Chapter 270: Wu Elder

A thug led the way, taking Li Banfeng into the hall.

The so-called hall was in fact a factory.

The boss of the Green Flame Gang was drinking inside the factory, while a photographer took pictures.

Three young women, beautiful and slender, were modeling—naked.

So the Green Flame Gang was also in this line of work.

Li Banfeng lowered his hat brim and walked toward the boss; by the time the boss realized it, Li Banfeng was already beside him.

The boss's cultivation base was insufficient—at most third layer—and could barely sense the presence of a fifth-layer Wu Xiu.

Not only him; neither the photographer nor the models sensed anything, still absorbed in taking photos.

The boss dared not even breathe loudly, whispering: "Friend, what do you want?"

Li Banfeng dragged his sickle across the boss's cheek: "You're the boss, right? What's your name?"

"I'm Han Xianrong."

"Boss Han, I came to ask you to publish a few news stories."

"Easy enough. Just give me two sentences—I'll find someone to write the article."

"No need for you to worry about the article—I've already written it, and the photos are taken."

"I'll have someone put it in tomorrow's morning paper immediately."

"One paper isn't enough. Summon every newspaper in your territory—they all publish it."

"No problem."

"Also invite the bosses of the other gangs here—I have matters to discuss with them."

"That… I can't possibly ask. Our gang isn't big—we have no weight in Black Stone Hill."

"If you ask sincerely, they won't dare not come."

"That's really putting me in a bind—if I do this, I'll never survive in Black Stone Hill…"

"Did I not explain clearly, or are you not listening?" Li Banfeng slashed a cut across Han Xianrong's face.

Can't survive?

The Green Flame Gang commits every evil under heaven—such a gang shouldn't exist at all.

The sickle was coated in deadly poison; Han Xianrong felt a wave of dizziness.

"Fine, I'll send someone to call them…" Han Xianrong flicked his sleeve, releasing a talisman into his hand.

Li Banfeng smiled—his move was painfully slow; even watching made Li Banfeng impatient.

The talisman shattered; a dozen ghost servants surged forward, attacking Li Banfeng.

The master was slow; the ghost servants were no faster.

Li Banfeng pulled out the horsewhip given to him by Prince Chun, and cracked it twice at the ghost servants.

Nearly half of the ghost servants were scattered like souls dispersing in terror; the rest stood frozen, too terrified to move.

These low-tier ghost servants lost all mobility at the sound of the whip.

Only now did the photographer and models notice Li Banfeng—they realized the boss was in a fight.

Li Banfeng slashed Han Xianrong's face again: "Now do you understand?"

Han Xianrong trembled: "Brother, what's your name?"

"I'm Ye. The 'ye' of night."

Han Xianrong hurriedly ordered the photographer: "Quick, call the brothers! Brother Ye, don't worry—I'm sending them to work—I'll follow your orders."

Li Banfeng nodded: "I'm not worried. Just make them move fast."

To be fair, Han Xianrong's men moved quickly—in no time, over a hundred arrived.

Li Banfeng sat beside Han Xianrong, as if they were old friends reunited.

Han Xianrong dared not act rashly—he relayed Li Banfeng's demands to his men.

The men split into three groups, each acting independently.

The first group, per Li Banfeng's orders, gathered workers, laid out the newspaper, and began printing immediately.

The second group notified every newspaper under their control: reprint the front page tomorrow.

The third group went to inform the bosses of all gangs in Black Stone Hill to come to his territory for a meeting.

The factory stood empty—all had gone to work.

Would any gangs come?

Han Xianrong's status wasn't as low as he claimed; in Black Stone Hill, major gangs ignored him, but minor ones still gave him some face.

Han Xianrong knew his own strength—if the gang bosses came, they'd bring their guards. He'd give them a signal, and together they'd surely kill this madman.

The urgent task was to cure the poison quickly—before this madman grew impatient and struck first.

"Brother, I'm dizzy—I can't hold on much longer."

Li Banfeng nodded: "It's normal to feel dizzy."

"Brother, I mean no harm—I'll wait here quietly with you. Just give me a little…"

Li Banfeng looked at Han Xianrong: "It's late. Don't wait with me. Go rest."

"Alright," Han Xianrong nodded. "I'll take my leave."

"Don't go alone—you can barely stand. Let me escort you." Li Banfeng actually rose and supported Han Xianrong.

Han Xianrong sensed something was wrong and reached into his pant pocket.

Inside was his last talisman; when it shattered, a ghost servant lurking in the factory's backyard rushed forward.

This was Han Xianrong's strongest ghost servant—his final trump card.

With this servant's movement, the previously paralyzed ghost servants regained courage and lunged at Li Banfeng together.

"Bamboo shadows sway crimson, body drifting, on the concubine's bed, dreams of my lover hard to wake…" Li Banfeng softly sang "Drunk Bell Chimes." All ghost servants froze motionless beside him.

Li Banfeng looked at Han Xianrong: "You've heard the song. Time to rest."

He opened the door, picked up Han Xianrong, and led the ghost servants into his personal dwelling.

"Hey, husband, you haven't bought groceries in days—now you bring back only these vegetable stalks to fool your little wife?"

"Wife, make do with this—I'll go out and gather more."

Li Banfeng left.

Hong Ying shuddered, skewered a soul on her spear, and sucked it dry.

The phonograph snarled: "You vile woman, how dare you steal a bite!"

Hong Ying savored the taste: "What use is this ordinary soul? I taste nothing. Why do you enjoy it so?"

The phonograph sneered: "My man brought them home—I love eating them!"

"Wicked woman, what have you endured since death? How much combat power do you still have?"

The phonograph ignored her, set the ghost servants aside, then impaled Han Xianrong on the needle, sprinkled him with oil, and slowly savored him.

Hong Ying caught the scent and mocked: "Wicked woman, why eat so much grease? To please your man?"

"Mind your own business!" The phonograph sneered and kept eating.

…

Li Banfeng whistled. Zuo Wugang entered—the Yān Xiu had been dealt with; no one in the Green Flame Gang could threaten Zuo Wugang.

"Soon, bosses from major gangs will arrive. You handle the talks first."

Zuo Wugang agreed—he'd survived the underworld; dealing with these men was no challenge.

That night, six bosses arrived. Zuo Wugang ordered them to publish the news in their territories; all remained silent—they dared not offend the Qingshou Society.

Wei Jiangpeng, boss of the White River Gang, asked: "Was it Boss Han who called us? Where is he?"

Zuo Wugang replied: "Boss Han is tired—he's resting. If any of you are concerned, I'll take you to see him."

Wei Jiangpeng paused, then deliberately avoided Zuo Wugang's gaze.

The others exchanged glances, then lowered their heads in silence.

In the underworld, words were understood: Boss Han was gone.

At that moment, Li Banfeng slipped quietly into the room—no one noticed him.

Li Banfeng signaled Zuo Wugang: go harder on them.

Zuo Wugang turned, effortlessly twisted off a lump of iron from the machine.

All the gang bosses held their breath—they knew this man's level towered above theirs.

Wei Jiangpeng spoke first: "Brother, please tell us who we're serving."

Zuo Wugang shook his head: "I won't give my name, and you don't need to remember me. Our boss's surname is Ye—not the 'ye' of green leaves, but the 'ye' of night. Remember that."

Wei Jiangpeng nodded: "Alright, we remember. We'll do it."

"Saying you'll do it isn't enough—you must do it!" Zuo Wugang waved his hand; Cao Zhida brought a stack of contracts. "In Pulu Province, everyone knows the rules. If you sign and still break your word, don't blame me for being ruthless."

Contracts held special weight in Pulu Province—and no one knew if Zuo Wugang's papers were real.

They didn't want to sign—but Zuo Wugang's aura terrified them.

After signing, they returned to their duties. By the next day, the bloody battle outside the cinema spread through Black Stone Hill.

These minor gangs controlled over thirty percent of the newspapers—all low-tier tabloids.

But this story was unusual.

First, the news was real: photos, not just one—especially the image of Ai Chixiang grabbing the old woman's hair, and Tang Pei just removing his bucket.

Second, there were eyewitnesses: everyone who went to the cinema yesterday saw it. Over tea and meals, they spoke of it—becoming living witnesses.

If the news was true, the commentary on page two must be true too.

Could the stories in the third and fourth editions possibly be fake?

They're all true!

"The man who played Song Chunjie went into Tang Pei's house?"

"Isn't that right? I heard from our neighbor that the man who played Song Chunjie disguised himself as a laborer and slipped into their home—he slept with at least half of the twenty-six concubines."

"How did your neighbor find out about this?"

"My neighbor's nephew has a sworn brother who does odd jobs in Tang Pei's house. The story matches exactly what's in the newspaper."

"Now I understand why Tang Pei is so furious—he's got to smash that movie theater. He got screwed this bad."

"Actually, he doesn't even need to get so angry. Didn't you read the paper? He's impotent—those twenty-six concubines are just for show."

"What a vile man—he can't perform, yet he won't let us watch movies? We can!"

Someone beside him said: "Where did you even get this? I haven't seen anything like it."

"I read the 'Night Jasmine'—it has the most complete details!"

……

That day, the "Night Jasmine" sold out again. Ma Wu raised the price to five cents per copy—and still sold out.

By the next morning, two more movie theaters began showing "The Blood Spear Detective." Li Banfeng sent people to watch the theaters—if any members of the Qingshou Society showed up to cause trouble, deal with them immediately!

……

Tang Pei didn't come out to cause trouble—he fell ill.

After being doused with a bucket of golden excrement that wouldn't wash off, Tang Pei fell sick that very night.

When he saw the newspaper, he collapsed on the porch and stayed in bed for days.

"Slanderous abuse! Baseless lies! How can such a villain act so brazenly? If this is tolerable, what isn't?"

Tang Pei roared hoarsely, his servants trembling beside him.

Not from fear—from the stench.

Logically, after so many days, the servants should have grown used to it. When Tang Pei stayed silent, they could barely endure it.

But the moment he opened his mouth, it was as if a spoonful of golden excrement had been boiled inside it. Just one whiff could make anyone vomit on the spot.

Even now, his lawful wife and twenty-six concubines still had to sit by his bedside, listening to his lectures on the sages' profound teachings.

That morning, right after the morning lesson ended, dozens of his disciples entered Tang Pei's mansion, leading an elderly man.

Seeing the old man, Tang Pei burst into tears. He grabbed the elder's hand and trembled as he spoke: "Elder Wu, you've finally come! I've been humiliated by these villains—I can no longer bear to live. If you'd come a moment later, you might not have found me alive."

Elder Wu comforted him: "Master Tang, don't cry. I already know what happened."

"A scholar may be killed but not humiliated. I am no coward who clings to life. After such a disgrace, I'd rather die to prove my integrity."

The disciples knelt beside the bed, weeping: "We are willing to die with our Master!"

Hearing this, Elder Wu's eyes filled with tears: "Stop crying, all of you. This smell… it's killing me…"

Tang Pei snatched the newspaper from the table and waved it frantically in his hand: "That villain right there—I swear I'll never forgive him!"

Elder Wu seized the newspaper: "Stop fanning—it only makes the stench worse. This room's too dim. I'll take it outside to read."

Outside, Elder Wu took a deep breath, unfolded the paper, and saw its name: "Night Jasmine."

"Is this newspaper behind all this?"

Tang Pei wept: "That villain and I—"

Elder Wu snapped: "I asked you: is it?"

"Yes."

Elder Wu held the newspaper: "I'll go deal with them."

PS: Elders are divided into Civil and Martial—this one has real skill.

(End of Chapter)