Before boarding the plane, Ye Jingsheng went to a payphone outside and dialed Wu Yi Xue’s number. The phone rang for a long time, but no one picked up, and it automatically redirected to the voicemail.

“It’s me, Ye Jingsheng. I’ll be leaving Hong Kong for a while. If I can’t make it back in time, please take care of his surgery. Don’t go near Xiao Jie, he’s already being watched. No matter what, don’t let anyone know about my relationship with him. That’s all.”

Kicking open the phone booth’s glass door with one foot, he stretched lazily. The “King Cobra” tucked at the back of his waist pressed against him uncomfortably, causing him to frown slightly.

Fang Yang, let’s see which one of us will end up devouring the other.

When the helicopter landed on the helipad, Fang Yang was the first to jump out. Several muscular men in military uniforms approached immediately, with the leader snapping a crisp salute. “Mr. Fang.”

Fang Yang nodded, taking off his windproof sunglasses and slipping them into his pocket. He glanced around for a moment, then, in a calm tone, asked in English, “Where’s your commander?”

“The commander is meeting with an important guest and is currently unavailable. Please forgive us, Mr. Fang,” came the stiff reply from the soldier.

Ye Jingsheng jumped down from the helicopter, clapping his hands lightly as he commented with a playful tone, “Looks like the warlord isn’t too excited about our visit.”

He spoke in Cantonese, prompting a quick glance from Fang Yang, who replied in the same language. “His relationship with Zhong Qinglin is solid. He probably already has a good idea of why we’re here.”

“This might be tricky,” Ye Jingsheng remarked with a smirk.

“Don’t worry. With your knack for causing trouble, souring their relationship shouldn’t be too hard, right?” Fang Yang patted his shoulder in an easygoing manner. To the foreigners who couldn’t understand their conversation, it seemed like a casual exchange between two close friends.

The camp, while not comparable in scale to a regular army, was impressive for a guerrilla force. In the resource-strapped world of guerrilla warfare, Zachis’s troops stood out as relatively well-equipped. At least in terms of weaponry, they were on par with the government forces of some smaller Central American countries.

The officers escorted the two of them across the training grounds, where several companies of soldiers were drilling with precision. As Ye Jingsheng’s gaze wandered toward the barbed wire fence, an adjutant suddenly stepped sharply to his side, rifle at the ready. Ye Jingsheng shrugged nonchalantly and shifted his attention elsewhere.

Then his expression froze. In the distance, he caught a glimpse of a figure that seemed eerily familiar.

“What’s wrong?” Fang Yang asked, noticing his sudden unease.

Ye Jingsheng quickly composed himself. “Ah, nothing.” He glanced back toward the spot, but the figure had vanished.

The sound of military boots crunching on the sand filled the air, each step echoing like a heavy weight pressing on his chest.

It couldn’t be him. Not here. Not in a chaotic, lawless place like this.

He forced himself to breathe and calm down, mocking his own paranoia.

After all these years, Ye Jingsheng, you’re still a coward.

“Where does he get the money for all this equipment?” Ye Jingsheng asked, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he carefully loaded bullets into a magazine and secured the safety with a sharp click.

Fang Yang stood and walked to the window, parting the blinds with a single finger. From their vantage point, they had a clear view of Zachis’s headquarters across the way. “He’s got both luck and a black heart. The mountains here are covered with poppies and marijuana. Do you think he’ll ever run out of money? The arms and drugs smuggled out of this place every year are endless. Add in kidnappings, extortion, assassinations, and organ trafficking, and you get the full picture.”

Fang Yang turned to glance at him. “He issues assassination orders against government officials at the drop of a hat. Just a few days ago, he even attacked the presidential convoy. What wouldn’t they dare to do?”

“Old Man Zhong’s got guts, teaming up with a tiger like this,” Ye Jingsheng said as he holstered his gun and took a deep drag on his cigarette. “If I fail, will there even be a body left to find?”

“How could that happen?” Fang Yang replied with a faintly perfunctory smile.

Ye Jingsheng shot him a look and grinned. “It’s fine. As long as you remember, you owe me 10% of the shares.”

Just then, a knock came at the door. Fang Yang opened it to find a uniformed officer standing stiffly. The visitor saluted and said, “Mr. Fang, our commander has invited you and..”

“He’s my assistant. His surname is Ye.”

“And Mr. Ye to attend tonight’s welcome banquet.”

The so-called banquet was nothing like the elegant, glamorous affairs of high society. Zachis had hundreds of kilograms of drugs waiting to be sold, and the attendees were ruthless drug lords who made no effort to disguise their cutthroat nature.

Ye Jingsheng took a sip from his glass and immediately winced, sticking out his tongue at the burning sensation. Heaven only knew what kind of alcohol it was—it hit harder than even the cheapest bootleg liquor.

Fang Yang, both amused and exasperated, leaned in and whispered in his ear, “Only you would dare to actually drink this stuff at a time like this.”

Ye Jingsheng shot him a sidelong glance and replied, “What else am I supposed to do? Play games like you? Everyone here is on Interpol’s most-wanted list. I suggest you don’t get any funny ideas about them.”

“Oh? Are you worried about me?”

“…I’m concerned about my life,” Ye Jingsheng said, pausing to discreetly squeeze Fang Yang’s hand. “Look at that woman.”

At the entrance, a couple walked in, a short, stocky man and woman who were both unremarkable in appearance. Their ill-fitting evening attire made them look even more ridiculous. Fang Yang stroked his chin thoughtfully. “The Philippines’ number one female assassin, Emma Stone. It seems Old Man Zhong’s people are here too.”

“I know. That woman once tried to assassinate me.” Ye Jingsheng turned slightly and took another sip of his drink. “Zhong Qinglin didn’t come?”

“Of course not. Chen ge is keeping him tied up in Hong Kong,” Fang Yang said after a brief pause. “Besides, it’s not time to tear things apart with him just yet. His absence works in our favor.”

Zachis, usually aloof and reserved, stepped forward to greet the pair. He patted the man on the shoulder and spoke in heavily accented American English. “Mr. Pei didn’t come?”

Emma was the first to respond. “Mr. Pei isn’t feeling well. Mr. Zhong sent us in his place.”

“Oh.” Zachis waved his hand dismissively. “Then we’ll discuss it again once Mr. Pei is feeling better.”

Zachis had the quintessential appearance of a Central American, with a dark complexion, broad forehead, deep-set eyes, and a thick beard. His gaze carried a distinct air of military ruthlessness and brutality. After speaking, he turned away, his eyes meeting Fang Yang’s. Fang Yang raised his glass, and Zachis smiled in return, nodding politely.

“He gives you face,” Ye Jingsheng remarked.

“He’s giving money face. A few days ago, he kidnapped a Japanese tycoon and demanded 5 million US dollars in ransom, but the deal fell through.” Fang Yang glanced at Ye Jingsheng. “Do you know what happened to that Japanese man? Every black-market organ dealer worldwide probably has a piece of him.”

Ye Jingsheng frowned slightly.