Chapter 339

Chen Tong chuckled: "You did well this time. Once order stabilizes in a while, if things run smoothly, maybe that fat guy Yuan really could rise through this. What did he promise you?"

"He said even if Uncle doesn't help me become plainclothes, he'll still get me promoted."

"Do I need that dead fat bastard?" Chen Tong snorted, face full of disdain. "Yan, don't rush. Once the streets of Ciyun Mountain are orderly and the market thrives, I'll transfer you to my plainclothes unit."

"Thanks for Uncle's promotion." Wang Yan smiled. "By the way, Uncle, there's something I need to tell you."

"Mm."

"I hope Uncle can rein in your plainclothes men. Your cut's already several times ours, and we cops are deeply resentful. We've worked our asses off just to make more money. Don't let it end in bad blood. Let's stick to the rules, stay harmonious, and all get rich together."

"Shouldn't that fat bastard be the one talking to me? Why are you speaking?"

"He said Uncle values me, so since I'm eating under his roof, whatever he says, I do."

Chen Tong shook his head and smiled. "Do you think I don't know the tension between plainclothes and uniformed cops? They used to extort wildly—I just sometimes kept quiet. But silence made them think I was weak, so they got even worse, causing trouble multiple times. Now it's better: clear boundaries, each side collects their own, everyone wins. As for the exact split, go back and tell that fat bastard to come up—I'll talk to him."

"Alright. Any other orders, Uncle?"

"I'm not your superior—what orders do I have? Brat. Just hurry up and clean up the streets with your team—that's your promotion capital. Honestly, you're capable. All the cops in Hong Kong and Kowloon, whether foreign or Chinese, are only thinking how to squeeze more cash, nobody thinks maintaining order brings more profit. Watch: once our side stabilizes and the contrast shows, the uniformed cops from Hong Kong and Kowloon will have to mobilize to maintain order in their districts. Sure, the main credit goes to the fat bastard, but your share won't be short—I guarantee it. Go on, work hard."

"Then I'll take my leave, Uncle." Wang Yan nodded, stood, and left.

Good order, a healthy market environment—these boost market activity and raise merchants' income. Such a simple, obvious truth isn't unknown. But why doesn't anyone do it? Because the inspectors, plainclothes, and uniformed sergeants already have enough. Only the uniformed cops are weak. And among uniformed cops, no one as powerful as him has stepped forward. Taking down thugs protected by plainclothes isn't just hard—it's nearly impossible.

Chen Tong's claim—that all uniformed cops from Hong Kong and Kowloon would mobilize to maintain order—isn't impossible. But two conditions must be met: first, whether the Ciyun Mountain Police Station's uniformed cops' income has clearly increased; second, whether Sergeant Lin Mingyuan can be replaced or promoted to inspector.

If income doesn't clearly rise—even by ten or twenty dollars—it won't push other district officers to exhaust themselves. If the sergeant can't be replaced or promoted, other district inspectors won't risk angering local gang bosses, inspectors, or plainclothes. In short, when the gap isn't big enough, most choose to do nothing.

Actually, the best way to make more money is to raise workers' incomes. Maintaining order is just surface-level—after all, even perfect order means nothing if people have no money to spend. But that's beyond his reach now, so it'll have to do. At least he has achievements, results—enough to become plainclothes.

Back downstairs, after telling Lin Mingyuan to go upstairs and negotiate the money split with Chen Tong, Wang Yan sat down at the table in front of Lei Luo, who was slumped in his chair.

"Can you make it?"

Getting beaten was one thing, but Lei Luo couldn't just take it—he couldn't fight back without exhausting himself. Fighting drained immense physical and mental energy; he was already spent. At dinner, he'd trembled holding his spoon, limp and weak.

"Fine," Lei Luo mumbled weakly. "Still, Yan Ge is the real deal—fought that many alone and came out unscathed. Amazing…"

"You're amazing too. Even if you couldn't fight, you stuck with me to the end. Good brother. Loyal." Wang Yan slapped his shoulder.

"Ow… Yan Ge, easy, please…!"

"Fuck, watch it—I'm not into guys." Wang Yan slapped him again, impatiently, until Lei Luo's pain eased. Then he grinned: "Can you move? If you can, let's go. I'll take you to the hospital, then drop you home—get Xia Xia to come give you some loving care."

"Can we go home this early?"

"You did it for everyone—why not? Even if you hadn't shown up, you'd still get your cut. They won't complain." Wang Yan stood, bent, and hoisted Lei Luo up. "Let's go. Get treated. Otherwise tomorrow you'll be even more swollen—turn into a pig's head."

Lei Luo managed a weak smile, said nothing.

Outside, seeing the police station's car still there, Wang Yan flagged down a passing plainclothesman: "Brother Hua, got time? Drive us to the hospital?"

Hong Kong had only about four hundred registered taxis, most clustered in wealthy areas—poor folks couldn't afford them. So hailing a cab here was hard. Not using the station's car? That's brain-dead.

"No problem. You were amazing today—tomorrow, everyone in Hong Kong and Kowloon will know your name." The plainclothesman grinned, helped lift Lei Luo into the car, drove them to the hospital, treated him, then drove him home before leaving.

Now Wang Yan had clout. Even without Chen Tong's backing, plainclothesmen would still befriend him. His strength was obvious—everyone knew that without Chen Tong, his ability alone would make him rise, impossible to stop.

At Lei Luo's doorstep, Wang Yan waved goodbye to the helpful plainclothesman, then helped Lei Luo, reeking of medicine, into the house.

Lei Luo's father frowned, stared at his son, recognized him, rushed forward to support him, and asked in confusion: "Yan, what happened to Ah Luo?"

"Yeah, Yan Ge, is my brother okay? Why was he beaten so badly?" This was Lei Luo's younger brother, Lei Ze.

Lei Luo's sister, Lei Jiao, was more direct—she flung herself onto Lei Luo, wailing: "Brother, don't die…"

"Stupid girl, get off! If you squeeze like that, even healthy people get hurt!" Before Wang Yan could speak, Lei Luo, pained by his sister's hug, pushed her away. "Dad, it's all surface wounds. Rest two days, I'll be fine."

Wang Yan urged: "Uncle Lei, help me get Ah Luo to bed."

"Alright, alright." Lei Luo's father helped carry his son, unable to resist asking: "What happened? He's a cop—how did he get beaten so badly?"

"To make money. We went to the hospital—nothing serious. Uncle Lei, don't worry."

"Ah…" Lei Luo's father sighed deeply. He knew Wang Yan wouldn't elaborate, so he stopped asking. He'd once been proud knowing his son was a cop, seeing how much money he brought home. Now seeing him beaten so badly, he didn't know what to say.

After helping Lei Luo onto the bed, Wang Yan told his father, brother, and sister to leave. In their confused stares, he reached into his pocket, pulled out the five thousand yuan Chen Tong had given him, counted it, then took out two thousand and placed them on the bedside. "Five thousand is from Rattlesnake's compensation. Take these two thousand—buy something for the family, get Xia Xia a gift."

Seeing Lei Luo open his mouth to refuse, Wang Yan waved him off: "Don't say no. You came with me. Rattlesnake tipped off Chuishui Qiang—they prepared. Otherwise you wouldn't have been this bad. Just take it. No talk of 'helping' or 'not helping'—you showed up, didn't back down—that's loyalty. Besides, getting beaten helped me absorb the heat. This is your due. Don't come back until you're healed. Rest well. I'll go get Xia Xia now. You look like this—you'll get plenty of tears. Seize the chance. I'm waiting for your wedding wine."

"Thanks, Yan… ow… that hurts, Ge."

Liu Youcai scowled at his daughter's back: "Stupid girl…"

"Uncle Liu, forget what I told you? Ah Luo has a bright future. Now even uniformed cops come to collect your stall fee? Tomorrow you won't pay—use my name, Wang Yan. If they still collect, don't argue—just tell me. I'll see who's that stupid."

Liu Youcai snorted: "Is he really that powerful?"

"Of course. I always keep my word. I'll talk to him exactly as I talked to you—can you understand?" Seeing him hesitate, Wang Yan shook his head and smiled: "Busy, Uncle Liu. I'm off…"

"Fucking bastard—this guy should've been a thug. Lucky bastard got to be a cop… then again, cops and gangsters are the same now… just another uniformed cop—what's so great…" As Wang Yan walked away, Liu Youcai muttered under his breath, full of venomous attacks on Wang Mou. Clearly, the conversation hadn't gone well…

Lately, people in Ciyun Mountain felt something was off. The once terrifying uniformed cops suddenly started working. Thieves caught, harassers of women caught, snatchers caught—all dragged off without a word, rumored to be beaten badly afterward.

The usual arrogant, bullying thugs had also toned down. Though still loud and joking, no one dared harass people on the street. Even if they got drunk and acted up in crowds, two days later they'd be black-and-blue.

Not just that—residents noticed uniformed cops did more. Previously, reporting crimes got ignored, no response at all. Now, though still reluctant, they actually handled cases and solved real problems. Citizens were satisfied. That was enough. Who needed bicycles?

Those most affected were merchants and stall owners. Once registered with uniformed cops, they could work in peace. Any disputes, monopolies, or bullying—go to the uniformed cops, and they'd resolve it immediately. They didn't extort merchants anymore—now they paid for their food. But one rule: pay weekly dues promptly. Pay fast, and everything's fine.

Because thugs had vanished from the market, people grew more willing to take their kids out for walks after work, spending a little more. Slowly, people from Ciyun Mountain's surroundings and even Kowloon began visiting. With less harassment, more young girls appeared on the streets, drawing more teenage boys who spent money to impress their crushes.

Business improved, profits rose. Though uniformed cops now collected more, merchants and stall owners still kept far more than before—even if they worked harder, they were happy.

Merchants felt this way; the uniformed cops, who gained without labor, felt even better. In the first month of cleaning streets and maintaining order, their black income rose nearly twenty yuan; second month, thirty yuan; third month, nearly fifty yuan. Black income now far exceeded their official salary.

But they weren't idle. With fewer than thirty officers, maintaining order across Ciyun Mountain wasn't easy. Occasionally, neighborhood disputes, brawls, and other messes needed handling—they were swamped. But with income doubled, they were willing.

Some even resisted Lin Mingyuan's proposal to request more personnel—new recruits meant less money for everyone. If more came and their share returned to old levels, or even rose ten or twenty yuan—what was the point? They worked day and night, exhausted—what did they gain?

At the critical moment, Wang Yan spoke up, guiding them, and fairly proposed seniority-based pay distribution—not fixed amounts, but percentages. He also restructured existing shares. This solved new recruits' shares and eased veteran resentment. Veterans still got the largest shares and could assign tasks to newcomers—creating balance. Perfectly resolved.

Of course, this only worked because Wang Yan spoke—and because Lin Mingyuan, as sergeant, had authority. Together, they stabilized the uniformed cops.

Now Wang Mou's word carried heavy weight—even more than Lin Mingyuan's. With only twenty-odd officers, regulating Ciyun Mountain's order wasn't easy. Many petty thieves moved around, hard to root out. Occasionally, powerful-backed individuals acted brazenly. These weren't problems for ordinary uniformed cops—they were handled entirely by Wang Mou.

For petty thieves, he caught one and traced them to their boss. Most were useless kids from Chengzhai—beat them, no one defended them. The hard ones were those with connections, flaunting power. But true high-born Young Masters wouldn't come to Ciyun Mountain. These were minor official or gangster sons—Wang Yan didn't coddle them. He slapped them hard, filed formal charges, and made sure they were prosecuted.

Of course, in the world of gangs, even when he was a gang boss, he never went too far; now that he's in the political path, he certainly won't go too far. On one hand, Chen Tong, Lin Mingyuan, and the others are handing out favors everywhere; on the other, he gains real benefits himself—he knows when to hold back and when to strike hard. Aside from some grudges, he won't earn the hatred of these men's parents. In the end, apart from the beaten Young Masters, everyone gets along well.

In this process, the name "Wang Yan" naturally spread through the Hong Kong and Kowloon police and criminal underworld, making him famous.

Whether the peace in Ci Yun Mountain district improved or not, whether the graft increased or not, whether Lin Mingyuan could change positions or be promoted to Inspector—none of it mattered. What made him famous in Hong Kong and Kowloon was precisely this strength and daring, demonstrated by the people he beat and the gang bosses he crushed. As for Chen Tong, he now sported the reputation of a lucky beneficiary, and the old man smiled every day. Before, with so many Inspectors, who even knew Chen Tong? Now, it was good—he could reap the benefits, and that was because he dared to invest. Even if it was sarcasm, it was still a good reputation.

In the first-floor uniformed police office of Ci Yun Mountain Police Station, a group of uniformed officers sat on chairs, perched on desks, leaned against walls, or stood on the floor; some smoked, some drank water, but without exception, all eyes were fixed on a table in the center, where one man rapidly flipped through a thick ledger while clacking away at an abacus.

This was Ci Yun Mountain Police Station's big event every month—four times a month, weekend accounting and money distribution.

Without boasting, this was now the standard setup for every Hong Kong and Kowloon police station. Because Ci Yun Mountain Police Station doubled its graft in three months; Lin Mingyuan was personally praised by the foreign devils, and promotion seemed certain. Other stations naturally followed suit, cleaning up their districts' order. So this ledger was now standard issue for every uniformed unit in every station.

Right now, the Independent Commission Against Corruption hadn't yet taken effect, and the Independent Commission for the Prevention of Corruption hadn't been established—if they had found the black-money ledgers of every police station, it wouldn't be an exaggeration to say every uniformed officer, from rookie to commander, would be locked up, and the entire police force would collapse.

This time, the smallest share was two hundred and fifty, some got three hundred, even three hundred and more. As for his own share and Lin Mingyuan's, those weren't even counted—they were small change, unworthy of notice. He received money because people recently begged him to let them off; Lin Mingyuan was plotting his career. Compared to that, these sums now felt meaningless.

This was the result of less than thirty men being supported by all the legitimate businesses and stall owners in Ci Yun Mountain. After three months, the market's potential had basically been exhausted. In the end, it was still the workers' wages that limited things. If one truly tallied up the numbers—the count of uniformed officers collecting bribes, the number of merchants and stall owners, the citizens' income, the number of households in the district—there would surely be a coefficient.

And Wang Mou was extremely confident: this coefficient must be extremely healthy, extremely reasonable, because he was a professional…

Watching the uniformed officers lick their fingers and happily count their money, Wang Yan said: "Alright, brothers, the money's all distributed. Everyone not on duty, go home."

"Brother Yan, starting tomorrow you'll be plainclothes. Why don't we all treat you to a meal?"

"Yeah, Brother Yan, you've been promoted, don't forget us."

"What nonsense are you talking? Brother Yan's still upstairs—he didn't get transferred anywhere. We uniformed guys still take orders from Brother Yan."

Wang Yan nodded: "Ah, Brother Cheng speaks truly. I'm still upstairs, not going far. I don't have big demands of you—all I ask is this: remember, the citizens are our bread and butter…"

"Serving them is our glorious mission, Brother Yan…" The group, in perfect unison, finished the sentence, stretching out "Brother Yan" like schoolchildren reciting a textbook…

A bunch of useless idiots—they'd improved enough already; expectations couldn't be too high. Wang Yan nodded, satisfied: "Even though I've moved to the Criminal Unit as plainclothes, we're still brothers. If you hit a wall, come find me. As for celebrating with a meal—skip it. We've drunk together plenty before. We're just upstairs and downstairs—we won't be out of sight. Go home now."

In truth, serving citizens wasn't necessary for collecting bribes—it was his own hardline demand. One must admit: though the job was just work, no matter what, it was about earning money, about survival. But that doesn't erase the sense of honor some special professions carry—like police.

Forget the foreign devils—in all of Hong Kong and Kowloon, every Chinese police officer, unless born evil, felt at least a twinge of guilt when taking money. Without exception, their self-justification was always: "Everyone else takes it—why shouldn't I?" Or, over time, their tolerance rose—or they fully surrendered to corruption. In the end, it was just the environment, and time wearing them down.

But none of that mattered now. The situation at Ci Yun Mountain Police Station was this: they could collect more money than before. As for his enforced rule of serving citizens, there was initial resistance—but they couldn't defy him, so they obeyed. Over time, they'd find joy in serving the people, find the glory and honor of being police. And the entire uniformed unit, under this atmosphere, influenced each other. Three months weren't enough to change their hearts—but with him holding them in check, these men would become good police in the future. Hmm… good police who collected bribes…

Whoever didn't become a good police—he'd help them become one…

Watching the uniformed officers leave in small groups, Wang Yan took the cigarette Lei Luo offered, letting him light it. Lighting a cigarette—he'd never done it himself since joining the station…

"Making you stay on duty Sunday messed up your time with Ah Xia. You don't resent me, right?"

"How could I, Brother Yan? This is your last uniformed shift—I, as your brother, have to stay with you."

Patting his shoulder, Wang Yan sat down and crossed his legs: "So when are you and Ah Xia getting married? Is it her father, Liu Youcai, refusing?"

Lei Luo sighed: "He wants ten thousand dollars as bride price. I make three hundred a month, and I've got younger siblings to support—where would I get that?"

"Be honest with me—how far have you gone with Ah Xia?"

"Oh, Brother Yan, can you be serious? Why do you always ask such embarrassing questions…"

"If you've got her, you've got her. You act like a girl." Wang Yan exhaled smoke. "Seriously—can you marry her if you have the money?"

"That's what he told me."

Wang Yan stood up, reached into the left breast pocket of his jacket, pulled out a stack of cash, then—under Lei Luo's stunned gaze—drew more from his right jacket pocket, his left trouser pocket, his right trouser pocket, and finally his back pocket.

"Here, count it—should be fifteen thousand. More than enough for your wedding. Ten thousand for the bride price, five thousand as a wedding gift from your big brother. Treat them to a good feast, let Ah Xia marry into the Lei family in style."

He'd spoken to Liu Youcai before—but the man was already letting his daughter associate with Lei Luo; he couldn't push too hard, could he?

Lei Luo, mouth agape, didn't refuse, only asked in disbelief: "Brother Yan, you carry this much cash on you? Don't you even bank it?"