Chapter 54: The Celestial League of the Underworld

Before long, Chen Liu returned to stand before Chen Erpao, asking in a casual tone, “Did you see anything just now?”

“See who? I was leaning behind the tree, smoking the whole time. Didn’t see anyone come by,” Chen Erpao replied, his face a mask of genuine confusion.

Chen Liu, noticing this, merely smiled faintly, saying no more and making no mention of having seen Wang Xuemei earlier. Chen Erpao, for his part, continued to pretend as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

The beach park was alive with raucous energy. Young men and women reveled in wild abandon, casting off the burdens of their hearts in this night of revelry.

Meanwhile, across Hong Kong, a bloody storm was raging. “Heavenly Alliance,” a coalition formed by United Triumph, Hesheng Hall, Wanhe Gang, and other syndicates, was sweeping through and eradicating smaller gangs and minor factions. In merely half a night, nearly ten groups had been wiped out entirely—and the slaughter showed no sign of abating.

In Yuen Long, inside a derelict warehouse—

“Boss, the Heavenly Alliance is pushing us too far! They want us to submit completely, hand over all our earnings for redistribution. How are brothers supposed to survive?” A burly, shirtless man, face red with anger, pleaded with a middle-aged man dressed in black.

The man in black smoked heavily, his eyes uneasy with anxiety. He looked helplessly at the dozen or so brothers left to him, sighing.

He remembered when he was a well-known figure in Yuen Long—nicknamed “Golden Fingers,” head of the largest, indeed the only, pickpocketing crew in the district. Back then, he had two or three dozen men under him, drove a luxury car, and enjoyed a carefree life in nightclubs. But all that changed three days ago, when the Heavenly Alliance—a coalition of several mid- and upper-tier Hong Kong gangs—delivered their ultimatum. Since he’d refused their terms, his crew was decimated—many dead or crippled—leaving only this handful to hide with him in the warehouse.

“Lao San, go check the entrance. See if there’s any movement. Tonight, we’ll go seek out Shrimp King. He’s the strongest among the smaller gangs here. If we ally with him and gather up the remnants of the other crews, maybe we can resist the Heavenly Alliance. I don’t believe they can control all of Yuen Long outright,” the man in black barked at a tall, skinny subordinate.

The man obeyed and strode toward the main doors.

Suddenly, with a thunderous crash, the several-meter-high doors were smashed open, hurtling backward. The hapless tall man was flattened beneath them before he even realized what was happening.

A heavy truck screeched into the warehouse, followed by several more. The cargo bays were crammed with tattooed thugs wielding knives, clubs, and machetes—nearly a hundred poured out, swiftly encircling the man in black and his remaining followers.

“Golden Fingers, we gave you a chance before, but you didn’t cherish it. Why make things so hard for yourself?” A sultry, strikingly beautiful woman swayed forward, her waist undulating with a serpentine grace. She looked at the man in black with a face full of regret.

“Sister Lin, your Water Gang never dabbled in butchery before. When did you join the Heavenly Alliance?” The man in black, still a boss in his own right, forced himself to sound calm.

Sister Lin smiled seductively, her ample chest trembling slightly. The young men at her side couldn’t help but sneak glances.

“Haha, I joined early on! I was actually inclined to spare you for old times’ sake, but Little Kobayashi here insisted your men have cost us too dearly. He won’t be satisfied unless you’re dead—what a shame,” she said with a deep sigh and a look of helplessness. Anyone who didn’t know better might almost believe she was a woman of great feeling.

At this, the man in black turned ashen. No matter one’s former stature, facing death strips away all pretense. His voice quavered, “L-Little Kobayashi? That sounds Japanese…”

“That’s right. I am Japanese,” came a proud, resonant voice. Four men of unremarkable build stepped forward—Little Kobayashi and his assistants. Their faces, still bearing fresh scars, showed clearly the beating they’d taken from Liu Huagang days before.

The man in black stared at Sister Lin in disbelief, roaring, “So the Heavenly Alliance was formed to do the Japanese’s dirty work! You—!”

But before he could finish, his head dropped cleanly from his shoulders, blood spurting as it rolled across the floor—his eyes still wide in shock.

Little Kobayashi wiped his blade, his gaze cold as he muttered, “Those who insult the Great Japanese Empire must die.”

The dozen or so subordinates stood frozen, staring at their boss’s decapitated corpse. Though they gripped their machetes, their trembling hands betrayed their fear and confusion.

“If any of you are willing to submit, your lives will be spared. Pickpocketing is quite the skill here in China—sometimes you even snag a foreigner. There’s a bright future in it,” Little Kobayashi said flatly, glancing over them.

By the next day, the warehouse bore only a faint, lingering scent of blood—there was not a drop of gore to be seen, nor any sign of bodies.

Chen Erpao could now barely be considered a member of the underworld, and the next day he heard the explosive news of the Hong Kong gangs’ massacre—Yuen Long’s streets were awash in blood.

At first, Chen Erpao was only surprised—gang wars were nothing new, though this time the carnage and the number of factions involved were extraordinary. He paid little heed until Huang Mao brought him a summons from the “Heavenly Alliance.” Only then did he realize the gravity of the situation—and that there was no escaping it.

The Heavenly Alliance was a formidable force, formed by United Triumph—one of Hong Kong’s ten largest syndicates—along with several mid-sized gangs. In three days, they’d all but swept Yuen Long clean of rivals, consolidating control of the entire district and parts of the surrounding areas. Now, they were expanding into other districts, targeting small outfits like Chen Erpao’s. With the Alliance’s overwhelming power, resistance would be futile—unlike their earlier skirmishes with Hongxing, which had only involved a single, weak sub-branch in Tuen Mun.

Chen Erpao rushed to tell Wang Xing. Having ascended to leadership, neither was willing to bow to another’s yoke. After some discussion, they decided to select ten strong and agile men from Huang Mao’s group of nearly forty, forming an elite guard for intensive training. Given the Alliance’s current momentum, it would take them months to reach their corner. Chen Erpao was confident that, with his and Wang Xing’s training, these ten would become the cutting edge of their crew.

He instructed Huang Mao to find a secluded, abandoned site and set up training grounds, modeled after his old army regimen.

Three days later, ten kilometers from Lingnan University, near an abandoned building project, Chen Erpao and Wang Xing donned tight uniforms and dark sunglasses, taking on the look of seasoned instructors.

On a broad open ground, they set up parallel and horizontal bars, a balance beam, a wall obstacle, and piles of logs and other equipment.

Chen Erpao laid out a rigorous schedule: up at six, light five-kilometer runs, breakfast, then strength and agility training—bars, log carries, jogging with logs—followed in the afternoon by practical combat drills, focusing on military hand-to-hand skills.

Of course, with such grueling exertion, good food was essential. Chen Erpao and Wang Xing even pooled their last stash of cash for the effort.

They also purchased a batch of steel-crafted three-sided army bayonets—far deadlier than ordinary blades. These bayonets, with their blood grooves, not only let blood flow freely but, more importantly, made withdrawal easier. When the blade entered the body, the blood groove prevented the wound from sealing tightly around the blade, so the bayonet could be pulled out smoothly—a critical advantage in the chaos of combat. Without the groove, blood pressure and muscle contractions could trap the blade, making extraction difficult and dangerously time-consuming.

Chen Erpao also commissioned custom-forged long knives and bayonets for himself and Wang Xing—blades that were not only razor-sharp but exceptionally tough. In Hong Kong’s gangland battles, firearms were still highly taboo.

To focus on training, both Chen Erpao and Wang Xing had taken extended leave from work. Their previous good performance made the principal’s approval easy to obtain.

Another week passed in a blur. On this day, Chen Erpao was putting his ten Iron Guards through combat drills, dividing them into five pairs for sparring.

“The man in front of you is not your friend or your brother, but your enemy. Only by pushing your limits can you become stronger. Now fight—fight hard!” Chen Erpao roared from the sidelines.

The ten men grappled fiercely in a muddy sewer lot—men were knocked down and got up again in an endless cycle.

“Brother Pao, isn’t this a bit too harsh?” Huang Mao asked, unable to hide his reluctance.

Chen Erpao replied coolly, “It’s for their own good. In this life, you have to be ready to die in the streets at any moment. Only by strengthening themselves can they hope to survive, and maybe make a name for themselves one day.”

Huang Mao nodded, seeming to understand, then shed his own shirt and joined the fray.

“Brother Pao, weren’t you supposed to take Xuemei to Disneyland today? You’d better go! I’ll take care of things here—this afternoon, I’ll teach them the first layer of Iron Shirt. Once they master that, they’ll be less vulnerable—unless hit in a vital spot, a single blade won’t do much harm.”

Chen Erpao agreed—he’d promised Wang Xuemei, and a man must keep his word. After leaving a few instructions for Wang Xing, he departed.

At that moment, Wang Xuemei was at home, carefully dressing and glancing at the clock. It was nearly half past ten, but Chen Erpao had yet to appear, making her increasingly anxious.

This chapter merges two installments, making for a more satisfying read. Tonight, due to urgent matters, the author combined the word count of two chapters into one. The story only gets better from here.