking through W Group’s defenses.

A bullet grazed Jiang Chen’s face with a sharp, jarring sound. The impact stung his ears.

Shen Zhaoxi pulled out the earpiece from her right ear.

It was time.

She turned her head, scanning the chaos outside, pinpointing the origin of the gunfire. She seized her chance, sprang up, and dashed through the flare-lit shadows of gunfire.

W Group was in crisis. The headquarters had been attacked, and the assailants were international military personnel. Their goal was to eradicate the W Transnational Group—an organization that had taken root in Dongzhou for decades, wielding influence across vast regions and severely disrupting the economies of several nations with its underground dealings.

They were here to stamp out crime.

No matter how formidable W Transnational Group was, this time they faced a joint international force—not local thugs or petty criminals, but powerful, organized opposition.

In the past, criminal investigators from various countries had infiltrated the group, but lacking concrete evidence, they had been unable to bring W Group down. Some who were exposed met tragic ends.

W Transnational Group was full of cunning, ruthless individuals, seasoned in evil. It was impossible to catch them with evidence. For fifteen years, without sufficient proof to convict them, the group remained a malignant tumor deeply embedded in the city.

Its headquarters stood in Yingdu, a cluster of high-rise buildings that spanned a vast area, their structures resembling a modern interpretation of a traditional courtyard. Bridges of glass connected the towers, allowing passage between buildings.

But there was only one main entrance to W Group’s headquarters; all other doors were inconspicuous.

Shen Zhaoxi was just a step ahead of the others, taking the elevator to the upper floors.

Flames consumed parts of the building and the lobby below. Yet the “Old Buddha,” as he was called, had not been captured—which meant the head of W Transnational Group was still at large.

This operation was a joint effort between Country Y and the East Nation—a full-scale military action to eradicate W Transnational Group’s criminal empire within Dongzhou.

Tonight, W Group’s headquarters fell. Many died. Many were captured.

At the top floor, the Old Buddha sat in his chair, a cold gleam in his eyes as he rolled the prayer beads in his hand. Calmly, he ordered his bodyguards to initiate the building’s lockdown protocol.

So many had stormed in at once, overwhelming W Group. There was no chance of escape now.

He could only seal the building.

Once activated, the program would automatically lock down every operational space inside. This was a last resort, not to be taken unless absolutely necessary.

But now, the entire district—even the entire headquarters complex—was surrounded and breached by military forces. There was no possibility of escape.

Therefore, he could not allow them to obtain evidence of W Group’s crimes.

“All documents must be destroyed tonight!” This was his final contingency.

But sealing the building and initiating the self-destruct sequence took time. If it were too simple, the building would have blown up long ago.

The Old Buddha did not intend to die with them. He had a way out—a helicopter waited on the rooftop.

After the building was sealed, it was the only means of escape.

As long as he and his people boarded it, they could leave before the international forces reached the top.

Those who stormed W Group and reached the interior would all perish here.

“Hurry up!” Amin, at the Old Buddha’s side, commanded. The control room was in chaos.

All the technicians worked to set the program to trigger the explosion in thirty minutes.

Once all routes to the upper floors were cut off and the elevators disabled, with the building sealed, still—someone appeared on the top floor.

“It’s the young mistress!” Amin moved protectively to the Old Buddha’s side.

From a distance, they saw her—a young woman in black, her expression cold as she strode through the corridor.

In the grand office with its ebony and gold-carved doors flung wide, the Old Buddha rolled his prayer beads, his aged, commanding eyes lifting to meet her.

He was the master of W Transnational Group, the dreaded crime lord of Dongzhou. How could he not sense something amiss with Gong Shenxi?

“Axin,” he called, his voice deep and gravelly.

“It’s a bit foolish of you to call me Axin now,” Shen Zhaoxi replied, her gaze icy, her eyes on the Old Buddha anything but kind.

At her words, the Old Buddha’s fingers paused on the beads. He scrutinized her. He had a trump card in Amin beside him. Ruthless in his youth, the Old Buddha had handed power over after losing his children, but he would not fear a mere girl.

At most, he wanted to know her identity, her origins, and why he had not seen it sooner.

“Heh, three years ago—the Dongzhou Falcon Operation. You captured and tortured Y-Country police officer Zhou Xu for three days and nights. He died at your hands. Do you remember that?”

“I do!” The Old Buddha’s tone was somber and thick. How could he forget? The Falcon Operation cost him nearly half his men, several high-ranking officers were captured, and he himself was wounded—thus, the reason he always sat.

“If you remember,” Shen Zhaoxi’s voice was frigid as she emerged from the corridor, her eyes cold and murderous, “then your death at my hands will not be in vain.”

At these words, the Old Buddha’s expression darkened, his fingers freezing on the prayer beads.

He looked at her.

Who could have guessed that the young mistress of W Group, the one who had lived under his watchful gaze all these years, was, in fact, his enemy?