Wei Long’s Purge Begins

The air inside the warehouse was heavy with the scent of rust and gunpowder. The walls, once bare concrete, were now painted in blood. The bodies of dissenters lay sprawled across the floor—former allies, enforcers, and lieutenants who had dared question Wei Long’s rule.

At the center of it all, Wei Long stood like a god of war, his bloodied fists relaxed at his sides. He exhaled slowly, surveying the carnage with the satisfaction of a sculptor admiring his masterpiece.

Zhi Fang knelt before him, bruised and barely conscious. Once a respected strategist within the Nine Dragons, he had made the fatal mistake of underestimating Wei Long’s thirst for control.

“You always spoke of balance, Zhi Fang,” Wei Long mused, crouching to meet his gaze. “But balance is an illusion. There is only power, and those strong enough to wield it.”

Zhi Fang spat blood onto the cold floor. “You’re a rabid dog, Wei Long. Mei Lian and the others will never—”

A single gunshot silenced him.