Chapter 359

This morning, a drizzling rain drifted through the sky, heavy yet refreshing.

Wang Yan woke early as usual; though he couldn't run, he didn't go back to sleep either, because he couldn't sleep well.

Bai Xi's sleeping posture had changed significantly several times since marriage: when they first shared a bed, she clung to him, riding him; after giving birth to Xiao Bai, she became more restrained, mostly lying on her back; but now, after giving birth to twin brothers, the third and fourth, her posture had become wildly unrestrained—she took up two-thirds of the bed, mostly reverting to how she slept when alone.

Wang Yan attributed Bai Xi's condition to exhaustion; after all, she had her own responsibilities and had to care for four little brats every day—even though they had a nanny at home and bodyguards outside, she still had to remain constantly attentive. So her post-exhaustion sprawl was understandable.

Now Bai Xi lay diagonally, stretched out in a star shape, her fair skin mostly exposed, a splendid sight. With her in this pose, Wang Yan had no chance of sleeping any longer.

In the courtyard beneath the pavilion, he moved the table and chairs aside to clear space, practiced two sets of fists, washed up, then slumped on the reclining chair beneath the pavilion, smoking idly while watching a patch of leaves swaying gently in the breeze nearby…

He was already a detective inspector—and the most powerful one. If in the coming time he failed to take down Yan Tong and the others, then when the current two chief inspectors retired, he would be promoted to Chief Inspector of Kowloon, with Yan Tong's faction choosing one among them to become Chief Inspector of Hong Kong Island. Since his power in Kowloon and the New Territories was the greatest, and most inspectors were based here, the foreigners wouldn't be foolish enough to hand him control of Hong Kong Island.

If he took down Yan Tong and the others, he wouldn't have to wait for the current two chief inspectors to retire—he would soon ascend to Chief Chinese Inspector. As for the two chief inspectors, anyone with half a brain could see the wind blowing—they'd voluntarily retire and resign.

It's now November 1956; the next election is in 1960. More than three years is more than enough for him to bring those who won't pledge loyalty under control—even less than three years. So, barring accidents, before 1960 he will become the first Chief Chinese Inspector in the Hong Kong-Kowloon police force.

As for how to pressure the remaining inspectors, he couldn't move them within the police force—the foreigners demanded balance and wouldn't approve his proposed reassignments, and no one would take his money for such matters—so he had to start squeezing their outside businesses. Of course, this wasn't the only way, but using his strengths against their weaknesses, ignoring his own advantages, would make him a fool. He hadn't done it before simply because the time hadn't come—not because Yan Tong and the others thought he was "following rules" or anything like that.

Yet dismantling these inspectors' businesses wasn't easy—each enterprise was sizable, which was why yesterday he had asked Zhu Youzi whether direct acquisition was possible. His own enterprises were large, but his liquid cash wasn't nearly as abundant as imagined, and his debts were high; if the cash flow snapped, he'd truly go bankrupt.

Destroying them was simple, but he wanted to absorb and acquire them—after all, the workers were all police officers' family members; he couldn't ignore them. The real problem was how to receive and transition them smoothly and completely.

Of course, this problem wasn't too great—Yan Tong and the others' factories produced only raw material processing and other common, low-value products, plus some under-construction real estate projects. He just needed to spend some time adjusting the overall industrial layout…

A car engine's sputtering noise came in, Wang Yan snapped back to attention, glanced at his wristwatch, then turned toward the sound.

Soon, a black sedan slowed to a stop before his courtyard gate; the passenger door opened and Zhu Youzi stepped out, yawning. Seeing Wang Yan watching him from beneath the pavilion, he grinned, rubbed his face twice, turned, shut the car door, and walked over to sit on the chair beside the pavilion: "Knew you wouldn't go out on a day like this, Brother Yan."

"What's with you? Looks like you've been overindulging."

"Overindulging? Brother Yan, that's a huge injustice. You know I've been careful with my health these past few years—just want to live longer and enjoy life." Zhu Youzi couldn't help yawning again: "It's that bastard Yan Tong—he's practically begging to die. Yesterday, during our lunch, he crossed the harbor to Aoma. I got word, rushed to deploy men, waited for updates until the middle of the night. Slept only a few hours, then came over for breakfast."

He pulled out a cigarette and tossed one to him; Wang Yan didn't light it for him, just exhaled smoke and asked: "Done?" He was asking a rhetorical question—if anything had gone wrong, if the assassination had turned into an assault, Zhu Youzi would've called him last night.

"Of course no problem—heart attack. Should've been painful. But they say Yan Tong was pretty alert—he slept like a dead pig, even struggled a bit when they knocked him out."

"Good job. Have the brothers who handled it take their families on a trip, relax a bit." The drug was his own creation; with today's medical tech, it couldn't be detected. So this wasn't about hiding or lying low—it was a reward.

"Understood."

"After breakfast, let's go to headquarters together and hold a meeting to discuss taking over Yan Tong's factories."

"Yes, Brother Yan."

Wang Yan had expected Yan Tong to die, but he hadn't expected him to be dead the very next day after giving Zhu Youzi the order—too fast. Yan Tong's death severely weakened the opposition.

Because no one could take over Yan Tong's operations—after all, the rules were clear: only those who could provide high-standard jobs for police officers' direct relatives could rise to power. Though the remaining ones—Lan Gang and others—were also strong, they were barely holding their own; absorbing Yan Tong's assets was beyond their capacity.

As for powerful merchants outside, they wouldn't dare meddle in this struggle for the top Chinese inspector position even if they had eight pairs of balls. Of course, even if they dared, they wouldn't do it—police family wages were simply too high; for merchants constantly chasing low costs, this would be brainless.

Yes, in their eyes, it was brainless—they hated Wang Yan to death. Because this top salary was his doing; tens of thousands of police families enjoyed these high wages and benefits. They were workers, doing low-skill jobs—why should police families get so much? Naturally, there had been conflicts before. The end result? Though their wages never reached police family levels, they were raised slightly above their original rates.

With so many workers, raising each one's pay by ten or twenty dollars added up to a massive sum. Naturally, Wang Yan had drawn plenty of hatred.

So now, only the Detective Inspector could handle it. In fact, even if he didn't step in, the police officers would send representatives to him—this was public sentiment.

On the other hand, the anti-Wang faction in the police force lost Yan Tong, and his seven subordinate inspectors would surely defect to Wang Yan, shattering the already fragile balance. Add to that his pressure on their businesses, and under the tide of momentum, Lan Gang and the others wouldn't resist any longer—they'd surrender early.

Then the problem would fall to him: how to absorb their assets as quickly as possible. After all, he couldn't treat them like Yan Tong's widow—buying them out under the guise of purchase. He'd have to offer them roughly fair prices.

So after breakfast, Wang Yan didn't stay home playing with the kids—he went early with Zhu Youzi to the headquarters in Central, meeting with heads of all departments to discuss how to take over those assets, how to expand and enhance Long Teng's existing industries without dragging them down.

While Wang Yan was in the meeting, in a hotel room across the harbor, the gambling companion still slept, stretching out a comfortable, languid yawn without opening her eyes.

She opened her eyes, turned her head toward the middle-aged bald man beside her, his face obscured by the raised blanket, and couldn't help sneering. Three minutes of old bastard—she'd used all her strength just screaming.

She sighed, expertly forced a smile, rolled over, and lay atop him: "Darling…" As she spoke, she leaned in to kiss him.

At that moment, she finally saw his face—twisted in agony, contorted. She froze, then frantically tried to pull away. But the bed was so small; her sudden roll sent her tumbling onto the floor. Fortunately, the floor was covered in soft, comfortable carpet—she felt no pain.

She sat on the carpet, her body trembling uncontrollably. After a moment, she exhaled deeply, rose shakily, cautiously approached the bald man, and reached out to feel for breath at his nostrils.

She waited a long time—no warmth, no breath. Finally, she screamed—"Ahh!"—and curled up, clutching the blanket, hiding in the corner.

She wasn't afraid of corpses—she'd been in this world long enough to have seen or heard of them. She was horrified by the thought that she'd slept all night with a corpse—that feeling was…

Her scream was loud. Women's screams differed from men's—sharper, more piercing.

Outside the door, two men who had been waiting since early stood up instantly and rushed to open it—but the door was locked from inside; they couldn't turn the knob.

Without a word, the two big men started kicking the door—alternating kicks, running for momentum. In barely five kicks, the door burst open and they charged in.

"Chief Yan?"

"Chief Yan!"

"Tell us—what happened to Chief Yan?"

Inside, the sound of slaps rang out—a helpless woman wept, begged, tried to make the madmen understand her innocence…

The famed Chinese Inspector Yan Tong died of myocardial infarction in his hotel room at the Aoma casino—he'd won big last night and spent the night with a young, beautiful companion, got overexcited, and his weak heart couldn't take it.

Yan Tong's body was discovered around 8 a. m.; the news spread across Hong Kong and Kowloon before lunch. Suddenly, everyone greeting each other said within three sentences: "Hey, did you hear? Yan Tong died—apparently dropped dead in bed with a woman." Even if they didn't say that, they'd invent another cause—sudden stroke, drug overdose—anything, anything to make it lively.

People didn't care that Yan Tong died of myocardial infarction—they cared what triggered it. Ordinary folks were curious, envious, yearning, or resentful of the elite's decadence; those at a similar level wondered what impact his sudden death would have, and whether he really died of myocardial infarction. Especially the anti-Wang faction in the police force.

At the Causeway Bay Police Station, even with windows open, the air in the Criminal Investigation Division chief's office remained thick and foul. Lan Gang and two other senior inspectors each held a cigar, smoking furiously.

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"Brother Lan, do you think Wang Yan did it?"

The speaker was the Mong Kok Inspector, Han Sen.

Sitting behind his desk, Lan Gang sighed: "So what if it was him? What if it wasn't?"

Originally there had been seven or eight of them, but over time, only Yan Tong's group remained—today, only three. Back then, Yan Tong and he were allies, even slightly stronger; now Yan Tong was gone, and he was the leader of the anti-Wang faction. He held absolute power, yet felt not a shred of joy—Wang Yan's power was simply too overwhelming. Even together they weren't safe; now one more is gone…

At Lan Gang's words, the room fell silent. The other two said nothing—they didn't know what to say.

Lan Gang was right: whether Wang Yan did it or not didn't matter now. They knew they couldn't take over Yan Tong's power—even if they had the strength, under the current situation, whether Yan Tong's former inspectors would follow them was doubtful. And honestly, they hoped it wasn't Wang Yan.

If Wang Yan killed Yan Tong with a heart attack, he could use the same method on them.

Leaning against the wall, the Happy Valley Inspector Li Yiwen mused: "What do we do, Brother Lan? Maybe… we should just submit to him…"

He was the lowest-ranked, with only five inspectors under him—not even in good districts. He'd survived this long only because his family was rich and he could speak to the foreign officers above him; otherwise, he'd have been gone long ago.

Accept him…

"Wait and see," said Lan Gang, shaking his head. "Now Yan Tong is dead, and we three are left—counting our men, we're barely over twenty. Our financial strength doesn't match Wang Yan's; we can't compete with him at all. We'll have to bow down eventually. But we must think carefully for ourselves—we shouldn't make it too easy for him. We must fight for what we deserve. Otherwise, if we're shut out, how will we survive later?"

Han Sen and Li Yiwen nodded in agreement; they thought the same.

If possible, they didn't want to surrender, but the tide was too strong—it was only a matter of time. Better to use their current strength to secure advantages now than be ruined and left homeless by Wang Yan.

Their strength lay in the other inspectors who had defected to them, and the Chinese police officers under their command. The truth was this: the other inspectors and officers who followed and fought for them ultimately became bargaining chips for their bosses. But on the other hand, they were also lucky—after all, some people weren't even qualified to be chips…

"Wow, Brother Yan, your place is really impressive."

In Central, at the top-floor CEO office of Long Teng Headquarters, Lei Luo stood by the window for the first time, gazing at the scenery across Victoria Harbour, and sighed.

"This is impressive? I've already bought this building and the one next to it. When my funds are looser in a few years, after we finish building the North District branch, I'll blow these two up and rebuild a grander headquarters."

Without letting him continue marveling at the cost, Wang Yan smiled and offered Lei Luo a cigarette, then sat at the tea table by the window and began arranging things. "You're here because of Yan Tong, right?"

"Brother Yan, you're a genius," Lei Luo chuckled, flattery dripping from his voice. "I heard the news and went straight to Kowloon Tong to congratulate you. The nanny said you were here, and since I'd never been before, I figured I'd come take a look."

This Lei Luo hadn't yet undergone the usual trials, nor did he harbor ambitions to rise higher. Aside from being a bit more capable than a few years ago, he was still simple. Only the unattached can be firm; otherwise, he wouldn't be so natural before Wang Yan.

His state was simple: if there's work, I do it; if not, I just wait. With someone above protecting him, he feared no one daring to bully him. Every day, his wife, his kids, his warm bed—perfect.

Wang Yan smiled at him. "This isn't gaining experience—it's just watching how a nouveau riche spends money. I'll have my secretary take you on a tour later, show you around the headquarters."

"Won't it interfere with work?"

"What interference? Just follow along and listen to what the secretary tells you."

"Then that's fine." Lei Luo nodded, then paused. "Brother Yan, I'll ask one more thing—I can't hold it in."

"Did I kill Yan Tong?" Seeing Lei Luo nod like a chicken pecking rice, Wang Yan chuckled softly. "You already know the answer—why ask? Learn from Uncle. He held deep grudges against Yan Tong, knew the news even before you did, yet he hasn't called me once. Ah Luo, you must learn patience."

"It's just easier to come to you."

Watching Lei Luo scratch the back of his head, Wang Yan shook his head with a smile. "Yan Tong's dead, and I'm swamped—I need to contact his inspectors, start planning the acquisition of his factories. I can't stay with you. Wander around, take a look, and if you spot anything, give me your suggestions. Tonight, bring Ah Xia and the kids—we'll have dinner together."

"Alright, Brother Yan, go ahead and get to work. Don't worry about me."

Wang Yan patted his shoulder, stood up, and left. After giving instructions to the secretary at the door, he headed to the conference room…

Yan Tong's death stirred up a great commotion, for it signaled a complete reshuffling of police power. Everyone with eyes could see: with Yan Tong gone, the balance was shattered. Lan Gang and the others couldn't possibly stand against Wang Yan. It was only a matter of time before Wang Yan became the undisputed Chinese boss of the police force.

Thus, from the very moment Yan Tong died, Wang Yan had already become, in fact, the Chinese boss of the police force. What he lacked was merely a formal ceremony.

So he was truly busy. Since Yan Tong's death, the phone calls to him never stopped. There were his own inspectors, Yan Tong's former inspectors, the inspectors under Lan Gang and the others still alive, senior Western officers in the police force, friends from politics and business, and the gang bosses who dealt most frequently with the police.

As Wang Yan's chief steward and a well-known figure in the Kowloon and Hong Kong underworld, Zhu Youzi was holding a meeting with the gang bosses eager to align themselves. He had to lay out Wang Yan's rules and establish a unified new order across the streets of Kowloon and Hong Kong.

He not only had to discuss how to take over the inspectors' businesses, but also needed to negotiate with the Western officers to agree on a suitable price to tacitly recognize his leadership over Yan Tong's Chinese police officers.

Of course, even without paying, he could still lead them—but since he was operating under their authority, it wasn't proper to act that way. He didn't mind the money; he'd pay it. It was just a matter of organizing a few prize draws and some reward contests.

Truthfully, the Western officers loved taking his money—it gave them peace of mind. Even if no one investigated them, peace of mind was always better than unease. Everyone knew he was bribing them, but it was clean, legal, open, and even taxed.

The Hong Kong police acted swiftly. After extensive inquiries and investigations, they closed the case on the afternoon of Yan Tong's death, confirming death by heart attack triggered by exhaustion and emotional stress. That same night, Yan Tong's twenty-year-old eldest son brought the body back to Kowloon and Hong Kong.

Yan Tong's death wasn't dignified. His family decided to hold the wake for three days and bury him early. That night, they arranged a mourning hall at the Hong Kong Funeral Home on King's Road in North Point, and purchased a grave plot at the Happy Valley Cemetery.

Speaking of funerals, the people of Hong Kong Island had it hard too. Things were still tolerable now, but as time passed and the population grew, the afterlife on Hong Kong Island became as crowded as the living world…

At around ten o'clock the next morning, Wang Yan arrived at Yan Tong's memorial with Zhu Youzi.

Though Yan Tong had lived with great authority, and though his death wasn't dignified, the funeral was grand. Politicians, businessmen, gangsters, police officers, friends, and relatives—all came. After all, they had shared deep ties in life; showing up for his funeral was only natural.

After his men delivered the flower wreaths and an announcement was made outside, Wang Yan and Zhu Youzi entered. Before the large portrait of Yan Tong—proud, bald, and full of vigor—they bowed together. Then they bowed again to Yan Tong's several wives and his many children. Without a word, they turned and left. He pretended not to see the hatred in the eyes of Yan Tong's half-grown sons.

Time can erode hatred—or etch it into bone. The children are still young; what will happen later? No one knows. He had no interest in targeting a few brats.

After seeing Yan Tong, Wang Yan left Zhu Youzi and the men he brought behind to negotiate business matters with Yan Tong's widow. He got into his car and left—he needed to meet the Western officers face to face; what was said over the phone yesterday was still too vague.

As for Lan Gang and the others, Wang Yan looked through the car window at Lan Gang, Han Sen, and Li Yiwen, who had just gotten out of their car together, and waved with a smile before telling the driver to drive off.

Lost, still unwilling to yield, still trying to bargain and negotiate conditions? Then let them wait…