Instigation

Dong Rende had no idea why Lin Wanrong wanted those blank spaces, and Lin didn't explain.

Before Old Man Wei left, he'd given Lin Wanrong fifty taels of silver—his meal ticket for the future. Lin pulled it out and handed it over to Dong Rende, every coin intact.

To earn trust, you've got to give it first—that was Lin Wanrong's business creed.

Dong Rende's face lit up with emotion at the trust. He called to Qiaoqiao, who rummaged in a corner and pulled out a handful of broken silver—about ten taels.

"What, Miss Qiaoqiao's dowry stash?" Lin Wanrong teased.

Qiaoqiao's cheeks flared red. Dong Rende gave an awkward laugh. "You're making fun of us, Young Master Lin."

Lin Wanrong got serious. "No joke here, Uncle Dong. We're in business—whatever we put in, we'll get back tenfold. If we lose, it's on me—I'd be letting you and Miss Qiaoqiao down."

Qiaoqiao glanced at him, shaking her head fast. "Young Master Lin, we trust you."

"Uncle Dong, Miss Qiaoqiao, since you've got faith in me, I promise—once the deal's done, half of it, including the capital, goes to you. That'll set Qiaoqiao up with a fat dowry," Lin Wanrong said, grinning.

Big move. Even breaking even, that's twenty taels for Old Dong—a jaw-dropper for the family.

Truth be told, Lin Wanrong didn't give a rat's ass about money. Back in his old world, working for someone else, he'd raked in over 400,000 a year. After covering his parents and his sister's college, he'd funded a dozen poor mountain orphans. The rest? Spent on chicks and girlfriends—gotta burn cash to fuel the hustle, his motto.

This was his shot at his first big score in this world. Money was secondary—proving he could dominate this new turf was the real prize.

His generosity spooked the Dong duo. Old Dong waved his hands. "No way, no way—I'm just tagging along to make a buck. A little wage is plenty."

Lin Wanrong roared with laughter. "Uncle Dong, we haven't made a dime yet. Could bomb and leave you broke—let's not argue this now. My call."

"No, I believe you've got the chops," Old Dong said, dead certain of Lin Wanrong's knack.

Lin Wanrong smirked, said nothing, and told the Dongs to dig up every juicy tidbit on the Xiao eldest miss. Then he grabbed Dong Qingshan and headed for the Xiao estate.

Qingshan tagged along, buzzing with excitement. "Big Bro, teach me—how do I fight, protect my dad and sis, and still smash those punks?"

Lin Wanrong dodged the question. "Qingshan, you always scrap solo?"

Dong Qingshan paused. "Sometimes with Li Doubei and a couple others—mostly alone, though." No need to ask—Li Beidou was his brawling buddy.

Lin Wanrong pressed, "Got more pals around who hate bullies like you?"

"Hell yeah," Qingshan said. "South side's got a few crews—three or four per group. We're tight."

"Why?" Lin Wanrong asked.

"'Cause I can throw a mean punch," Qingshan grinned, sheepish.

Lin Wanrong shook his head—loose cannons, no cohesion. Time to mold them into a proper outfit, some "organized crime."

"Qingshan, ever hear 'strength in numbers'?" Lin Wanrong asked.

Qingshan's eyes sparked. "Big Bro, you mean we gang up?"

Lin Wanrong clapped his shoulder. "Unite 'em, kid. Be their boss—you'll have real power. Most fights'll sort themselves out without you lifting a fist. Less brawls overall."

He didn't add the kicker: when you do fight, it'll be fucking massive. Qiaoqiao got that part already.

"Be their boss?" Qingshan's eyes gleamed. "But what if some won't bow?"

Lin Wanrong's grin turned cold. "They resist? What's your fist for?"

"Got it—beat 'em 'til they kneel!" Qingshan whooped, jumping like a kid.

That's how you forge a mob, Lin Wanrong thought, smirking. Am I an asshole for this? Qingshan was still a punk at heart.

"Start with the south, then west, east, north—clean 'em out one by one. Once you're king of Jinling, no one'll fuck with you," Lin Wanrong coached, picturing a swarm of black-clad thugs slashing through the city.

That's mob life—someone'd teach Qingshan this shit eventually. Might as well be him.

"Jinling's king?" Qingshan saw a glimmer in the dark, eyes wild with awe. "Big Bro, this lesson—I'll never forget it. I'll rule Jinling, but you're my boss, the king of kings."

Lin Wanrong laughed hard. "You little shit—"

Qingshan scratched his head, bashful. Lin Wanrong saw the kid's fire—he'd lit it good. Sighing, he said, "Qingshan, talk's cheap. Doing it's tough—dangerous. Remember: brains beat brawn. Trouble hits, find me—I'll fix it."

Since landing in this world, Lin Wanrong felt different—unleashed, like some buried itch was finally free. No rules, no weight—just pure, wicked instinct.

That nudge flipped a switch in Qingshan. "Big Bro, I've got it. If I'm stuck, you're my go-to—you're the boss," he said, dropping the "Lin" this time.

The mob was taking shape. Lin Wanrong sighed inwardly. With Qingshan's grit, this was inevitable—he'd just sped it up, toughened him faster to cut the damage. Hope Qiaoqiao doesn't hate me for it.

Qingshan, impatient as hell, bolted to round up Li Beidou and the crew. Lin Wanrong strolled solo toward the Xiao estate.

The Xiao family was a Jinling heavyweight. With Old Dong's intel map, finding it was a breeze.

Before he got close, a crowd buzzed in the distance—loud and thick. There it was: a massive gated mansion. Three-meter-high walls, a meter thick, flanked by two stone lions. The heavy red-lacquered doors were shut tight, a giant gold plaque overhead—"Xiao Residence"—glinting in the sun.