Chapter 67: Red Gang Unbroken, Inner Fire Set to Burn

Chapter Sixty-Seven: Red Gang Unbroken, Inner Fire Set to Burn

Section One: Old Hall Converges, Enmity Undead

South of Rustmouth, Seventh Stretch outer alley, abandoned grain depot basement.

Damp sealed in concrete seams, unyielding for years. The air hung with rust-mold and stale alcohol, a lone bulb dangling, lighting one corner. The rest, shadows like soaked cloth, stretched taut, neither straightened nor torn.

Old Peng sat on a stool, draped in a worn blanket, leaning against the wall, breathing hard. Over seventy, eyes yellowed, his hand steady on a cup.

Across, Gold Master, burly, a scar slashing his left cheek like a torn gash.

He sheathed a freshly wiped short knife into his boot, voice even:

"Three stretches lost, half Rustmouth theirs—what are you waiting for?"

Old Peng didn't answer, sipping tea, long cold.

"Qing's dead," Gold Master lowered his voice. "Don't move now, we can't call ourselves Red Gang."

"He's not dead," Old Peng finally spoke, voice like a scorched pot's base.

Gold Master froze: "You're sure?"

"Jason's holding him," Old Peng stared at the cup. "No death notice, he's alive."

"But he's lost."

Gold Master, grim: "No counter now, you're waiting for Jason to settle?"

"Settle?" Old Peng grinned, a crack like wind through a ruined alley.

"You think he's settled? His rules aren't even done, the street sees him as a passerby."

"One clean hit, he's no new lord."

Gold Master frowned: "You're betting?"

"Not a bet," Old Peng set the cup down, a faint clink. "We've no other path."

He looked at him, voice icy: "Jason wants to rule, he faces trials."

"We're the ones to test if he's ruthless enough."

—

Half an hour later.

Rustmouth south end, Third Sentry Line waste zone, ARGUS signal intercept team.

Zhao Mingxuan leaned at the terminal, brow furrowed, finger tapping the screen.

A faint signal wave emerged—outer ring residual frequency, old Red Gang shortwave format, offset 0.6%.

[Anomalous Communication: Source Assessed · Red Gang Mid-Tier Legacy × Possible Relay Node]

He opened the content:

["Third Stretch old site, retake by night-before; enemy lord unrooted, path can be cut."]

Code.

Retake by night-before—strike before Jason's rules solidify. Enemy lord unrooted—Jason hasn't claimed formal structure.

Zhao Mingxuan's eyes chilled.

He uploaded to Jason's direct line.

Moments later, Jason replied:

[Hold]

Zhao Mingxuan paused.

A follow-up came:

[All Third Line street mouth posts withdraw for half-hour at dawn tomorrow]

Zhao Mingxuan raised a brow: "You're… letting them in?"

Jason's reply, four words:

[Let them try]

—

Eleven PM, Rustmouth Fourth Stretch, bakery second floor, a dim room lit by five wireless lamps.

Tarn pinned a red marker on the map, turning: "Really opening the gap?"

Jason nodded: "They strike back to learn this street's not theirs anymore."

Maria, scanning a briefing, voice soft: "Peng's no fool. If he moves, he thinks you won't hit too hard."

Jason turned, tone calm: "They want to prove I'm not ruthless."

"I'll give them one chance to be wrong."

—

Chen Lei stood by the window, street shadows silent, sentry lamps unlit.

He spoke, a rare chill: "You're bait?"

Jason: "Not just me."

He glanced inside, Jian Ci sat in the dark corner, silent, still in yesterday's gray workwear.

Jason nodded to him: "You like clean kills."

"This time, you close it."

Jian Ci's eyes flicked, no words.

He rose, taking an unissued cold blade from the table.

Jason stepped to the lamp, tapping the table twice.

The room stilled.

His voice low, a hammer on the street's bones: "Let them in."

"Let them think we're unready."

"Let them believe they can take this street back."

He paused, eyes on the southern fog's mainline: "Then, reap their last hope with them."

—

Section End Fuxi Prompt (Whisper):

[☰ Mountain over Lake: Reduction]

[Reduce above, enrich below, the people gain substance; a reckless assault breeds its own defeat.]

[Prompt: Lure-war needs two plans: one to break their nerve, one to leave their shadow.]

Section Two: Jason Sets the Trap, Neither Sealing Nor Greeting

Rustmouth Third Stretch, two-twelve AM.

Wind pressed lower than usual. Waste gas pipes hissed, as if someone crept, stifling every sound.

Chen Lei dropped from a temporary high sentry, landing beside Jason.

Low: "South line completes shift by two-fifteen, per plan—posts withdraw, three lines empty fifteen minutes, bait trail set."

Jason stood at the alley mouth, holding a compact map—not standard streets, but an ARGUS-simulated "enemy mental path"—what foes thought they knew of Rustmouth.

Red lines marked their "weak points."

Jason stared at an alley mark, voice flat: "They'll loop from the old pharmacy east. Low ground, three paths they think unguarded."

"You didn't guard," Chen Lei said.

Jason nodded.

"They'll get in."

He handed the map to Zhao Mingxuan, turning: "They won't get out."

—

Same moment, ARGUS's intercept feed jittered on Zhao Mingxuan's terminal.

[Detected Irregular Pulse: Legacy Protocol 4.3 · Delayed Sync Structure]

[Type Assessed: Forced Encrypted Relay × Low-Mid Power Node]

[Enemy Movement Path Prediction Accuracy: 78%]

Jason neared the screen, glancing, slow: "Let them hear our moves."

"But not understand."

Zhao Mingxuan: "Meme phrase set?"

Jason: "Third set—used twice, max confusion."

Zhao Mingxuan set parameters: "Uploaded scramble guide code. System masks our 'withdrawal' as 'internal leak.'"

Chen Lei, cold: "Make them think we've got a traitor."

Jason: "They won't check truth—they're desperate to win."

—

Maria entered, holding numbered tags.

"South Fifth Stretch resident rep passes—swap lines now?"

Jason glanced: "No."

"Dawn, move them to new points."

"Tonight, this street's empty."

She nodded faintly: "No frontal clash?"

Jason: "They want a fight, I'll show them their death."

He turned to Tarn: "You're the 'can't hold' man tonight."

Tarn blinked, nodding: "Got it. Fall fast or drag?"

Jason: "Too quick, they don't buy; too long, they smell the trap."

Tarn grinned, wry: "Tough, acting with precision."

Jason, soft: "The street's fate isn't your act—it's your fall's timing."

—

Half an hour prior, Jason had a silent Fuxi interface exchange.

No standard war map, no clear advice, just three texts floating:

[Li Jing's Art of War, Fragment]

"Use paths the enemy knows, not their old rules; lure to false routes, kill beyond form."

[Wu Qi's Art of War, Reverse Form]

"Armies have form, set the formless; show strength, hide weakness—weak yet firm, unconquerable."

[Lord Wei's Art of War, Page Five Fragment]

"Know their desire for my momentum, discard it like worn shoes; seize their sight, shift their sound, let them chaos first, then break."

Jason didn't adopt outright.

He drew one truth: "The enemy doesn't fight me."

"They fight for 'their Rustmouth.'"

—

ARGUS main screen lit Jian Ci's zone beacon.

He crouched at Dead-End Alley's tail, south line fallback, cold blade hidden in a brick crack, one hand on a comms suppressor, shadow-night merged.

Maria keyed a line: "If they come too fast?"

Jason: "Let them sink deeper."

—

Fuxi whispered:

[☰ Earth over Fire: Dark Pool]

[Wounded within, saved without; show false defeat, hide true victory.]

[Prompt: Show weakness to make them forget they once feared you.]

Jason stared at the screen, lips soft: "Let them forget."

"Then remember—Rustmouth's not theirs."

Section Three: Chen Lei Presses, Tarn Feigns Fall

Rustmouth Third Stretch, three AM sharp.

Street mouth wind stilled.

The city's subtle pre-war sign—even warped lamp racks ceased creaking, only distant pipe drips tapping the dark's rhythm.

Tarn half-knelt behind rubble, ear to a brick seam. Radio off, no backup. Breath light, chest strapped with steel-lined cloth, vest hiding a mock blood pack—soon to "burst."

He knew they came.

Right-front, a vague shadow flickered behind an old warehouse door. It peeked, withdrew, peeked, then gritted out, two trailing, draped in rags, steps steady, old Red Gang assault pattern.

"Here," Tarn counted silently, hand gripping a small sensor, ready to "fumble" in three seconds.

No shots—they wanted the street's image intact. Not murder—"reclaim control."

The first leapt from cover, growling: "Left press—take the path!"

Another drew a shock rod, swinging at Tarn's rubble flank.

Tarn rose, not striking, stumbling back, deliberately toppling a brick, lurching, crashing into a pipe, falling hard.

"Drop him!" the squad lead barked.

A man charged, halting at the last step.

Blood oozed under Tarn, the mock pack ruptured, red pooling into ash-strewn bricks.

"Down!?"

"Check vitals—"

They neared to drag, a hand grazing Tarn's waist pouch. Head low, he flicked his thumb.

Alley mouth, a concealed sonic sensor flared.

Beep!

"Triggered."

—

Far street's end, a black whip slashed night.

Chen Lei.

No long stick, just a black steel short rod. Swift as mist's thread, he leapt.

The squad didn't sense, their rear man's nape struck, flung backward, no scream.

Two front turned, Chen Lei slid, rod whipping air, sweeping chest and gut, staggering them three steps, breath choked, pinned before steadying.

Chen Lei said nothing.

Eyes cold, left foot forward, rod aimed at the lead's throat, clean, snapping scrap iron.

"Don't kill!" the man yelped. "We're Gold Master's orders—not foes, cleaners!"

Chen Lei's gaze held: "You entered this street, armed—you're foes."

"You claim orders, you knew you're not here to talk."

"Jason doesn't slaughter."

He paused: "But I don't warn thrice."

—

Fight lasted under a minute.

Tarn lay, panting, eyes drained.

No real wounds, but those minutes down hurt more than a charge.

Jason was right—too fake, they don't buy; too real, you're done.

Tarn smirked, rolling, tearing his hem, mock blood pack shattered.

"You could've moved sooner…" he muttered to Chen Lei.

Chen Lei didn't look, chin jerking to the alley's end.

Jian Ci emerged, fresh from another flank team, blood wet on his hands, no victor's pride.

He glanced at Tarn: "Good act."

Tarn froze, breath caught.

"Thanks… really."

Jian Ci ignored him.

Chen Lei joined Jason, low: "Probe teams wiped, mainline signals retreating, unlinking."

Jason, unmoving, voice soft: "They wanted 'their Rustmouth' back."

"Now they see—this street, inside out, isn't theirs."

—

ARGUS prompted:

[Enemy Squad Comms Severed × Upper Command Logic Disarray]

[Red Gang Peripheral Cluster Status: Reintegration Tendency Rising × Order Relay Failure × Individual Signals Self-Preserving]

Fuxi whispered:

[☰ Heaven over Lake: Treading]

[Tread the tiger's tail, the brave find peace.]

[Prompt: Fearless, their edge doesn't touch; daring to sink, their heart breaks first.]

Jason gazed into the fog: "Next cut, we don't move."

"They'll ask themselves—is this street truly renamed?"

Section Four: Fire Rises at the Mouth, Ambush Locks

Rustmouth Fourth Stretch, old warehouse mouth, three-fifty-one AM.

Streetlamps dark, the mouth alight.

Not lamps—fire.

A toppled waste oil barrel burned, black smoke surging, plastic and coal dust choking.

Three enemy squads breached the Third Stretch line, expecting Jason's outpost, halted by flames.

"Who lit it!?"

"Not us—trap!"

"Path's cut, pull back—"

Their entry was gone.

Third Stretch retreat mouths, Jian Ci slowly raised a black curtain, backed by hidden street grilles. Short blade in hand, edge blood-wet.

He stood at the fire's edge, iron shadow carved from night.

"Come to take it back?"

"Back, you don't leave."

The squad lead cursed, pivoting, but ARGUS's pre-locked "cross-jammers" cut their radios.

Comms dead.

Maria half-knelt in a side building, signal decoder and ARGUS link beside.

Commands flowed, lips soft: "Their logistics are dead."

"No frontline echo, mid-line cut, no one knows they're here."

She looked to Jason's Third Stretch high-point window.

"You can show now."

Jason didn't answer.

He watched the enemy remnants below, headless flies, trapped between fire and dead ends.

One stopped, shouting: "Jason! You want Rustmouth? We yield! Let us go!"

Jason never appeared.

A street speaker hummed, ARGUS replaying Jason's voice, resampled: "I didn't take this street."

"You lost it."

All sound died.

The words nailed hearts, no echo, unpullable.

Jian Ci stepped out, steps light, steady.

He asked one: "Whose side? Peng? Gold Master?"

The man, ashen, shook: "I… just a guide, outpost… not hall."

Jian Ci glanced, to ARGUS's voice node: "This one, tag—observe."

He paused: "Rest, break legs."

"Send to Qing's side."

Wind shifted.

—

Rooftop, Jason spoke to Zhao Mingxuan: "Switch signal tag, street-wide broadcast."

Zhao Mingxuan: "What?"

Jason: "South of Rustmouth, none retreat."

—

Broadcast sounded, Maria's system flared:

[Enemy Tactical Group Collapse Structure Formed × Autonomous Flight Logic Generated]

→ "Command Fracture × Interference Spike × Emotional Threshold Breach"

→ "Leads Unlinked × Survival Signals Turn to Reverse Flight × Jason No Longer Foe, Environment Disaster"

Maria, soft: "They forgot who the enemy is."

"This fight needs no more from us."

—

Fuxi prompted:

[☰ Water over Wind: Well]

[Poison in the well needs no dose, only stirring.]

[Prompt: Break foes not with force, but their own chaos.]

Jason gazed below, eyes calm.

"They wanted to prove I don't deserve this street."

"Now they'll go back, saying—no one owns it."

"I'll make them remember—Rustmouth's not ungoverned, it's untouchable."

—

Chen Lei emerged from the far alley, three captives in tow, clothes blood-streaked.

He stopped by Jason: "Front stretch stragglers, scattered."

Jason nodded: "Let them scatter."

"We don't take them."

Chen Lei's brow rose: "Not taking?"

Jason: "They didn't lose—they fled."

"I don't take deserters."

—

Night flames died, Rustmouth Fourth Stretch main road doused, smoke trailing canals, not sinking.

Jason's steps echoed on waste pipes, heavy, steady—a street sealing shut.

Section Five: Peng Flees, Gold Master Captured

Rustmouth south, old supply channel, four-twenty-five AM.

Former Red Gang comms relay station, chaotic footprints, lingering heat.

Old Peng gripped a young scout's collar, voice hoarse, near snarling: "Why's the link dead!? Gold Master had a team uncommitted!"

The youth, sweating: "Exit's welded… not outsiders, street locals sealed it, no signals pass…"

"Our men… turned on themselves."

Old Peng slapped him aside.

He stood at the map, staring at flickering signals—red dots for squads, crossing, scattering, zeroing.

One line—main assault group A, meant to breach Fourth to Third Stretch, through Tarn's post to Jason's command.

Now, silent.

Not killed—"self-extinguished."

They'd dropped comms.

"They're scared…" Old Peng muttered.

—

Rustmouth west, water control tower front.

Gold Master, in combat leather, led three through a temp pipe channel to break out.

Exit locked.

He pried the side gate, a clack—a trap triggered, an iron hook snapping from the wall, grazing his ankle, locking his right leg.

"Damn!"

Gold Master roared, hacking, but a low shout staggered him.

"Move fast, think slow."

Voice from the tower top.

Jason stood, alone, no men, black coat loose, unarmed.

He looked down, tone even: "You're not Red Gang's fiercest."

"Nor cruelest."

"But you're the one most scared they'll forget you're 'Master.'"

Gold Master's face twisted: "Think winning lets you lecture?"

Jason descended, step by word: "Not lecturing."

"Showing—you stepped wrong every time."

"Your men believed you'd retake, but you didn't catch a signal."

"Your deputy screamed surrender at the corner, I answered with a speaker: 'You lost this street.'"

"He dropped his blade."

Gold Master gritted, struggling, but Jian Ci kicked lightly from behind, toppling him, helmet rolling, sweat-soaked brow bare.

Jian Ci, cold: "Still want your chair?"

Jason raised a hand, stopping Chen Lei.

"Don't kill."

"I want him alive."

He knelt, facing Gold Master: "You thought this street would reset after your chaos."

"Now, tell Peng—it's not that you can't return, you've no path left."

—

ARGUS prompted:

[Target: Gold Master × Detained]

[Enemy Active Front: Total Collapse × Stragglers Unlinked × Command Core Retreated]

[Rustmouth Control Map Updated: Five Stretch Main Zone × Control Conversion: 97%]

—

System Assessment:

→ Main Foe Demoted: Red Gang Core Chain Broken

→ Remnants Downgraded: "Emotional Resistance × Non-Organized Fight"

—

Jason's last to Gold Master: "You didn't lose to me."

"You lost to men too soft to trust, bets too weak to hold."

"I let you live—to carry a message."

He paused: "Tell Peng—not that he's old, but this street doesn't wait for age to strike."

—

Gold Master was hauled off.

Jason stood before the tower, gazing at Rustmouth's south, dawn's light breaking.

Wind lifted a red rag's remnant, not rising, sinking mute in a puddle—a dream long dead.

Fuxi whispered:

[☰ Wind over Thunder: Increase]

[Reduce above, enrich below, grant grace without claiming it; punish hard, speak not of penalty.]

[Prompt: Foe's defeat needs no display; the spared need no honor.]

[Hearts won below, the land is yours.]

—

ARGUS synced:

[Rustmouth Control Structure Complete]

[Red Gang Main Halls' Three: Two Captured, One Fled × Self-Charged Remnants]

[Crowd Trust Mechanism Untriggered · No High-Intensity Intervention · Control Affiliation Default Established]

—

Jason, low: "Rustmouth's done."

He turned, stepping into the fog-draped dawn.