Chapter Twenty-Four: Some Things Must Be Accounted For

Zhou Ming. Yang Tianci.

In less than five minutes, the two most prominent young heirs of Jiangcheng fell, both at the hands of the same man.

Zhou Dongchen stared at Yang Tianci’s corpse beside him, feeling as if he’d plunged into an abyss. The phone in his hand trembled; the rage that had consumed him moments before, born of his son’s death, had vanished without a trace.

“What is this…”

Powerful as he was, there were only a handful of guns he could acquire through his connections—and all of them black market pieces, crudely made, incapable of such precision.

“I told you,” came Qin Mu’s long-absent voice through the phone, “I will make every last participant of that day pay with their lives for her.”

“That woman was nothing but a wretched soul from birth, destined to be trampled beneath others’ feet. How dare she be mentioned in the same breath as Jiangcheng’s rising stars?”

“And you—you dare kill two men in broad daylight, before so many witnesses? Do you really think you’ll walk out of here alive?”

Zhou Dongchen ground out curses through clenched teeth, then hurled his phone out the window, smashing it to pieces.

“Men! Go up there and hack him into a hundred pieces, then bring what’s left down to me!”

At his command, dozens—nearly a hundred—of his men, who had been waiting, poured from their vehicles, brimming with menace.

But before they could reach the hotel, sirens wailed from afar.

Zhang Feng and Huang Qian were the first to arrive, their patrol car blocking the entrance. Huang Qian stepped out, gaze sweeping over the remains of Zhou Ming, his body so battered he was unrecognizable. Her stomach heaved, but there was a strange sense of vindication.

After that incident, Huang Qian had harbored a lingering sense of injustice, prompting her to investigate back at the precinct.

She found nothing on Qin Mu, but Zhou Ming’s record was another matter.

Debauchery. Ruin of countless lives.

Zhou Ming’s crimes outstripped Qin Mu’s entire life history.

It was only then that Huang Qian realized Qin Mu hadn’t acted without cause that day—he’d been dispensing justice.

“Zhang Feng, stay out of my way or don’t blame me for showing no mercy!” Zhou Dongchen spat, a cigar clenched between his teeth.

Zhang Feng bowed respectfully. “Mr. Zhou, my condolences. Right now, the priority should be handling Young Master Zhou’s affairs.”

“Bullshit! My son’s murderer is still upstairs—nothing will appease me until he’s dead!”

“If you insist, Mr. Zhou, you’ll have to step over my dead body first,” Zhang Feng declared, stepping forward to block the way.

Not just Zhang Feng; more police cars arrived, cordoning off the restaurant in layers, hemming in Zhou Dongchen’s men.

Zhou Dongchen drew hard on his cigar, then asked, “Give me one good reason.”

He wasn’t a fool; he knew Zhang Feng must have his reasons for standing against him.

“The man upstairs is beyond your reach.”

Zhou Dongchen burst into laughter. “Absurd! Is there anyone in Jiangcheng I, Zhou Dongchen, cannot touch? Move, or I’ll kill you too!”

But more police cars rolled in, flooding the street—outnumbering even Zhou Dongchen’s men.

Nearly the entire police force of Jiangcheng had been mobilized.

His laughter faded. He’d spoken harsh words, but even he wasn’t so reckless as to murder a police officer in broad daylight.

He looked back up at the hotel rooftop, catching only a small figure silhouetted against the night.

Qin Mu stood on the edge, meeting his gaze.

“Damn it!”

After a long moment’s thought, Zhou Dongchen flung his cigar to the ground and spat.

“See to the young masters’ bodies. We’re leaving!”

“Don’t think you’ve won! If you dare challenge all the great families of Jiangcheng, you’re digging your own grave!”

Only after Zhou Dongchen’s men had withdrawn did Zhang Feng finally ascend to the rooftop, Huang Qian close behind.

Up above, Qin Mu gazed at the sea of city lights beneath a star-strewn sky—the bustling splendor of Jiangcheng at his feet.

Zhang Feng lingered at the doorway, at a loss for words.

He had never seen this dazzling young man bear such a lonely figure.

A seasoned officer like Zhang Feng knew well enough.

Qin Mu had deliberately let them access his file back then, preparing for this very moment.

Wu Mu shot Zhang Feng a look, signaling for him and the others to give Qin Mu some space.

A long while passed.

Qin Mu slid his hands into his pockets and, braving the chill of the deep night, quietly left.

The departed are gone.

The living must see their debts avenged.

...

The police suppressed news of Qin Mu’s actions with all their might.

To the outside world, it seemed only a minor incident had occurred, and a street was temporarily sealed off by the authorities.

But many of Jiangcheng’s old families gathered in secret to discuss the brazen killer’s identity.

Some even launched their own investigations, but all was in vain—the man remained a complete mystery.

All that was known was his close connection to a woman from twenty years ago.

As for Qin Mu, he paid no heed to their machinations.

He slept soundly through the night.

“Time to visit my godfather and the others, and help them settle into their new home,” he mused after his usual morning run, instructing Wu Mu to bring the car around.

Arriving at the complex, Qin Mu knocked on the Jiang family’s door.

“So early, Xiao Mu,” said Qiu Shuixia as she answered.

“You haven’t eaten yet, have you? Come in, come in. I just made two baskets of steamed buns. Your godfather was just worrying there’d be too many. And the young man outside—bring him in too for breakfast.”

Qiu Shuixia was known for her kindness and warmth—her reputation untarnished among the neighbors.

“Do I get some too?” Wu Mu asked, delighted.