The Phoenix of the Slums

The night in Lanyue City was quiet, but Tianming’s heart was not.

After the ruthless confrontation in the underground casino, Tianming and Jin Hu returned to the warehouse on the outskirts, where the wounded Fang Jie was being treated. Doctor Li, the Orchid Society’s trusted physician, was already there, binding the gash on Fang Jie’s shoulder with steady hands.

Tianming stood by the rusted metal door, arms crossed, his eyes dark. Jin Hu leaned against the wall beside him, chewing sunflower seeds like it was just another night on the streets.

“You didn’t have to be that brutal with Black Panther,” Jin Hu muttered. “I mean, I’m glad he won’t be crawling out of bed for months, but still.”

“He drew blood first,” Tianming said coldly. “Besides, we needed a message sent.”

Jin Hu spat a shell to the floor. “Message received, loud and clear. Everyone in that den knows you’re not just some punk kid now. You’re a beast.”

Doctor Li stood up and turned to them. “Fang Jie will survive. He lost a lot of blood, but he’s young. His recovery depends on rest.”

Tianming nodded. “Thank you, Doctor.”

“No need for thanks,” the man replied, packing up his tools. “You saved my nephew last year from those street thugs in Dongxin District. This is the least I can do.”

After the doctor left, Tianming sat beside Fang Jie, who was still unconscious. For a moment, the strong-willed mask he wore slipped, revealing something much deeper—guilt.

“Don’t blame yourself,” said a voice.

Tianming looked up. Lu Qingshan had entered silently, dressed in a tailored charcoal suit, his hair slicked back as usual, but there was a distinct frown on his face tonight.

“He followed me into the fire,” Tianming said. “I can’t just treat him like a disposable pawn.”

“That’s what makes you different from them,” Lu Qingshan said. “And that’s why the Orchid Society still exists.”

Tianming didn’t answer. Instead, he glanced at the table where he had placed the black envelope earlier—the one they’d found in Black Panther’s office.

Lu Qingshan picked it up and took out the single sheet of paper inside. His eyes narrowed.

“This is a list,” he said. “Suppliers. Bribes. Contacts. And look here… transfers from the Qingmao Bank.”

Tianming’s expression sharpened. “That bank is under the Lotus Clan’s laundering network.”

“And these initials match Song Rui’s,” Lu Qingshan confirmed. “He’s deeper into the corruption than we thought.”

Tianming rose to his feet. “Then I’m going to burn his world down.”

Lu Qingshan placed a hand on his shoulder. “Not yet. This isn’t the time. We need to expose him strategically. Otherwise, they’ll just replace him with someone worse.”

Tianming’s fists clenched, the memories of humiliation, his parents' deaths, and Song Rui’s smug face boiling inside him.

“I’m done waiting,” he growled.

Lu Qingshan sighed. “Then if you’re serious about this, you need more than fists. You need legitimacy.”

“Legitimacy?” Jin Hu scoffed. “We’re not running for city council, old man.”

“Not politics,” Lu Qingshan said. “Business. Influence. Reputation. If you can take over Ruiyao Group’s supply chain or disrupt their international shipping operations, Song Rui will be forced into the open.”

Tianming’s mind began racing. Ruiyao Group had their hands in high-end logistics, diamond trading, and even grey-market medicine exports. But their choke point—their critical dependency—was the Qingming Port operations just south of Lanyue.

“That’s it,” he muttered. “We hit them where it hurts. But we’ll need allies.”

Lu Qingshan nodded. “I’ll call in some old favors.”

As the night grew deeper, Tianming stood alone on the warehouse rooftop, the city lights stretching across the darkness like a restless sea. The wind carried a faint chill, and with it, the whispers of his past.

He pulled out a photograph from his jacket pocket. It was worn and faded—his father in military uniform, his mother smiling beside him, both proud and unaware of the tragedy that would strike.

“I will find the truth,” Tianming whispered. “And I will make them pay.”

Downstairs, Jin Hu was cleaning a battered switchblade. “He’s gonna walk into a lion’s den,” he muttered.

Fang Jie stirred on the bed, voice hoarse. “Let him. He is the lion.”

The next morning, Tianming drove to the Shenwei Industrial Zone, where he had arranged a meeting with the Wuyin Logistics boss—an old underground figure known as Uncle Lao.

The man ran his empire from a jade shop. Tianming entered the back room, where incense drifted lazily in the air and armed guards lined the walls.

“You’re either bold or stupid,” Uncle Lao said without looking up from his tea.

“Maybe both,” Tianming replied. “But I’ve got an offer.”

Uncle Lao chuckled, setting his cup down. “Everyone has an offer. Few survive making it.”

“I’ll give you Song Rui’s ports,” Tianming said. “I just need a temporary alliance. And in return, I’ll ensure you own 60% of the eastern transport routes.”

Uncle Lao raised an eyebrow. “You’ve got guts, kid.”

“Not just guts,” Tianming said. “I’ve got the plan, the timing, and the people. What I need is the door.”

Uncle Lao stared at him for a long time. Finally, he nodded once. “Alright, Tianming. You’ve got yourself a door. Don’t waste it.”

As Tianming walked back to his car, Jin Hu met him on the sidewalk, holding out a burner phone.

“It’s started,” he said. “One of Ruiyao’s warehouses is on fire. Arson. No survivors.”

Tianming’s jaw tightened. “He’s sending us a warning.”

“Yeah,” Jin Hu said. “But he just made his biggest mistake.”

Tianming looked out over the smokey skyline.

“He declared war.”