Into the Fang's Den

Jiang Yeming didn't sleep well that night. After hearing everything Qiao Ning had confessed in the ICU, his mind wasn't at ease—not out of fear, but because the puzzle was beginning to take shape. His cousin Jiang Ruifeng was making his move.

The next morning, after completing his chores and preparing a simple breakfast, Yeming slipped out of the house quietly. He avoided both Lan Yueran and Feng Xuelan. He didn't need distractions—not today. He stepped into the soft haze of dawn and flagged down a cab.

"District 9 Industrial Zone," he said calmly.

The driver glanced back, wary. "You serious, boss? That's Red Fang turf. Ain't nothing out there but trouble and bloodstains."

"I'm serious."

The driver grunted. "Your choice. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

As the cab wove through Rainmere City's arteries of traffic, Yeming kept his mind sharp, reviewing his plan. This wasn't diplomacy. This was pressure—he was there to make them talk, by any means necessary.

Two hours later, the cab slowed.

"We're about there," the driver muttered. "You still want me to wait?"

Yeming handed him a card. "Pick up when I call. No matter the hour."

The driver pocketed the card with a grim nod. "Hope you walk out of there in one piece."

Yeming stepped out onto a bleak street littered with broken glass and silence. The faint stench of oil and smoke clung to the air. Moments later, two Red Fang gangsters emerged from an alleyway, swagger in every step.

"You lost, silk boy?" one sneered, puffing on a half-lit cigarette.

"I'm looking for Mo Heng."

Both men froze, then glanced at each other. "And who the hell are you to call out the boss?"

"Someone he'll want to meet."

"Big talk." The second thug stepped closer. "You know what we do to guys who talk too much?"

More Red Fang members crept out of the shadows, attracted by the commotion. One cracked his knuckles as he stepped forward. "Looks like he needs a lesson."

He lunged—but never landed the blow.

Yeming moved like lightning, elbow smashing into the man's jaw. Teeth flew, blood sprayed. The gangster collapsed with a wet grunt. Chaos erupted. But Yeming danced through it—calculated, ruthless, his strikes landing with surgical precision. In less than a minute, five bodies lay groaning on the ground.

Only one remained standing—trembling, eyes wide.

"Take me to Mo Heng. Now," Yeming ordered, gripping his collar.

"Y-Yes! He's in the bar just up ahead… back room."

Yeming nodded. "Lead the way."

They cut through narrow alleys to a rundown bar with shattered windows and flickering signage. The thug pointed at a reinforced metal door in the back.

"He's in there. Please—don't kill me."

Yeming said nothing as the man fled.

Two massive guards blocked his way at the door.

"No entry. Private—"

Yeming silenced one with a palm strike to the throat, sending him crashing into the wall. The other barely raised his arms before he was flipped onto the pavement.

Yeming kicked the door open.

Inside, Mo Heng reclined shirtless on a cracked leather sofa, five women draped over him like accessories. Smoke curled from fat cigars, and cheap perfume hung heavy in the air.

Mo Heng jolted upright. "Who the hell are—"

"The man whose wife you targeted."

Recognition flashed. "Jiang Yeming."

Yeming didn't flinch.

Mo Heng reached under the table. Too slow. Yeming seized him, slammed him against the wall, and drove a knee into his ribs. With a grimace, he disarmed the gangster and shoved him into a chair.

"Speak. Who gave the order?"

Mo Heng coughed, spitting blood. "You're already dead, you just don't know it."

Yeming raised the gun and pressed it against Mo Heng's leg. "Wrong answer."

Mo Heng's bravado crumbled. "Jiang Ruifeng. It was Jiang Ruifeng."

Yeming's face darkened.

"He's pissed your father didn't give him control of the Jiang family business. Said he'd humiliate you, destroy your pride. Told us to make Lan Yueran suffer. Then come for you."

"And Qiao Ning?"

"She owed us. We used her to get the message across. She was scared enough to do it."

Yeming stood, cold fury in his eyes. "Where is Ruifeng now?"

"I don't know. Swear on it. Just that he's planning a trip to Rainmere in two weeks. That's all I've heard."

Yeming lingered a moment, gaze sharp.

"If you tip him off about this meeting—I'll return. And you won't walk away again."

With a swift kick to Mo Heng's arm, he turned and left.

Outside, dusk had painted the sky in shades of purple and smoke. Yeming called the cab.

"Pick me up. Same place."

Back home, the lights were on. He walked inside and was greeted instantly by Feng Xuelan's shrill voice.

"Where the hell have you been all day? Off chasing nonsense while we sat here worried you'd been stabbed in a ditch!"

Lan Yueran glanced up from the couch, concern flickering in her eyes. "Are you okay?"

"I went out."

Feng Xuelan scoffed. "That's it? Lan Yueran, cut his allowance. He's clearly wasting your hard-earned money again."

Yeming said nothing.

"And don't get comfortable," she added with venom. "My friend's son is back from Celestine Haven. A senior director at Jiang Corporation. We're having dinner with him tomorrow night at The Velvet Crown."

Yeming's eyes flickered. Jiang Corporation. His father's company.

That's her move now?

Lan Yueran stood. "Mom, stop. I'm not going."

"You don't get to say no anymore! I'm doing what's best for you!"

"I said no. Respect me—and my marriage."

She stormed off. Feng Xuelan spun to Yeming.

"You're still standing there? Go wash the dishes. At least make yourself useful, since you're worthless otherwise."

Yeming didn't react. He walked silently into the kitchen.

His path was clear now.