The Phoenix of the Slums

Tianming stepped out of the VIP casino lounge just before dawn. His expression was cold, eyes narrowed with deadly focus. The name “Madam Yurei” echoed in his mind like a warning bell from a long-forgotten past.

She wasn’t just a broker.

She was a legend—a ghostly figure from the underworld who operated far beyond Denghai’s borders, moving biochemical weapons and forbidden tech across oceans.

If she was working with the Lotus Clan now, this wasn’t just about revenge anymore. It was war.

He slipped through the waking streets of Denghai, returning to the old flat he used as a temporary base. The walls were bare, the only furniture a rusted table and a mattress on the floor. A small burner on the corner hissed as he boiled instant noodles, but his mind was a storm. Wei Long had been too easy to break. Someone like that wasn’t trusted with top-level secrets unless they were meant to leak. So why was he told about Tiangang and the shipyard?

He opened his laptop and pulled up a grainy satellite image of Tiangang Harbor. It was massive, with hundreds of containers stacked like tombstones and a maze of access roads. A place where a person could vanish without leaving a trace.

Three nights.

Tianming knew he needed allies. But not the kind that asked questions. He tapped into an old encrypted line. A blue screen blinked alive. After a series of code inputs, a mechanical voice responded, “Channel secured.”

A minute later, a new voice whispered, “Took you long enough.”

“Lin Xiaosi,” Tianming said calmly. “I need eyes in Tiangang. Someone who won’t flinch.”

“Didn’t think you’d crawl out of the grave again,” she smirked. “Thought you were done with this life.”

“I was,” he said. “But they’re back.”

The line went silent. Lin Xiaosi had been with him during the darkest days—when the Orchid Society was slaughtered, when his mentor Lu Qingshan vanished. She owed him nothing, but she understood vengeance.

“Fine. I’ll get my crew,” she replied. “But you better bring answers, not just ghosts.”

That night, Tianming boarded a long-haul bus to Tiangang. He wore a mechanic’s jumpsuit, cap pulled low, a fake ID card tucked in his chest pocket. At the bus stop, he saw a shadow leaning against a streetlamp. It was Lin Xiaosi—short hair, leather jacket, her left arm covered in mechanical tattoos of dragons and circuitry.

“You look like hell,” she said.

He smirked. “Feels like home.”

They rode in silence as the city lights blurred behind them. Tiangang emerged at dawn, shrouded in mist and a scent of salt and diesel. They checked into a run-down motel on the outskirts, then began scouting the port.

Xiaosi handed him a pair of thermal binoculars. “See the stack at Dock 17? Infrared signatures. Someone’s guarding a container twenty-four-seven.”

Tianming focused on the target. Three men in black suits rotated shifts, armed with submachine guns. One of them spoke briefly into a walkie, then vanished into the container. A few minutes later, another man exited—a foreigner in a white lab coat with a gloved hand clutching a metal briefcase.

“That’s not Lotus Clan,” Tianming muttered.

“Black Falcon Circle,” Xiaosi nodded. “I’ve seen them before. Quiet, ruthless. And very rich.”

He noted every movement, every change in patrol, the rhythm of the port security. His eyes locked on one figure—taller than the rest, wearing a white fedora and gloves, face obscured by a scarf. The others called him “Shiro.”

“Madam Yurei’s enforcer,” Xiaosi whispered. “Rumors say he once killed a man with a single acupuncture needle to the throat.”

Tianming clenched his jaw. This wasn’t just a shipment. It was a demonstration.

That night, they broke into the surveillance tower of a nearby logistics firm. Xiaosi hacked into the camera network while Tianming scanned container logs. One caught his eye: Cargo 9X-213—Special Handling—Yurashi Medical.

That was it.

They watched through grainy feeds as Shiro supervised the offloading of the container. Inside, under layers of thermal insulation, were glass cylinders filled with a pale green fluid. Floating inside were human-shaped figures—bodies altered, pale, veins laced with black threads. Experiments.

Tianming’s blood ran cold.

“I’ve seen this before,” he said under his breath. “Back in the Orchid Society’s vault. Forbidden research.”

He remembered Lu Qingshan’s words: “What men cannot control, they try to bury. But the earth never forgets.”

Suddenly, the camera feed glitched. Then went black.

“Someone knows we’re watching,” Xiaosi growled. “Time to move.”

They bailed out of the tower just as a drone swept overhead, scanning the rooftop with a red grid. Tianming and Xiaosi dove into the shadows, crawling through an abandoned drainage line that led to the outskirts.

Back in their motel, Tianming opened a locked case he had kept hidden under the floorboard. Inside was a folded map, one Lu Qingshan had once given him. On it were ancient shipping routes, secret sites, and a red mark over Tiangang Harbor.

“This deal isn’t the end,” he said. “It’s the beginning.”

Xiaosi looked up. “You planning to stop them?”

Tianming nodded. “No. I’m going to expose them. Burn the whole empire to the ground.”