The Phoenix of the Slums

31st Floor – Executive Suite, Qinglong Capital

The gun glinted under the office lights, held steady in Zheng Hai’s tattooed hand. His face was scarred—one line running from the corner of his eye down to his chin like a sword slash from another life.

“You should’ve stayed dead,” he growled.

Tianming didn’t flinch.

His stance shifted subtly—right foot angled, knees slightly bent, left hand relaxed near his waist. A fighter’s silence. A hunter’s calm.

Zheng moved first.

The gun fired.

Tianming dove left—a roll behind the office desk, the bullet sparking off the metal frame.

Zheng advanced, firing again—but Tianming kicked the rolling chair forward, sending it crashing into Zheng’s legs.

THUD!

The bodyguard stumbled—and Tianming closed the gap.

Close-Quarters Combat Initiated

Tianming launched a low side kick to Zheng’s knee, forcing him off balance.

Zheng swung the pistol like a club—Tianming ducked, then countered with an uppercut to the ribs, followed by a quick pivot into a spinning back elbow to Zheng’s temple.

CRACK!

Zheng staggered but didn't fall.

He dropped the gun—now switching to fists. “You’ve got guts, kid.”

Zheng charged, throwing a powerful right cross—Tianming parried with his left forearm, stepped into the opening, and delivered a knee strike to the stomach.

Zheng grunted and clutched Tianming’s hoodie, yanking him forward—headbutt!

Tianming reeled. Blood from his brow.

But he didn’t go down.

He twisted in Zheng’s grip, raising his left arm under Zheng’s chin and sweeping his left leg behind Zheng’s right ankle—

A takedown.

Zheng hit the floor hard, but rolled instantly and kicked upward toward Tianming’s face.

Tianming leaned back just enough—the sole scraped his nose—and he stomped down on Zheng’s thigh, pinning the leg.

Then—he drove his elbow into Zheng’s chest once, twice, three times.

Zheng gasped.

But with a last surge, Zheng reached into his ankle holster—pulling a knife.

Tianming reacted fast.

He trapped Zheng’s wrist with both hands, twisting the blade outward. Zheng pushed back, muscles straining.

The knife hovered inches from Tianming’s neck.

Then—

Tianming twisted sharply left, using his entire torso—disarming Zheng and flipping him face-down onto the floor.

With the knife now in Tianming’s hand, he pressed it against Zheng’s neck.

“Yield,” he growled.

Zheng didn’t move. His breathing heavy. “You… fight like your father.”

Tianming’s grip tightened.

“Then you know why I’m here.”

Zheng chuckled. “You think this ends with me? With Lu Qingshan? You’re chasing shadows. Phoenix Holdings… it’s just one wing of the beast.”

Tianming stared into his eyes. “Then I’ll clip every wing until it can’t fly.”

He jabbed the knife handle

into Zheng’s temple—non-lethal knockout.

Zheng slumped.

Tianming stood alone, breathing heavy, sweat and blood dripping.

He grabbed the black book and the USB from the safe, tucked them into his coat, and headed for the fire exit.

Sirens began to wail downstairs—security had finally caught on.

But Tianming was already gone.

Meanwhile – Lu Qingshan’s Mansion, Mount Huang

The old tycoon stared at a security feed showing the blacked-out office screen.

“He came for it,” he whispered. “The boy’s alive.”

Behind him, a shadowed figure sipped tea in silence.

“You need help cleaning this up?” the figure asked.

Lu turned, eyes full of fear and greed.

“I need blood. Make it disappear.”

The figure smiled.

“Consider it done.”