At 6:00 PM, Renxin Hall clinic was already closed.
Remy LeBeau and Leslie Willis entered through the back door.
Zhou Mo was waiting for them in the secret room.
On the table lay a hand-drawn map of Chinatown and its surroundings, with two spots marked in red ink.
“Here.” Zhou Mo pointed his finger at the first spot.
“The Russian Gang’s warehouse on the edge of the docklands.
On the surface, it’s a fishing tackle wholesaler, but in reality, it’s an arms transit hub.
Eight men inside tonight, all hitmen.” He moved to the second spot.
“Here.
The Irish Gang’s pool hall in the back alley of the commercial street.
The basement is where they collect protection money and launder dirty cash.
Six men, two standing guard at the door.” Remy looked at the map.
“Boss, what’s the assignment?” “Purge,” Zhou Mo said.
“No survivors, no traces left behind.
Afterward, disguise the scenes as electrical fires.
Time window: 9:00 PM tonight during the warehouse shift change, and after 11:00 PM when the pool hall closes.” Leslie frowned.
“Why so suddenly…” “They’re preparing to launch an armed assault on Chinatown,” Zhou Mo interrupted.
“Over thirty men equipped with automatic weapons.
Rather than waiting for them to come to us, we hit them first.” Remy nodded.
“Understood.
How do we divide the work?” “The warehouse is yours.” Zhou Mo looked at Remy.
“Sneak in under the guise of an electrician checking the wiring.
Have any of them seen you before?” “No.” “Good.
Leslie, you take the pool hall.
After eleven, cut the power to the entire street first to create confusion, then go in and clear it out.” Leslie clenched her fist, the jade pieces on her gloves glowing faintly.
“All of them?” “All of them,” Zhou Mo said.
“This isn’t practice; it’s a real operation.
Any issues?” Both shook their heads simultaneously.
“The equipment is in the vehicle.” Zhou Mo handed a car key to Remy.
“A black van parked two blocks away.
Inside is everything you’ll need.
Withdraw separately after completing the task; no need to come back here.
Just report by phone.” Remy took the key.
“Boss, you’re not participating?” “I’ll back you up on the perimeter,” Zhou Mo said.
“If anything unexpected happens, I’ll deal with it.
But preferably, there won’t be any unexpected incidents.” At 8:40 PM, the dockland warehouse.
Dressed in gray overalls and carrying a tool bag, Remy walked up to the warehouse’s back door.
He knocked, and a burly Russian opened the door.
“What do you want?” “Power company, checking the wiring.” Remy produced a forged ID card.
“This sector keeps tripping circuit breakers at night.
Higher-ups sent me to take a look.” The burly man sized him up for a few seconds before stepping aside.
“Make it quick.” The warehouse was packed with wooden crates, the air heavy with the smell of gun oil and tobacco.
Seven men sat around a table playing cards, bills and vodka bottles scattered across the surface.
Remy opened his tool bag and pretended to inspect the breaker box.
He pulled out a voltage tester pen, his fingers groping inside the bag as he bent over.
Three playing cards slid into his palm.
The first card shot out, striking the nape of the man closest to him.
The anesthetic took effect instantly, and the man slumped over.
“Ivan?” the man beside him turned around.
The second card spun through the air, slicing across his throat.
Only then did the others react.
Two drew handguns, while another lunged for a nearby rifle.
Remy flicked his right hand, sending five cards fanning out.
Explosive cards.
Not large explosions, but precise, miniature concussive blasts.
The first card shattered the liquor bottles on the table, sending glass shards flying.
The second struck a man’s wrist, knocking the handgun from his grip.
The third detonated right beside the rifle, knocking the barrel off target.
The fourth and fifth cards hit the remaining two men square in the chest, the impact throwing them against the wall.
The whole process took twelve seconds.
Remy checked every fallen man, delivering finishing strikes where necessary.
Then he walked to the electrical panel and used his tools to cause a short circuit.
Sparks burst forth, igniting an oil-soaked tarp stacked nearby.
Flames leaped up.
He left the warehouse and walked back to the van.
In the rearview mirror, dark smoke began billowing from the building.
At 10:55 PM, the back alley of the commercial street.
Leslie stood in the shadows at the street corner, staring at the pool hall’s neon sign.
Wearing her gloves, she took a deep breath.
“You can begin,” Zhou Mo’s voice came through the earpiece.
She raised her hand, palm aimed at the transformer across the street.
A slender but dense arc of electricity shot out, hitting the target with precision.
The lights along the entire street went out instantly.
Curses echoed from inside the pool hall.
Leslie strode quickly across the street and entered through the back door.
The door was unlocked.
Inside was pitch black, save for the faint glow of the emergency exit sign.
Two Irishmen were fumbling around for flashlights.
Leslie gave them no chance.
Raising both hands, two electric arcs struck their chests simultaneously.
The voltage was perfectly controlled—enough to cause cardiac arrest without starting a fire.
The two collapsed.
She pushed deeper inside.
Another man appeared at the top of the basement stairs, holding a shotgun.
Leslie didn’t dodge; instead, she stepped forward.
Before the gun barrel could rise, she flicked her finger, sending an arc of electricity straight into the shotgun’s barrel.
The shotgun ruptured in his hands, and the gunman staggered back with an agonized scream.
Leslie delivered a follow-up blow, then walked down the stairs.
Three men remained in the basement.
One was burning documents, while two were packing crates of cash.
Seeing Leslie descend, all three moved at once.
But Leslie was faster.
She spread her hands, firing three arcs of electricity at once—not random strikes, but calculated trajectories.
One hit the hand of the man burning documents, forcing him to drop the lighter.
The other two struck the two packing the cash.
She then stepped forward and systematically delivered fatal blows to each.
After checking everyone, she walked over to the distribution panel and triggered a short circuit using the method Zhou Mo had taught her.
The wires overheated, and sparks ignited the nearby paper.
She turned, walked upstairs, and left the pool hall.
Outside, the street remained pitch black.
In the distance, the wail of fire sirens sounded.
At 11:30 PM, blazes raged at both locations.
Zhou Mo stood on the rooftop of a warehouse in the docklands, looking at the fire engulfing the Russian Gang’s warehouse.
*Wall-Piercing Vision* confirmed there were no signs of life inside.
He raised his hand and activated *Reversing Wind and Fire*.
Not to extinguish the fire, but to fan it.
The air currents inside the warehouse were meticulously controlled, channeling oxygen directly into the flames for complete combustion.
At the same time, the fire was contained within the building structure, preventing it from spreading outward.
The pool hall met the exact same fate.
Having completed his task, Zhou Mo left the rooftop.
He moved through the shadows, *Five Elements Escape* allowing him to blend seamlessly into the night.
First stop: North Beach, the mansion of Russian Gang boss Ivan Petrov.
The mansion had tight security—fences, cameras, patrolling bodyguards.
Yet to Zhou Mo, it was completely open.
*Standing Erect Without Shadow* allowed him to pass through all defenses, stepping directly into the master bedroom.
Ivan Petrov was fast asleep in bed, a young woman beside him.
Zhou Mo took a bullet from his pocket and placed it on the nightstand.
Underneath the bullet lay a typed note: “Step into Chinatown again, and your head is mine.
The wharf warehouse was your warning.” He lingered for three seconds, ensuring Ivan would see it, before leaving.
Second stop: Mission District, the apartment of Irish Gang leader Sean Murphy.
Sean wasn’t asleep yet; he was reviewing account books in his study.
Zhou Mo entered through the window, slipping through the room like a shadow.
Sean seemed to sense something and raised his head.
But Zhou Mo was already behind him, tapping his neck lightly.
Not an attack, but a subtle disruption of his Qi and blood, causing him to fall into a ten-minute stupor.
Zhou Mo placed another bullet on top of the ledger, weighted down with an identical note: “Step into Chinatown again, and your head is mine.
The pool hall was your warning.” With that done, he vanished from the apartment.
At 1:00 AM, Zhou Mo returned to Renxin Hall.
He changed out of his night gear, burned his gloves, and took a shower.
Then he sat in the secret room and turned on the radio.
The local news station was broadcasting an urgent update: “…A fire broke out at a warehouse in the docklands.
The fire department preliminarily determined it was caused by aging electrical wiring.
Multiple bodies were discovered at the scene, their identities yet to be confirmed…
Another fire broke out on Commercial Street, where a pool hall caught fire due to a short circuit, leaving six dead…
Police suspect a potential connection between the two fires and have launched an investigation…” Zhou Mo turned off the radio.
The phone rang—it was Remy.
“Boss, job’s done.
Clean and swift.” “Very good,” Zhou Mo said.
“Keep a low profile for the next few days.
Don’t show your face in public.” “Understood.” Next, Leslie called as well.
“I…
I did it.” Her voice trembled slightly, but quickly stabilized.
“Handled all of them.
Set the fire too.” “Well done,” Zhou Mo said.
“Go back and rest.
We’ll continue training tomorrow.” After hanging up, Zhou Mo walked to the window.
The night in Chinatown was quiet, but in the distance, the faint glow of the wharf fire could still be seen.
Two bullets, two fires, and one clear message.
Next, it remained to be seen how the other side would respond.