LRAB Chapter 66 kindling ignites a flame, Hong Kong's raging tide
Chapter 66 kindling ignites a flame, Hong Kong's raging tide
In the Hong Kong night, the shimmering light of Victoria Harbour spilled through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Lin Group building, reflecting on Lin Er's still figure. His eyes were like deep pools, his metallic pupils unmoved by the clamor outside—his master's instructions were clearly etched into his mind: no need to lay any more pieces, go straight for the heart of the matter, and uncover the deep-rooted filth and darkness beneath the city's glitz and glamour.
Nearly a hundred illusory figures emerged from the shadows of the building, like drops of ink falling into still water, silently spreading into the streets and alleys of Hong Kong and Kowloon. They wore close-fitting outfits with dark patterns, concealing invisibility talismans beneath their clothes. Their Foundation Establishment stage cultivation meant that when their feet brushed the ground, not even a falling leaf would be disturbed. Only their divine sense, like fine silk threads, swept inch by inch across the bricks, tiles, doors, and windows of their target area, leaving no dust untouched even in the cracks of the walls.
Wan Chai Underground Entertainment Venues
The damp corridor reeked of cheap perfume mixed with tobacco. In the accounting room at the far end, under the dim light of a desk lamp, Ah Biao, the accountant of the Sun Yee On triad, wearing reading glasses, turned the last page of the ledger, his fingers drooling. Next to the densely packed numbers on the page were the pen marks "Detective Li" and "Captain Wang," and the last line, "This month's fees total 52,000," was circled in red. He glanced warily at the door—the sound of his underlings yawning came from the corridor, and the faint clinking of dice in the distance—before getting up, he moved the metal cabinet in the corner, revealing a hidden compartment embedded in the bricks. The compartment was locked with a specially made brass core. He took out the key hidden in his belt, turned it three times, and with a soft "click," the lock opened.
Just as he was stuffing the ledger inside, a blurry figure slid up to him along the wall. The figure held a fine, hair-like anesthetic needle between its fingers, the tip coated with a special sleeping potion. Taking advantage of Ah Biao's momentary lapse in attention as he bent down to close the hidden compartment, the figure precisely pierced an acupoint on the back of Ah Biao's neck. Ah Biao froze, about to turn and call for help, but his eyelids grew too heavy to lift, and he slumped against the metal cabinet with a thud, unconscious.
The illusory figure didn't immediately retrieve the ledger. Instead, he first confirmed that no one in the building had noticed anything amiss—the gambling downstairs was still ongoing, and the underlings in the corridor were dozing against the wall. Only then did he crouch down, his fingers groping along the inner wall of the hidden compartment. He found a tiny groove, pressed it gently, and discovered an additional layer inside, containing several yellowed receipts with the coded message: "Dock goods, Warehouse No. 3, 30% commission." The illusory figure carefully collected the ledger and receipts, then helped Ah Biao lean against the metal cabinet, feigning a nap. He then pushed the cabinet back into place, leaving not even a speck of dust on the corners. Finally, he condensed a wisp of spiritual energy at his fingertips, swept it across the lock and cabinet surface, erasing all traces, before disappearing like a wisp of smoke.
Sham Shui Po Private Club
In the private room on the second floor, the sweet scent of sandalwood mixed with special spices slowly diffused in the air. Uncle Kun, the head of 14K, leaned back on a rosewood couch, a cigar between his fingers, ash falling into the silver tray in front of him. Across from him, his underling, Qiang, bowed and scraped, handing him a cup of freshly brewed Pu'er tea: "Uncle Kun, you're really something. You managed to get the 'Rattlesnake' detective to give in. If that batch of 'goods' sells smoothly, we'll make a lot more money this month."
Uncle Kun smiled smugly, exhaled a smoke ring, and gently swung his crossed legs: "Why do you think he gives me face? The antique painting I gave him last month, and that shop at the dock, weren't given away for nothing. He said over tea yesterday that the 'goods' would come in from Pier 3 and be unloaded at 10 pm. He'll have his men turn a blind eye, and the profits will be split 30/70, 30 for him and 70 for me—if he dares to play tricks, I'll send a copy of his 'fee collection' ledger from last year to the Hong Kong Morning Post." He became more and more smug as he spoke, even casually mentioning "Rattlesnake's" real name, "Zhang Wei," and the police officer's number responsible for keeping watch during the unloading of the "goods."
Outside the window, a shadowy figure leaned against the ornate iron railing, his body blending seamlessly into the night. In his left hand, he held a warm, smooth jade talisman, its surface intricately engraved with "sound-recording runes," now emitting a faint white glow—each word uttered by Uncle Kun would illuminate the runes, transforming the sound into a spiritual imprint, sealed deep within the talisman. The shadowy figure's right hand remained pressed against the short blade at his waist, his divine sense fixed on the door of the private room, ready to react immediately to anyone entering. Only after Uncle Kun finished speaking, and Ah Qiang began discussing "trivial matters" of other territories, did the shadowy figure confirm that all the crucial information had been recorded. He slowly withdrew the jade talisman, his fingertips brushing against the iron railing, wiping away the warmth he had left behind, and silently slid down the stairs.
Yau Ma Tei Police Station
At two in the morning, the motion-activated lights in the police station corridor turned on with the footsteps of the officer on duty, then went out after he was gone. A blurry figure slid quickly down the wall during the brief moment the lights went out to the third floor—outside the office of the powerful detective Li Wei. He first scanned the lock with his divine sense, confirming it was an old-fashioned brass lock, then listened to the sounds inside, only hearing the ticking of the wall clock.
The illusory figure pulled a thin wire, as fine as a hair, from his pocket, carefully inserting it into the keyhole and turning it gently. With a soft "click," the lock opened. He deliberately slowed his pace as he pushed open the door, making only a barely audible friction sound from the hinges, almost drowned out by the ticking of the clock. Inside the office was an oak desk piled high with documents, a filing cabinet in the corner, and on the innermost wall hung a gaudy painting of peonies symbolizing wealth and prosperity.
The shadowy figure didn't rush to search; instead, he first walked around the office, examining every corner—there was a hidden compartment in the desk drawer, but it only contained a few stacks of cash; the third shelf of the filing cabinet was locked, but it was full of ordinary case records. Finally, his gaze fell on the "Peony and Prosperity" painting—there was a tiny gap between the edge of the frame and the wall, clearly an addition made later.
He walked over and gently tapped the picture frame with his fingertips, hearing a hollow sound from inside. Following the right edge of the frame, he found a small, raised button. Pressing it caused the frame, along with the mural, to pop out an inch. Sure enough, a hidden compartment was revealed behind it, containing three leather-bound notebooks and several letters sealed in kraft paper envelopes. The illusory figure put on a pair of specially made silk gloves and carefully took out the notebooks—the first one recorded aliases and numbers, such as "Ah Kun" corresponding to "50,000," and "Qiangzi" corresponding to "30,000"; the second contained specific dates and locations, such as "March 15th, Wan Chai teahouse, collecting 'protection money' of 8,000"; the third, most crucial, recorded the details of Li Wei's transactions with various "underground organizations," even specifying the percentage he received from the "goods."
The letters were more direct. One was from Uncle Kun, mentioning that "last month's 'kickback' has been paid, please take good care of the 'goods' at the docks, Detective." The date on the letter was three days prior. The phantom didn't take the notebook and letters; instead, he took out a "recording jade" from his pocket, condensed spiritual energy at his fingertips, and drew "recording runes" on the jade. He then held the jade close to the notebook, scanning each page—the content of each page would be converted into an image and stored in the jade. After scanning all the content, he put the notebook and letters back into the hidden compartment in the original order, pushed the murals back into their original positions, even adjusting the angle of the frames. Finally, he wiped the frames and buttons he had touched before turning and leaving the office, gently closing the door and restoring the lock to its original position.
Mong Kok Tent Buildings
The tenement building in Mong Kok was drafty, and the chill of the night seeped in through the cracks in the windows, enveloping the dim yellow lamp on the table. Old man Chan Yau sat on a wooden chair, his fingertips tracing the yellowed ledger of a grocery store. The words "Forced to close this month" on the last page were worn smooth by his fingertips. Last month, three uniformed police officers barged into the shop, accusing him of "obstructing the road" and demanding a "fine" of HK$50,000. He couldn't pay, so the shelves were overturned, and his son's hard-earned tuition fees were stolen. Now the shop is closed, his son is afraid to go out, and he is left alone in the empty house, sighing.
"Sir, if you had the chance to make those who drove you into bankruptcy and took away your livelihood pay the price, would you be willing to stand up and speak out?"
A deep voice suddenly came from the corner, not at all abrupt, but carrying a reassuring calmness. Chen You looked up sharply, gripping the account book in his hand tightly, his gaze sweeping across the empty room—the door was closed, the windows were bolted, but the voice seemed right next to his ear, so clear he could hear the rhythm of her breathing. His throat bobbed, and just as he was about to call out "Who is it?", the voice rang out again: "I mean no harm, I just want to help you tell the truth."
Chen You stared at the shadow in the corner, where only the dark outlines of old furniture were visible, yet he inexplicably felt that someone was standing in the shadow. A month's worth of pent-up grievances suddenly welled up, his eyes reddened, and his voice trembled: "What's the use of telling anyone? They're police officers, and we're just ordinary people..."
"It will work." The voice interrupted him. "As long as you tell them what they did, someone will make them pay the price."
Chen You remained silent for a moment, looking at the account book in his hand. Remembering his son secretly wiping away tears, he finally nodded. He recounted everything from the first time the police officers came to demand "protection money," to their deliberate provocations, overturning shelves, stealing tuition fees, and forcing the shop to close—he didn't miss a single detail. As he spoke, tears streamed down his wrinkles, staining the account book and spreading the ink. There was no movement in the shadows of the corner, only the faint rustling of pages—as if someone were taking notes, or perhaps confirming each word.
After Chen You finished speaking, the voice rang out again: "Thank you. Please rest assured for the next few days; no one will disturb you." After the voice faded, only the buzzing of the lamp remained in the room. The shadow in the corner was still there, but Chen You knew that the person was gone. He looked down at the account book and suddenly felt the book in his hand grow heavier—as if all his grievances had finally found a place to settle.
A few days later, at the Lin Group, Lin Er looked at the things on the table—three account books retrieved from Wan Chai, two jade talismans recording the voices of Uncle Kun and Chen You respectively, a "recording jade" containing the contents of Li Wei's notebook, and several receipts taken from a secret compartment—his eyes remained calm and unwavering. He ran his fingertips over the greasy handwriting on the account books and, through a soul connection, reported to Lin Yan in the distance: "Master, the 'firewood' is ready. Every piece of evidence has been triple-verified, with no omissions. When to ignite this blazing fire awaits your command."