Extra Chapter (Feel Free to Skip)

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In a certain city of a certain country, in a famous Chinese district where ninety percent of the city's population was Chinese.

The sun was rising, golden rays spilling lavishly into every corner of the city. Countless people, like ants, began another day of toil—some desperately searching for opportunities, others shuffling forward in hesitation—all for the sake of ever-increasing prices and mortgages that would haunt them to their graves.

But in the shantytown, already, small groups were gathering outside various teahouses.

The shantytown, known colloquially as the "village within the city," was the dirtiest, most chaotic part of the city, with a complex social makeup—like a goddess who, for all her glamour, still suffers from hemorrhoids and constipation. No matter how often it was cleaned up, it stuck stubbornly to the city's underbelly, thriving in the shadow of its brilliance.

Two young men in their twenties, sporting hippie haircuts, lit cigarettes and lounged back, propping their feet up so that the front legs of their bamboo chairs bent under the strain. The chairs creaked and swayed, and the two swayed along with them, chatting with relish:

"Only three days left. All these years, there’s never been a case that dragged out this long. Do you think this year's target might actually get away?"

"Get away? You’re dreaming. Ever since that guy started, it’s been one a year—has any family ever gotten away? Even that family who moved into the SWAT compound got their heads cut off. Doesn’t matter how tough they are—those guys in blue uniforms won’t stop him." (Blue uniforms: code for police in some countries.)

"I wouldn’t be so sure! When I placed my bet with Blackie, I asked around. This year’s family is different—worth over a hundred million, hired two or three dozen bodyguards, veterans, boxers, ex-special forces—you name it. As the time approaches, they even brought in a security company with dozens more professionals. I think this year will be interesting; otherwise, why would the odds even offer a 'failure' bet?"

"Failure, my ass! Don’t act like you know something I don’t. Let me tell you, I’ve got better sources—straight from the blue uniforms. That guy used to mix with the Colombian cartel, you know what that means? He can get serious firepower! Doesn’t matter how many people you have—if he brings out a rocket launcher and blows the place up, it’s over in an instant!"

"Come on, that’s a bit much, isn’t it?"

"Why not? This is revenge, not a turf war. Who’s going to care what he uses?"

"What kind of grudge is that deep? If it comes to rockets, it won’t just be the blue uniforms—the military will get involved."

"If you push a man too far, nothing matters! I’m telling you, this grudge is endless. Why else do you think he picks a family every year and wipes them out, always starting a month before the anniversary of his own family’s death? You know what that’s called? That’s killing to break the spirit. Every family involved has to be exterminated, and he doesn’t even announce who’s next—so even if you’re not the target this year, you’ll never sleep easy until you die. That’s much worse than a quick death."

"Wait… So his own family was wiped out like that, too?"

"Shh! Keep your voice down—they were wiped out, of course. That’s where the grudge comes from. Didn’t Blackie find out what happened?"

"Don’t mention Blackie, will you? I asked, but they won’t tell me—probably not allowed to share that kind of thing."

"Who knows if they even know. This all happened decades ago—not in our time. I only learned about it a few days ago, drinking with Old Fisherman—oh, and by the way, Old Fisherman’s family is about to hit it big!"

"What, more tangled up with Old Fisherman’s clan?"

"Old Fisherman’s mother is that guy’s aunt—he let it slip when he was drunk. They’re cousins, and his family’s fortune is tied to this whole affair…"

"Come on, just tell it straight. If you’ve got the inside scoop, I need to go change my bet with Blackie before I lose my money."

"To explain, you have to go back to the old days with Old Fisherman’s family. You know where they used to live? Now it’s the area from Temple of the Four Buddhas to the main market—the heart of the development zone! The trouble started when they began developing that land. Corrupt officials and businessmen colluded to offer a ridiculously low compensation for demolition. The villagers refused to move, so the boss came up with a trick: together with two village officials, they staged a scam, gathered everyone in town for a fake meeting, hoping to demolish the houses while the people were away, hand out some cash, and call it settled."

"But as luck would have it, that day Old Fisherman’s aunt—the mother of the guy in question—was sick and stayed home. When the developers moved in to demolish, she refused to leave the house. Her daughter stayed to take care of her. As the meeting was ending, the boss lost patience and ordered the house flattened—while they were still inside."

"They didn’t get out?"

"No, not one, but two—his mother and sister both buried alive."

"God, those bastards were ruthless."

"Ruthless? Worse was yet to come. The guy’s father refused the compensation, went everywhere appealing and hiring lawyers. Within three days, he was run over and landed in intensive care. Two days on life support, then he died—the money to buy his life was less than the compensation offered!"

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A sharp hiss of inhalation.

"I also heard from someone else—Old Fisherman’s family didn’t exactly behave well. When her own brother was dying, his mother rushed to the developer to claim all the compensation and demolition money for herself, not leaving a penny for our guy…"

"For medical bills?"

"Bullshit! She didn’t use it for treatment. She was the one who signed to pull the plug in the hospital!"

"And the guy just accepted it?"

"What could he do? He was just a kid, powerless to stop it. He cried and shouted, but no one cared. Both the hospital and relatives insisted on unplugging the machines. What could a child do?"

"Damn… Even family could be that heartless?"

"That’s the way of the world—everyone for themselves. But that wasn’t the end. Strangely enough, they say our guy cried at first, but on the day of the burial, he was dry-eyed, just standing there, face twisted, silent, ignoring everyone. When the funeral ended, he disappeared."

"So, according to you, he went off to learn some skills, wandered for a decade or more, then came back and started taking out everyone on the list, one by one."

"Smart! The blue uniforms’ reports say he didn’t just waste his time. After causing mayhem at home, he went abroad—killer, gambler, gangster, he did it all. At least twenty murders to his name, wanted in five or six countries—and they still haven’t caught him! Imagine how skilled he must be."

"Wait, are you sure about that? Two dozen victims? There have been more than that just around here."

"No one would dare report all of them! The families involved back then—the bulldozer driver, the site manager, the petty officials at the meeting, those who approved the development permits… The blue uniforms have a tally. Other than the four members of the boss’s family, all the others—forty-three in total—are dead. If anyone reported it, the officials would have been stripped of their positions ages ago."

"This guy’s a legend. If you’re right, the boss won’t escape this year either. I’d better go change my bet…"

"Don’t rush, I’ve got an insider tip that’ll guarantee you win."

"My man, that’s what I need. How do I place the bet?"

"I don’t know exactly—things change too fast. All I can tell you is the news; when you get there, decide for yourself. Old Fisherman’s family got a package a few days ago—guess what was inside?"

"What?"

"Money—a whole suitcase full!"

"From where?"

"Our guy sent it. There was also a letter, saying if he failed and died, Old Fisherman’s family should collect his body and take his ashes to the temple to rest with his family."

"No wonder you said Old Fisherman’s family is about to get rich. Imagine how much that suitcase holds!"

"If not for this windfall, Old Fisherman would never have treated me to drinks. For years, his family lived in fear, worried that their cousin would count them as enemies too. Only after receiving this letter did they finally relax. They might even throw a celebration soon."

"What, a farewell banquet for the cousin?"

"Not a chance! You think they’d really follow through? They’ve already agreed to keep the money but won’t do anything. There’s no way they’ll get involved with his family."

"Disgraceful! The man’s about to die, and they just take the money and do nothing. Aren’t they afraid he’ll come after them?"

"They’re hedging their bets. Otherwise, Old Fisherman wouldn’t have spilled the beans after drinking. Their plan is to hold on to the money and see—if he dies, they keep it; if something else happens, then…"

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"Boom!"

A tremendous explosion shattered the city’s silence, stabbing at every heart like a needle. Everyone jerked at the sound. In the distance, a great column of thick smoke surged upward, flames and an acrid stench spreading in all directions.

"It’s blown! The bomb went off!" The people in the shantytown spilled into the street, craning their necks toward the source of the blast. The two hippie-haired youths sprinted to the curb, hopped on their motorcycle, and roared off toward the chaos.

It took them more than ten minutes to arrive. From behind the police cordon, they saw debris scattered everywhere, people sitting on the ground with bloody faces howling in pain. A sign reading "Chinese Summer Shang Auction of Cultural Relics" had crashed onto two police cars, denting their roofs.

The top three floors of the auction company’s building had collapsed. Flames roared from the remaining two stories, black smoke pouring out in waves. Occasionally, a staggering policeman would lurch out of a window, making it outside on pure adrenaline before collapsing on the pavement.

In the distance, ambulance and fire truck sirens wailed, growing closer. The two young men parked and melted into the crowd of onlookers:

"Anyone dead? Did anyone die?"

Nearby, someone was excitedly recounting a story—half rumor, half gossip: "This man wasn’t ordinary. I heard a story from his childhood—he was five or six when a kidnapper snatched him, ran off while the adults weren’t looking. But after just seven or eight meters, the kidnapper fell to the ground, face covered in blood and writhing in pain—guess what happened?"

"Don’t keep us hanging! What happened?"

"They found a pencil stabbed deep in the kidnapper’s eye, half the length buried in. The boy was standing right there, fearless. Then he picked up a brick and started smashing his own head, as if trying to drive the pencil in further…"

The crowd gasped and clicked their tongues in amazement, enthralled. The two hippie-haired youths squeezed in, joining the banter: "Did the pencil go all the way in?"

"No, but he smashed his own nose to bits. Hey, look—someone else is coming out, looks like an official!"

"All dead, they’re all dead…" A man, covered in soot and with his suit ripped, half his trousers dark with urine, rushed out under police guard, radio in hand, his hearing clearly ruined by the blast as he shouted:

"It wasn’t us—we didn’t even fire! That bastard just threw his bomb right into our group, then rushed in to kill people. Didn’t even use a gun—just a knife. One slash, one life. Several of my colleagues were killed… When he threw the bomb, he strangled Boss Hao to death, just grabbed his throat and snapped it. Killed both of them before we could react…

No one saw him coming! Only when he went for Boss Hao’s two sons did our sniper open fire—hit him four or five times. Who’d have thought he was wearing explosives? He blew the whole floor sky-high… No one could survive that—he must be dead too!

We couldn’t protect the goods, Chief—who could worry about the auction items in a moment like that…"

The negotiator’s words excited the crowd, who gossiped and speculated, faces flushed with the thrill of having witnessed such a spectacle. No one cared about right or wrong, about justice or revenge—they were simply delighted by the drama.

The two hippie-haired youths, their curiosity thoroughly satisfied, kicked aside a fragment of the auction sign as they made their way out, mounting their motorbike to go collect their winnings from Blackie.

On the shard of the sign was a picture of one of the auctioned relics, all rusted and full of ancient charm—except for the strange six-sided gourd in the center, utterly smooth and out of place among the rest.

"Boom!"

Halfway home, they heard a second explosion. This time, it came from the shantytown. Though not as powerful as the first, it was enough to obliterate an entire building and everyone inside.

Old Fisherman’s family, in their excitement at finding the suitcase full of cash, finally noticed the line of writing on the bottom, just as the bomb hidden in the lining detonated:

"You deserve to die, too."