The Phoenix of the Slums

Tianming gripped the steering wheel tightly as the black Audi sped through the outskirts of Denghai, engine snarling like a beast on the hunt.

Beside him, Lu Qingshan sat with narrowed eyes, scanning the rearview mirror.

Behind them, two black sedans tailed at a controlled distance, their drivers clearly trained professionals.

"They're not backing off," Qingshan muttered.

"I know," Tianming replied. "But they don’t realize they’re the ones being hunted now."

He took a sharp turn off the main road, tires screeching as the car darted into a shadowy alley nestled between abandoned warehouses.

The moment they were out of sight, Tianming killed the lights and rolled the car behind a rusted container.

The sedans zoomed past seconds later, engines roaring down the street. Tianming waited, breathing steady.

"Let’s go," he whispered.

The two stepped out, the smell of old metal and oil in the air. They weren’t running anymore. They were turning the tables.

Inside one of the warehouses, a faint flicker of light glowed from within. Qingshan nodded at it. "That's their base. The Lotus Clan branch we were tracking. You ready?"

Tianming smirked and slipped the black gloves onto his hands.

"More than ready.

As they entered, the shadows inside danced with flickering neon. A dozen Lotus thugs lounged with smokes and drinks. But when the heavy doors creaked shut, every head snapped toward the sound.

"What the hell—who’s there?!"

Tianming didn’t waste a second. He surged forward with lightning speed, feet silent on the concrete floor.

The first man raised his baton, but Tianming sidestepped left, then spun—his leg sweeping out in a vicious arc.

The thug’s legs were knocked clean from under him. He hit the ground hard with a grunt. Before he could scream, Tianming’s palm slammed down on his chest, knocking the wind from him.

"Intruders! Kill them!" one of the higher-ranking enforcers yelled.

Two more men charged in, swinging knives.

Tianming ducked the first blade, feeling it whistle past his ear. His elbow snapped back into the attacker’s ribs—crack—and the man crumpled to his knees.

The second attacker thrust his blade toward Tianming’s chest, but Tianming caught his wrist mid-air, twisted it with brutal precision until the joint popped, then disarmed him with a swift upward knee to the chin.

Qingshan joined in with a swift, coiled grace. His movements were more fluid than violent.

One of the thugs came at him with a bat, but Qingshan stepped aside, used his own momentum to hurl the attacker over his shoulder, and slammed him into the wall.

Within moments, seven men were down.

But the real threat emerged now.

A man in a crimson suit stepped from the back, arms crossed behind him, a lotus pin gleaming on his chest.

"Tianming. Lu Qingshan. I didn’t expect you to come so soon," he said with a cold smile.

"You're Bai Yu, aren’t you?" Tianming asked.

The man tilted his head. "That name still means something? I thought the Orchid Society buried it years ago."

Qingshan’s eyes flared. "You betrayed them. Sold out information to the Lotus Clan. You’re the reason they were massacred in the Dengxian ambush."

Bai Yu chuckled. "And yet you two survived. Maybe fate wasn’t done with you yet."

Tianming stepped forward, fists clenched. "No. Fate is done. This is judgment."

Bai Yu’s posture shifted. No longer relaxed—his stance lowered. Feet angled. Hands open, relaxed but poised.

A true martial artist.

He struck first, dashing in with a sudden palm aimed at Tianming’s chest.

Tianming blocked it with a cross-arm guard, but Bai Yu twisted and swept his leg low, forcing Tianming to hop back. The exchange was fluid, brutal, calculated.

Tianming parried a series of lightning-fast jabs and aimed a powerful straight punch.

Bai Yu ducked, using a shoulder roll to deflect and retaliated with a snake-like strike aimed at Tianming’s throat.

But Tianming leaned back just in time and delivered a rising knee that clipped Bai Yu’s chin.

They clashed again—fists, feet, elbows, knees. The warehouse echoed with the sound of strikes, grunts, and sharp breaths.

Then, Bai Yu made a mistake.

He overextended with a sweeping kick, and Tianming caught his leg mid-air, lifted it, and spun—flinging him into a steel crate.

Clang!

Bai Yu groaned, blood dripping from his mouth.

"You..." he gasped. "You’re stronger than the rumors say."

Tianming stepped forward, grabbing him by the collar.

And you're weaker than your reputation."

Without another word, he knocked Bai Yu out with a single clean blow to the jaw.

The fight was over.

Qingshan looked around the room, counting the bodies groaning on the floor.

"This isn’t over," he said.

Tianming nodded. "No. It's just the beginning."

Outside, the night was quiet again—but the war was just beginning to boil beneath Denghai’s surface.