Chapter 341: It

"What you can think of, I can think of too, and Yan Tong can think of it even better. Never mind the dozens of inspectors—pull any officer off the street, and he knows he should raise the clearance rate and lower the crime rate." Chen Tong shook his head repeatedly: "Do you know what Yan Tong and his crew do? They pay people to take the blame. The murderer? A sixty-year-old man. The rapist? A fifty-year-old idiot. The robber, the brawler—he's got plenty of people willing to take the fall. His clearance rate is over ninety percent. Doesn't matter what's really happening—the reports say it's peaceful and prosperous."

"I admit you're capable. I don't know how good you are at solving cases, but even if you're a genius detective, how long would it take you to clear all the backlogged files in the archives? Ten years? Eight years—you think you can finish them?"

"Then why don't we just do the same?"

"I'm ashamed. I'm afraid my son's son won't even have an anus."

"Then I'm out of ideas, Uncle. His position is higher than yours, and you have no higher-up backing you—we can't outplay him. And frankly, Uncle, even if you had enough merit to swap positions, as long as Yan Tong interferes, you won't get promoted. Sure, there are many inspectors, but each post is a single hole—one person for every position—and he'll always look out for his own. If a spot opens, he'll fight for his men. Our chances are slim. Give up. Just live your life."

"I admit I have some grievances with Yan Tong, but it's one-sided—I just can't stand him. To be honest, Yan Tong only shows off in front of me when he's bored; he's never actually hurt me. It hasn't reached the point where I'd kill him."

"Then I can't help you, Uncle. His rank is higher than yours, and you have no higher-level patron—we can't compete with him. And frankly, Uncle, even if you had enough merit to swap positions, as long as Yan Tong interferes, you won't get promoted. Sure, there are many inspectors, but each post is a single hole—one person for every position—and he'll always look out for his own. If a spot opens, he'll fight for his men. Our chances are slim. Give up. Just live your life."

"Really no way?"

"No people, no money—we can't compete." Wang Yan said: "Unless we kill him, trying to play by the rules against him is impossible. We can only wait until I become inspector myself and see if I can land a good post."

"Become inspector?" Chen Tong laughed loudly: "I don't doubt your ability, but do you know how much you have to pay the foreign devils to become one?"

"A couple hundred thousand should be enough, Uncle. Don't underestimate me—I've already made fifty thousand from cleaning up those fools lately. And who knows? Maybe I'll hook up with some rich widow soon. Who can say for sure?"

"That's true—I've got faith in you. Come to think of it, your body's in great shape—who knows, maybe one day you'll bed some bored, unsatisfied Justice of the Peace's wife…" Chen Tong, the old rogue, cracked a dirty joke and grinned: "Alright, Yan Tong's business isn't that serious—just a grudge in your chest. If you can get revenge, great; if not, no big deal. But you still have to do your job. You've got ideas—you got this whole Tsz Wan Shan operation going with those Dai Maozi. What do you think about our Criminal Investigation Unit's work?"

"Actually, I do have an idea, Uncle."

Wang Yan smiled: "Here's the thing—our six big brothers each have smaller gangs under them. They run opium dens, gambling halls, heroin spots, brothels, loan sharks—you name it. Uncle, our area's small, our population's limited. If they keep opening these places randomly, fighting over customers, nobody makes real money. So I thought: let's shut down the excess places, wipe out the thugs, and funnel all customers into the remaining ones. Income will definitely rise. We collect weekly, like the Dai Maozi, and it's easier to manage."

This was Lei Luo's method—he just had to follow it. Shutting down dens and arresting drug dealers brought merit, and income would rise too—perfect.

He'd always despised drug dealers. When he was a big brother himself, he never touched them. Now he was shielding these scum. He felt no guilt—after all, he knew this was temporary. Eventually, he'd wipe them all out. But the current situation was different from later.

When he was a big brother in Hong Kong and Kowloon, the ICAC had already been established—the police and criminals were separated; drug dealing was no longer open. Back then, he could refuse to get involved, and his power was enough to withstand retaliation. Now? The police are the drug dealers' shield—the police and criminals are one family. If he openly cracked down on drugs, every cop and criminal in Hong Kong and Kowloon would become his enemy. The resistance would be too great—he couldn't withstand it.

To crack down on drugs in this era, he needed more Chinese officers, needed to become the top Chinese boss, needed to find a new revenue stream for the many Chinese cops—something to satisfy the greedy foreign devils. Only then could his will be carried out. That day wouldn't be far off…

Chen Tong said nothing. He lit a cigarette silently, then tossed the whole pack to Wang Yan across from him. He was thinking, trying to understand this truth: would fewer dens really mean higher income?

After half a cigarette, he asked: "Will it work?"

"Whether it works or not, talking won't prove anything. We have to do it and see if our pockets get heavier. Even if the money doesn't increase—if this plan fails—we can just let them reopen. There are countless people wanting to make illegal money; we won't miss these few. Besides, replacing them is fine—we'll make a lot from raiding their dens right now. We'll hit a jackpot. We're cops—we can't lose. Uncle, just say the word, and we start."

"The six big brothers stay, but how many dens each runs, and where—they're your call, Uncle. Their internal fights will mean plenty of bribes for you—no small sum. Once you've settled things with them, I'll lead the team and sweep every small gang in our jurisdiction. We'll earn merit too. It's a win-win, Uncle."

Chen Tong nodded: "Alright, let's do it. If it fails, we'll talk again."

"Shall I call the men?"

"Go."

Without delay, Wang Yan stood and stepped out to call the plainclothes still lingering: "Brother Lin, Brother Hua—go get the Six Bosses—Weasel, Baldy, and the rest. Tell them to come for a meeting. Uncle's got something to say."

"Alright, let's go, Hua." Hearing the order, the two men stood up quickly and headed downstairs to fetch them.

Chen Tong had nodded—that meant he'd already worked out his plan in his head: how to assign, how to divide. He just needed to negotiate with the gang bosses later. How things were arranged? Chen Tong would give orders—he'd just follow. They'd argue for days—everyone wants more money, and these gang bosses would fight to the death.

So now he had nothing to do—well, not truly nothing. He was plainclothes, part of the Criminal Investigation Unit. Murders, thefts—those were his duties. But in this environment, duty was the side job; the main job was making money…

Solving cases wasn't urgent. Now that he was plainclothes, promotion was hard. At best, he'd rise to Detective Sergeant or Senior Detective Sergeant—slightly higher pay, nothing else. But with Chen Tong, even a little merit could get him promoted. To become inspector? That required serious planning—it wouldn't happen overnight.

Plainclothes had too much freedom, no one watching him. He thought for a moment, then said goodbye to Chen Tong and strolled out of the police station.

Sometimes, people just can't escape being talked about. As he stepped out the station gate, he saw a scruffy, sneaky figure lurking by the storefront across the street, watching the station.

Seeing him come out, the scruffy figure waved happily, like a long-lost friend.

Wang Yan waved back, watching the fat, disheveled man waddle up, and grinned: "You're Zhu Youzi, right? Long time no see. What brings you here?"

"Nothing much, Brother Yan. Heard you got promoted to plainclothes—I came to congratulate you."

"I doubt that." Wang Yan's grin vanished instantly. Without a word, he kicked the man hard in the ass: "When I bought your sugar cakes before, you thought I didn't hear you, right? You called me a 'puk gai'—said I was stupid, couldn't even be a cop. That was you, wasn't it? Am I wrong?"

Zhu Youzi was mortified. Being caught eavesdropping and called out in person was humiliating—especially since the man was plainclothes, the ruthless, rising star known as 'Brother Yan.' If he wanted to ruin him, one word would make his death unforgettable…

"Bro…Brother Yan, I didn't… I didn't…"

Seeing the man trembling, face pale with 'I'm dead,' Wang Yan gave him another light kick: "Enough. If I really wanted to crush you, I'd have beaten you last time. Why wait to dig up old dirt? I really do like you—today's my promotion day, I'm in a good mood. Get to the point. Say what you need to say."

"Ah, I knew Brother Yan had a generous heart—a statesman's belly that can hold a boat! You're destined for greatness—even becoming inspector…"

"Still not enough kicks?"

"I really do need your help, Brother Yan." Zhu Youzi shook his head frantically, grinning nervously: "A friend of mine gambles too much—he lost a lot, took out a loan shark loan, and now they've kidnapped him. I'm afraid he'll get killed. I need you to talk to them."

"Who took him? How much does he owe?"

"Big Head Qiang. He lost a few thousand, but with interest, it's already tens of thousands now. How can we pay that back?"

"Oh, Big Head." Wang Yan nodded: "Alright. From now on, work for me. Any problem?"

Isn't it said there are no wrong nicknames, only wrong names? That saying holds true. Big Head Qiang—just by the name, you know his head's huge. This Big Head was a petty thug who ran a gambling den and an opium den. In his own words, he made just enough to survive. No matter how Chen Tong negotiated with the bigger gang bosses, this Big Head was definitely marked for elimination—his death would count as a merit point.

Plus, Wang Yan had already considered making Zhu Youzi his subordinate. Now he had the perfect chance to control him. It wasn't just whim—he liked the guy's face, and Zhu Youzi had once served Lei Luo reliably, already proven loyal. Why find a new one when there was a ready-made one?

"Thank you, Brother Yan! Working for you is my honor. The first time we met, I knew you weren't ordinary…"

"Enough with the flattery. Doing your job well matters more than anything. Come on, I'll go with you to get the guy." Wang Yan turned and walked ahead: "I haven't seen you selling sugar cakes in months. A few days ago, A Luo said you were scalping movie tickets. What've you been doing lately?"

"Can't help it—wanting wealth means trying everything. Lately I've been…"

Listening to Zhu Youzi's rambling nonsense, Wang Yan followed him to Big Head's place to retrieve the man. He showed up in person, in his own jurisdiction—who'd dare cause trouble? It went smoothly—he got the man back without issue.

They got him back, but the debt remained unpaid. Though he called them thugs, they were real organized crime—not clowns. Zhu Youzi's friend had been beaten half to death—terribly.

Wang Yan didn't care for this kind of guy—not because of gambling, but because of reckless, uncontrolled gambling. People with zero self-awareness had no future, let alone a chance at greatness. He wiped the debt clean, told Zhu Youzi to wait at the station tomorrow, then headed to Hui Feng Bank on Tsz Wan Shan Road in Kowloon.

He wanted to start a legitimate business and earn clean money. He had only 876.30 yuan in clean cash—that was what remained after he'd bribed people with meals, drinks, and cigarettes when he first joined the station. Everything else he owned was filthy money.

Of course, he didn't see it that way. After all, those dirty funds had built order in Ci Yun Shan, restored the police uniform's authority, and established the principle of serving the people. He, Wang Mou, had set a good example, started a new trend—taking a little money was harmless.

But rules were rules. Dirty money was dirty money. The amount wasn't huge—just decades' worth of an average person's salary—but he had to make sure no one could find fault.

So he came to apply for a loan…

'Wang Yan,' 'Brother Yan'—though most widely known in the police and underworld, ordinary citizens knew them too, especially those in Ci Yun Shan. They knew their lives had changed because of 'Brother Yan.' They knew how powerful he was in Ci Yun Shan. And ordinary people loved to brag about him: "Hey, you know Brother Yan? The one with the biggest name in Ci Yun Shan lately? He helped me with a case—someone…" And so, Wang Yan's fame spread.

Though order in other districts seemed decent, the police didn't actually serve the people—everything stayed the same as before. And for second-generation thugs, they hadn't cracked down hard like Wang Yan did—they only cleaned up the small fry, leaving the big fish untouched. So yes, they made a bit more money, but nowhere near the profits of Ci Yun Shan, the new, lucrative hotspot.

With more people coming in, all kinds of dens saw their business rise further. That's why Chen Tong had been unsure at first—the income had already jumped once. For supply and demand, the old man was outdated; his brain needed more time to catch up.

All these things combined, his deeds were not only known among police and criminals, but also familiar to those well-informed and interested in such matters. And quite coincidentally, the officer handling Wang Yan's loan application was one of those who knew his name.

He was a young man, slightly thin, with a refined face, dressed in a suit, his hair slicked back, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, embodying a general British gentlemanly style, named Lin Hanbin. Of course, this attire was British gentlemanly now, but in the next twenty years it would become the elite sales look. The famous question: how to wear a suit without looking like a salesman…

"Mr., you say your name is Wang Yan, and you're an undercover detective? May I ask boldly—are you from the Tsz Yun Shan Police Station?"

Wang Yan, sitting on the sofa with one leg crossed over the other, a cigarette pinched between his fingers, puffing smoke, smiled and nodded: "That's me. Have you heard of me, Mr. Lin? That's odd—you look so distinguished, clearly a young talent. Do you even pay attention to our kind of affairs?"

"You flatter me, Brother Yan. I'm just scraping by—how could I be called a young talent? You've vastly underestimated your own influence. Your name, Brother Yan, has spread far and wide. Besides, my family lives right in Tsz Yun Shan. People say you're the conscience of Hong Kong's police force."

"People with culture really know how to speak—far more pleasant than the brown-nosing back at my station. I'm the conscience of Hong Kong's police? Hmph. Come on, say a couple more lines. Let me enjoy this."

"Brother Yan, you're joking." Lin Hanbin didn't flinch, shifting topics immediately: "Logically, given your stature and influence in Tsz Yun Shan, your side income must far exceed that of most officers. There's really no need for you to take out a loan."

"Just say it plainly—it's bribes, not 'side income.'" Wang Yan shook his head and smiled. "I won't hide it from you. There's a saying: caution keeps the boat afloat for ten thousand years. Being careful is always right. Put bluntly—you work for the foreigners, and so do I. We all bow to their whims. Who knows when they might strike? We can't just sit back and watch the entire Hong Kong police force go corrupt. So, better to prepare early—think ahead, but think of retreat too."

There was no need to hide it—everyone in Hong Kong knew the police and criminals were one family. How could anyone rise without taking bribes? There was absolutely no need.

"Brother Yan, your foresight is admirable…" Lin Hanbin was several years older than Wang Yan, yet he always used "Brother Yan"—a title of status. He never imagined this undercover cop, a mere bribe-taker, could have such a level-headed mindset. He'd thought him a country bumpkin, but turns out he was shrewd as hell. Fame doesn't lie—no empty reputation. He might lack culture, but he certainly had wisdom.

He was right, of course. Wang Yan had no officially recognized Hong Kong academic credentials to prove he was cultured—but that didn't matter.

Wang Yan waved his hand and spoke coolly: "I just became an undercover. My salary is 142 dollars. As for other assets—I own a wooden house in Tung Tau Village. I live alone, no dependents. I don't mind living frugally—I'll set aside 32 dollars for food. I'll just piggyback on my colleagues for cigarettes and alcohol. Mr. Lin, please calculate: if I repay 110 dollars monthly over the longest possible term, how much can I borrow?"

Lin Hanbin glanced unconsciously at Wang Yan's shiny leather shoes, the luxury watch on his wrist, then at his own broken watch and worn-out shoes. His lips twitched, but his professional training kept him listening to this man's shameless words: "Brother Yan, you're an exceptional client—we welcome you wholeheartedly. But for personal loans based on salary alone, we can't lend too much or extend the term too long. Personally, I can offer you five thousand dollars, monthly installments of 110 dollars, over ten years."

"So the interest would be more than double?"

"Because the term is long. If it were shorter, you wouldn't get this much—but your monthly payment wouldn't be 110 dollars either."

"I understand, I understand." Wang Yan nodded. "Banks really make money. Looks like I should open my own bank someday."

Damn, he's got big ambitions… Lin Hanbin smiled and asked: "Brother Yan, five thousand, ten years—does that work?"

"Is there another option?" Wang Yan shook his head. "Do it. Can I get the money today?"

"Right here, Brother Yan—once the paperwork's done and you sign, you walk out with five thousand in cash." Lin Hanbin said: "Why don't you have some tea first? I'll fetch the documents."

Wang Yan grunted and settled in to drink his tea.

Actually, Lin Hanbin wasn't just an ordinary bank clerk—he was slightly higher-ranked. And he received this treatment because of the. 38 revolver at his waist…

He could've chosen a loan shark instead—they'd give more money. He could even force them to write a promissory note stating it was a "gift." But that carried risks—it would be proof he had ties to the triads. Even if he could explain it away as friendship, it was unnecessary. After all, he was the scourge of evil.

With the eight hundred he already had, nearly six thousand was enough to start.

The paperwork moved quickly. Lin Hanbin hadn't lied—Wang Yan truly was an excellent client. Back then, all undercover cops were decent clients; personal lending relied on people like them. But sadly, no one else—except Wang Mou—had just become an undercover and already thought so far ahead.

After receiving the five thousand and counting it without error, Wang Yan casually stuffed the cash into his pocket, stood up, and extended his hand to shake Lin Hanbin's: "You're good. You live in Tsz Yun Shan, right? If you ever need help, come to the station. If I can fix it, I will."

This wasn't the first time he'd said this. Whenever he liked someone, he said it. He said it for every case he handled. When he patrolled, he said it to anyone who smiled and tried to be friendly.

Lin Hanbin looked genuinely flattered, gripping Wang Yan's hand with slightly more force: "Thank you, Brother Yan." He had to admit—Wang Yan was powerful in Tsz Yun Shan, had some respect even in other police stations and among gangsters, and was extremely well-connected. Maybe he really could be called upon…

Wang Yan patted his shoulder and strolled off. It was still quite far from Tsz Yun Shan, and he had nothing urgent to do—perfect for a leisurely walk. Besides, war was coming soon. Land prices were already shifting; once fighting started, prices here would plummet. The thousand-square-foot Western-style houses on Prince Edward Road? At least half their value would vanish. Worth studying.

With this kind of long-term vision and cautious mindset, this man was no mere brute as rumors claimed—he was someone who could accomplish great things… Watching Wang Yan's retreating figure, Lin Hanbin straightened his posture, still wearing his professional smile, nodding politely to passing acquaintances, then lowered his head to smooth nonexistent wrinkles from his finest clothes, took a deep breath, and turned to walk back into the bank…