Chapter 358

Wang Yan didn't know Yan Tong's curses, but he could guess them.

Originally, he planned to take a slice from each of the other inspectors, but the foreign devils flatly refused. This time, with such a big achievement and his own power base, the foreign devils were generous enough to give him Tsim Sha Tsui—a place with massive profits.

Because they knew placing Wang Yan anywhere made no difference—he didn't care. All he wanted was the title of inspector. And since Wang Yan's influence was already there, it was better to give him a good location, make his jurisdiction look impressive, stable, and prosperous. Giving him Tsim Sha Tsui was precisely this calculation.

But if Wang Yan wanted more, that was unacceptable. He was already dominant in the police force; the foreign devils couldn't allow it. Though they knew Yan Tong and others might be powerless to resist, their partiality could still let Yan Tong's group counter Wang Yan, achieving a new balance within the force.

As for moving the original inspector to Wang Yan's territory as a figurehead, it was a face-saving gesture for Wang Yan—and also a way to instill greater urgency in Yan Tong and others, reminding them who their real master was and who they should follow.

Wang Yan understood the foreign devils' thinking perfectly, but he could say with absolute certainty: it was useless.

"Whether they suspect you or not is their business. Whether you're clean or not is yours."

"Relax, Brother Yan, you know I never mess up."

Wang Yan grunted and said nothing more.

Actually, he hadn't planned to kill Yan Tong—even after today's test revealed his involvement in the earlier riot. His original idea was normal exclusion, eventually buying Yan Tong's factory, nothing more than leaving him destitute for the rest of his life.

But now it was different. Yan Tong no longer hid his intent to kill him—so why keep him alive? Rather than wait passively for Yan Tong's move, it was better to strike first and kill him outright, saving himself from restless nights—and giving that bastard who'd done nothing but evil a quick death, a meritorious act.

Today was Thursday; his official appointment was next Monday. These empty days were his vacation, so the driver took him straight back to Kowloon Tong. Besides, he'd drunk a lot tonight—even if he weren't on vacation, he wouldn't go to the police station. No one checked his attendance.

The car stopped steadily before the courtyard. The front-seat passenger, Zhu Youzi, skillfully opened his door, trotted over to the back seat, and opened the door for Big Brother.

Several kids playing in the dirt screamed "Dad!" and two more yelled "Brother-in-law!" like broken records, swarming over—especially the second, third, and fourth sons, whose filthy hands grabbed straight for their father's expensive suit.

Only the eldest, Xiao Bai, seemed somewhat sensible, politely calling Zhu Youzi "Zi Uncle," prompting the others to follow suit.

Zhu Youzi chuckled, patting the kids' heads in response. He was three years older than Wang Yan and already had children of his own. As the saying goes, when belly and warmth are full, lust arises. In recent years, following Wang Yan's rise, he'd taken a second wife and set up several concubines outside—more kids than he could count, eight in total… but unluckily, none were close in age to Xiao Bai and the others. Otherwise, he'd have sent them over long ago to keep the Crown Prince company.

"I'll get to work, Brother Yan."

"Go ahead." Wang Yan nodded. "By the way, get someone to tally up Yan Tong's factory—see if we can swallow it whole."

"Don't worry, Brother Yan, it'll be enough. Just a bunch of widows and orphans—they wouldn't dare ask for the moon. A little money to keep them alive is all they'll get."

Yan Tong's widow couldn't be touched—it was a matter of face. Most importantly, once Yan Tong was dead, people would already suspect him. If he then targeted Yan Tong's widow too, it would look utterly tasteless.

Besides, Wang Mou wasn't lacking in magnanimity—he wasn't afraid of future revenge.

"Go ahead." Wang Yan nodded, watching Zhu Youzi get in the car and leave, then led the children back into the courtyard.

Recently, Bai Fan Yu's family had been living in Kowloon Tong, nearby, so the kids played together every day. In the courtyard, Young Lady Bai sat with the two concubines, watching him approach with the group of children.

Young Lady Bai, sitting elegantly with legs crossed, smirked: "Drunk again?"

"Today I was promoted to inspector—it just so happened that all the other inspectors were there, so we celebrated."

"Inspector Wang, my dad booked a restaurant. Let's have dinner tonight and celebrate some more. Go wash up—smell like smoke and alcohol, you'll choke the kids."

"Yes, boss." Wang Yan exaggeratedly saluted with a police gesture. The confused kids behind him copied him instantly…

"You kids play for now. Dad's going to shower, then come out and play with you." He blocked the gaggle of followers, turned, and walked inside…

Unlike Wang Yan's smooth, comfortable days, Yan Tong was beyond miserable.

Yan Tong smoked his beloved large cigar one puff after another, eyes unfocused. Thinking of the inspector replaced by Wang Yan begging him before the breakup, thinking of the other inspectors' distrust, he burned with rage—rage at the inspectors he'd promoted for their ingratitude, and rage at Wang Yan, who rendered him powerless.

In fact, since Wang Yan killed Du Yushan's nephew, his ties with Du Yushan had grown close.

Before the riot, he'd already learned the news. He never considered using it to advance—after all, he was already an inspector, with nothing left to gain. Besides, could he really provoke the Guomin Party? If he leaked the information, his head would be gone in three days.

In truth, his first thought wasn't promotion, but whether he could use the chance to kill Wang Yan, that bastard. He knew: as long as Wang Yan lived, he wouldn't just fail to advance—he'd struggle to keep his current position. Blocking someone's path was like killing their parents. Not killing Wang Yan was unthinkable.

After careful planning, they sent seven men to kill Wang Yan. Two were gunners sent by Du Yushan—whether they were Du's men didn't matter, as long as the Wang died. One gunner was his own, someone he'd trusted before for eliminating a rival inspector. The other four were also Du Yushan's men, but two were knocked out instantly at the front, even before drawing knives—useless.

They weren't worried Wang Yan wouldn't lead from the front—he was known for his toughness, and with such a major achievement, every man had to lead the charge. They were certain of it.

But they hadn't expected Wang Yan to be so terrifyingly strong. Three guns aimed at his face—he still turned the tables and killed them all. His combat power was absurd. He'd once single-handedly fought dozens of thugs and chased them down himself.

Precisely because of this, Yan Tong was deeply troubled over how to kill Wang Yan directly.

As he thought, puffing cigar after cigar, he inhaled too deeply by accident, choked, and coughed violently back to awareness. He checked his wristwatch—it was only one in the afternoon. He shook his head, decided to go out for some fun, relax.

He called two subordinates, drove to Victoria Harbour, boarded a luxury steamer shuttling between Hong Kong and Macau, stood on deck watching the sea, smoking his cigar, plotting how to kill Wang, and arrived at Macau.

Macau, one of the future four gambling capitals, already bore the look of its future prosperity. In 1847, the Portuguese issued a decree legalizing gambling as a special form of entertainment, directly establishing official casinos. After over a century of development, the scale of gambling here was unimaginable.

Gambling required capital. So most people here were wealthy from Hong Kong, Macau, and Taiwan, plus many foreign devils—government officials, gang bosses, successful merchants—all true elites, not a single Bai Ding among them.

As a well-known figure in Hong Kong and Kowloon, the famed "Yan Ye," though surrounded by powerful people, he still had status, knew many, and quickly assembled a table. Sipping expensive foreign liquor, smoking his large cigar, occasionally groping the plump buttocks of the girl beside him, Yan Tong played from evening until deep night, unleashing his power, winning over three hundred thousand.

He was delighted—tonight's winnings proved he wasn't cursed, that fortune was truly on his side.

At this hour, he wouldn't return to Hong Kong—there were hotels here. Since he'd won big, his mood was excellent. He took the girl who'd followed him all night to a room, moaning and groaning.

After two rounds of exertion, watching the girl with dreamy eyes and a satisfied expression, he was pleased with his extraordinary performance.

After physical exertion, he was exhausted. Gambling demanded intense focus—every gamble, every heart-stopping win or loss, had thrilled him. But that thrill was drained by two rounds of sex, replaced by endless fatigue. He hugged the girl and fell into deep sleep…

Though Wang Yan had claimed today he was close to Shi Si Ka, it seemed he suspected him—but Yan Tong saw no killing intent in Wang's eyes, no malice.

In the past, their struggles had always been contained, no extreme moves. They could have ruined him long ago, yet hadn't moved—he believed Wang Yan looked down on them, too disdainful for petty tricks. So in his mind, he assumed: even if Wang Yan suspected him, without proof, he wouldn't act. Otherwise, how would the other inspectors view him? How would the ten thousand Chinese officers view him? So after one more drink, he slept peacefully.

Yan Tong wasn't a fool—but his self-deception, his false belief that he understood his opponent, was unquestionably stupid.

It was deep into the night. Only a few energetic gamblers were still playing; most were asleep. Yan Tong's men wouldn't guard his door all night. This was an official hotel—extremely safe. If someone murdered here, the consequences would be severe. Many with higher status and more wealth than Yan Tong didn't even have guards outside—why should he be different?

In the hallway, two men, at rooms spaced apart from Yan Tong's, simultaneously opened their doors and peered out. The corridor was silent as a tomb. Confirming no threat, they stepped lightly, silently approaching Yan Tong's door.

One held a silenced pistol; the other pulled out wire and a needle, inserted them into the lock. In mere breaths, the door opened. They slipped inside, slowly creeping toward the naked man and woman fast asleep on the large bed.

With a tacit understanding, they took out soaked cotton cloths and simultaneously covered the mouths and noses of Yan Tong and the young girl.

Sensing restricted breath, feeling pressure on his face, Yan Tong snapped awake—but it was too late. He'd already inhaled the unknown liquid on the cloth. He struggled twice, but the violent motion accelerated his breathing—he only struggled twice, then rolled his eyes and lost consciousness.

The woman beside him was easier—no sign of struggle at all, sleeping soundly.

They held the cloth over his face for a few more breaths, then removed it, tucked it into his pocket, flipped open Yan Tong's eyelids, turned on the bedside lamp, confirmed his pupils were dilated and unfocused, and nodded in satisfaction.

He pulled a tiny syringe from his pocket, gently lifted the blanket, carefully examined Yan Tong's limbs and neck, then gently inserted the needle into the fresh bruise on his left inner arm—the mark left by the girl's nails near the artery—and slowly pushed in the unknown drug.

Then he gently pulled the blanket back over Yan Tong, turned off the bedside lamp, retraced every step of his entry, meticulously wiped away any trace on the carpet, opened the door, and left, returning to his original room.

In Yan Tong's room, the casino girl lay asleep, long legs draped over the blanket, her beautiful brow slightly furrowed—her dream was not pleasant.

Beside her, the middle-aged bald man's body trembled violently, drenched in sweat, his face twisted in agony—as if enduring unbearable torment. Long moments passed. Then his trembling stopped. But his contorted face remained, horrifying to behold…