The phone rang at exactly nine in the evening.
“Boss, latest intel.” Remy’s voice cut through the wash of background street noise.
“Over at the Wah Ching gang, Mad Dog Johnny is completely done for.
The doctor says it looks like some kind of neurological collapse.
He can’t even get out of bed.” “Who’s vying for the spot?” Zhou Mo asked.
“Two of ’em.
Bill—the guy with the scar on his face, you’ve seen him.
Radical type.
He’s got seven or eight enforcers under him who love a good fight.
The other is Skinny Monkey, real name Vincent Hall.
He’s the accountant—cautious, terrified of dying, but the old-timers respect him.” Zhou Mo wrote both names on his chalkboard.
“Personality analysis?” “Bill is a powder keg.
One spark and he blows.
Skinny Monkey…
your typical miser.
Cowardly, but not stupid.
Now that Johnny is bedridden, the gang is split down the middle.
Bill’s supporters want a heavy hand, while Skinny Monkey’s crew wants stability.
The friction has already spilled out into the open.” “What’s Bill’s move?” “Tomorrow night, at the Dragon Pavilion Restaurant, he’s throwing a banquet to ‘invite’ Skinny Monkey.
Nominally, it’s to discuss the gang’s future, but it’s really an ultimatum.
Skinny Monkey doesn’t dare skip it, but if he goes, there’s a good chance he’ll be thoroughly cowed.” Zhou Mo tapped the desktop.
“Prop up Skinny Monkey, suppress Bill.
Bill is too much of a wild card.
A man like Skinny Monkey makes for a much better puppet.” “What do you need from me?” “First, keep up the surveillance.
Gather dirt on both of them.
Bill’s smuggling, embezzlement, women—anything goes.
Find Skinny Monkey’s weaknesses too.
Second, I’ll need an observation post across from the restaurant tomorrow night.” “No problem.
As for the expenses…” “The usual.
Keep the receipts, and I’ll reimburse you.” Hanging up, Zhou Mo pulled several herbs from his medicine cabinet: poria cocos, polygala, and sour jujube seeds, all known for calming the nerves and steadying the mind.
He measured and ground them into a fine powder, packing the mixture into a tea bag.
To this, he added a minute extract of datura flower—just a trace, not enough to induce hallucinations, but enough to induce a state of emotional stability bordering on absolute detachment.
The next afternoon, Skinny Monkey showed up at Renxin Hall.
A scrawny, dry man in his early forties, he had tiny, sharp eyes that darted around the room like a startled mouse as he stepped through the door.
“Doctor Vance, Uncle Chen recommended I come,” Skinny Monkey said in a hushed voice.
“Lately…
I haven’t been sleeping well.” “Take a seat.” Zhou Mo gestured to the chair, took his pulse, and inquired about his symptoms.
The consultation took ten minutes, ending with a prescription for a soothing herbal tea.
“Mr.
Hall,” Zhou Mo said as he packaged the herbs.
“Your qi is stagnant, and your liver-fire is hyperactive.
Have you been under an unusual amount of pressure lately?” Skinny Monkey offered a bitter smile.
“Just business troubles.
Stressful stuff.” “I’ve put together an extra bag of tea.” Zhou Mo laid the custom tea bag on top of the paper parcel.
“If you have an important meeting tonight, drink this half an hour beforehand.
It will help you keep your head.
Remember, no matter what the other side says or does, just sip your tea and speak slowly.” Skinny Monkey stared at the tea bag, his eyes flashing with calculation.
“Doctor Vance, you…” “I am merely a doctor,” Zhou Mo said, smiling.
“I only want our neighbors to live in peace.” Skinny Monkey tucked the parcel away, left his consultation fee, and hurried out.
At eight that evening, on the roof of a four-story apartment building across from the Dragon Pavilion Restaurant, Zhou Mo set up his binoculars and activated his *Wall-Piercing Vision*.
Through the second-floor window of the restaurant, more than twenty men sat around two tables.
Bill and Skinny Monkey occupied the main table, the air between them thick with hostility.
Remy, dressed in a waiter’s white shirt and black vest, drifted through the private room carrying a tray.
He flashed a subtle “OK” gesture toward the opposite rooftop.
“Let the show begin,” Zhou Mo murmured into his throat mic.
Inside, Bill was the first to speak.
“Brother Hou, Johnny is sick, and the gang can’t go leaderless.
I might not have much of an education, but I know loyalty, and I know how to fight.
The brothers will never go hungry under my watch.” Skinny Monkey slowly raised his teacup and took a sip.
“Brother Biao is right.
But running a gang isn’t just about cracked skulls and spilled blood.
Accounts, relationships, turf division—all of that requires a meticulous touch.” “Meticulous?” Bill sneered.
“Do you have any idea how many eyes are on us right now?
The Italians, the Russians, and those bastards in black!
If we don’t show some teeth now, we’re just waiting to be picked clean!” “To show teeth, you need teeth to begin with,” Skinny Monkey took another slow sip of tea, his voice unnaturally calm.
“How much liquid cash is in our accounts right now?
Has the final payment for the last shipment at the docks been collected?
And the protection fees from the three South District casinos—we only collected half this month.
Does Brother Biao know why?” Bill’s face darkened.
“Brother Hou, what are you playing at?” “Nothing,” Skinny Monkey said, setting his cup down.
“I just think, before we talk about who runs the house, shouldn’t we sweep up the dirt on the floor first?” On the roof, Zhou Mo nodded.
“The tea is kicking in.” Bill slammed his hand on the table, rising to his feet.
“Skinny Monkey!
Don’t push your luck!
I’m giving you face by even inviting you tonight!” “Calm down, Brother Biao,” Skinny Monkey remained seated.
“I’m just speaking facts.
For instance, that shipment of watches from Vietnam last month.
The ledger said two hundred pieces, but only a hundred and fifty actually made it to the warehouse.
And then there’s your apartment on North Bay Street.
The monthly mortgage is thirty-two hundred dollars.
That seems a bit steep for your official salary, doesn’t it?” Bill’s face paled, then flushed red.
“You’re spying on me?” At that moment, Remy walked past with a wine pitcher.
Pretending to pour, he deftly slipped a folded slip of paper into Skinny Monkey’s hand.
Skinny Monkey opened it, his pupils shrinking slightly.
“Furthermore,” Skinny Monkey laid the paper flat on the table, “that mistress you keep spent eight thousand dollars at a jewelry store last month.
Brother Biao, is the gang’s money really yours to squander?” The room erupted.
Bill’s enforcers exchanged nervous glances, while Skinny Monkey’s faction straightened their backs.
“You…
you’re full of shit!” Bill bellowed.
“The ledger is here, and the bank statements are right here.” Skinny Monkey slid the paper across the table.
“Why don’t we go through them line by line right now?” Staring at the evidence, the veins on Bill’s forehead throbbed.
He suddenly flipped the heavy table, sending plates and cups crashing to the floor in a shower of porcelain.
“Skinny Monkey!
You’d better watch your back!” He stormed out, slamming the door, his men trailing behind him.
The remaining gang members looked at Skinny Monkey with a mix of awe and apprehension.
Skinny Monkey slowly stood up and adjusted his collar.
“Sorry for the ugly display, everyone.
We’ll settle gang matters another day.” His steps were remarkably steady as he walked out of the room.
A week later, at nine in the evening, in the secret room of Renxin Hall, Leslie arrived on time.
She looked better than her last visit; the dark circles under her eyes had faded, and the electrical arcs dancing across her knuckles were no longer as chaotic.
“The radio helped a bit,” she admitted.
“For meditation…
I can manage ten minutes now.
Barely.” “That’s progress.” Zhou Mo pointed to the workbench.
“Today, we work on precision.” On the table sat three lightbulbs: 15-watt, 40-watt, and 100-watt, next to a voltage regulator.
“Your issue is an unstable output,” Zhou Mo said.
“Whenever your emotions spike, your current either dies out or surges.
Today’s goal: light up the 15-watt bulb and keep its brightness steady for three minutes.” Leslie frowned.
“This feels like high school physics.” “It is,” Zhou Mo said, plugging in the wires.
“Begin.” On her first attempt, the bulb shattered.
On the second, the filament flared orange for a split second before burning out.
Third, fourth…
After seven consecutive failures, Leslie grew visibly frustrated, and the static around her began to crackle and intensify.
“Stop,” Zhou Mo said, pressing his hand over hers.
“I can’t do this!” “You can.” Zhou Mo tapped the inside of her wrist, initiating his *Daoyin Technique*.
A thin thread of steady, calming energy flowed into her, acting like a leash on her wild current.
“Now, imagine the current is a water faucet.
You only want to turn it enough for a steady trickle.” Leslie closed her eyes, taking a deep breath.
She touched the contacts again.
This time, the electricity flowed smoothly.
The 15-watt bulb illuminated with a warm, steady yellow light.
She opened her eyes, staring at the glow in disbelief.
“Three minutes,” Zhou Mo said, clicking his stopwatch.
The bulb held its glow.
One minute, two minutes, three minutes.
When the timer chimed, Zhou Mo disconnected the circuit.
Leslie stared at the dark bulb, then down at her hands.
“I…
I actually did it?” “The first step,” Zhou Mo said.
“Remember how that felt.
When your emotions start to waver, recall this level of brightness.
Next week, we move up to forty watts.” Leslie’s steps were notably lighter as she left.
Late that night, Skinny Monkey slipped through the back door of Renxin Hall.
“Doctor Vance, thank you,” he whispered.
“That tea…
saved my skin.” “I only prescribed some soothing medicine,” Zhou Mo replied.
“I don’t understand gang politics, nor do I care to.
I only want this street to remain peaceful so my patients can visit me in safety.” “I understand.” Skinny Monkey held out an envelope.
“A small token.” Zhou Mo shook his head.
“Keep your money, Mr.
Hall.
If you want to thank me, keep the violence off this street.
And remember, Bill won’t take this defeat lying down.
Stay alert.” Skinny Monkey pocketed the envelope, nodding.
“I know.
He’s already reaching out to hired guns from the outside.” “Hired guns?” “Professionals from Los Angeles.
Word is they’ve got a heavy body count.
The exchange is set for the night after tomorrow, at Warehouse Seven down by the docks.” Once Skinny Monkey left, Zhou Mo called Remy.
“Do you know anything about Bill hiring hitmen?” “Just got wind of it,” Remy answered.
“Two contract killers, fifty thousand dollars.
Bill put down the deposit using the gang’s funds.” “Take care of it,” Zhou Mo ordered.
“During the handoff.
Make it clean, and make it look like a deal gone wrong.” “Understood.” “And the Continental Hotel?
Any news?” Remy’s tone sharpened.
“Yes.
Intel confirms a dark-haired Asian woman, mid-twenties, checked in three days ago.
She registered as ‘Eleanor Kay,’ but her physical description is a dead ringer for Elektra Natchios.
She’s been out early and back late, looks like she’s investigating something.” “I see,” Zhou Mo said.
“Keep an eye on her, but keep your distance.
Don’t let her spot you.” Hanging up, Zhou Mo stood in the center of his secret room.
The wave lines on the oscilloscope rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the numbers on his online trading account climbed another notch, and on the chalkboard, the map of the Wah Ching gang’s territory was updated, with Vincent Hall’s name firmly circled in red.