SA 15.2

After Fang Yang and Ye Jingsheng had gone far enough, Chen Chen chuckled and shook his head. He picked up the gun that he had hardly managed to hold steady before, stretched out his arm gracefully, and with a flick of his wrist, fired three shots in quick succession. The target ahead shattered into pieces and collapsed thunderously.

As the gun smoke cleared, Chen Chen ran his tongue over the still-warm barrel of the gun.

Ye Jingsheng, having you is certainly a blessing, but if I can’t…..

—–

On November 28, after ceding substantial benefits to the underground and regaining support from the Japanese underworld, Zhong Qinglin formally aligned with several small gangs long at odds with Hongyun. He paid his respects to Guan Erye, severing ties with Hongyun in a bid to revive the fragmented underworld scene of old. If Chen Chen refused to restructure Hongyun, loosen the boundaries, stop the drug bans, and share the spoils with everyone, then they were set for an unending conflict with no possibility of reconciliation.

Fang Yang, who had never been one to show fear or subservience, scoffed at these threats and ordered his men to prepare for a hard fight, an eye for an eye, thereby escalating the hostilities on both sides. Police checkpoints were strengthened across various sectors but still failed to prevent the ongoing bloodshed, stabilizing the situation. All of Hong Kong was like a building under a gathering storm, a tense prelude to an inevitable tumult.

——

At the beginning of December, a team of German specialists arrived in Hong Kong, and surgery was urgently scheduled. Ye Jingsheng, who had been busy managing conflicts between the two factions, had to set aside all other matters, as nothing was more important than his younger brother’s surgery.

For the two days leading up to the surgery, Ye Jingsheng had stayed continuously in the hospital, fully aware that if this risky decision failed, he would never get another chance.

——

Hei Pi and a few other injured brothers hurriedly crossed the street, scanning for any police surveillance while drawing the wary attention of passersby who steered clear of these menacing figures. Just as they were about to brazenly enter the hospital, they were startled by several honks. Hei Pi turned to see two car headlights flashing provocatively in the distance.

“Damn it!” he cursed, already irate, confronting the car by pounding on its roof, “Do you want to live or–?”

The window rolled down slowly, and Hei Pi froze, taking a long moment before murmuring, “…Yang ge. What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing running around here instead of staying at Lido?” Fang Yang responded coldly. “And making such a scene, as if the situation isn’t chaotic enough?!”

“No, it’s not like that. We… there’s no trouble at Lido, but a couple of bars on the next street were smashed, and we went to help out. But those bastards started slashing without a word, and we couldn’t just stand by, so we came here to get some advice from Sheng ge!”

“Stop it. Let those people make a fuss; it’s just two bars. Don’t stir up more trouble at this critical time.”

Hei Pi looked up in surprise, “Yang ge, you’re the one who always said we should fight tooth for tooth and not let them walk all over us! But now you’re telling us to back down? These two bars might be a small matter, but if word gets out, Hongyun will lose face in the underworld!”

Fang Yang raised his gaze slowly, “Since when is Hongyun’s standing in the underworld up to you to decide?”

Hei Pi, subdued by Fang Yang’s commanding tone, nodded reluctantly and turned to leave, his shoulders slumped in defeat. The night air felt thick with tension as he considered the implications of Fang Yang’s words.

Meanwhile, back at the hospital, the atmosphere was just as tense, but for different reasons. Ye Jingsheng had spent the night in a waiting area, restless and unable to focus on anything other than the ongoing surgery. The thought of his brother’s critical condition weighed heavily on him, a burden that seemed to grow heavier with each passing moment. He felt torn between his responsibilities to Hongyun and his personal duty to his brother, a conflict that was visible even in his usually impenetrable demeanor.

Fang Yang watched from a distance, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. He understood Ye Jingsheng’s turmoil better than anyone, and while part of him wished to be by his side, another part knew that Ye Jingsheng needed space to process whatever the outcome of the surgery might be.

The wait seemed interminable. Finally, the operating room lights dimmed and the door opened. A group of surgeons stepped out, their faces weary but not without a measure of relief. They removed their masks as they stepped into the cooler air of the corridor.

Ye Jingsheng, who had been pacing, stopped abruptly. He had prepared himself for this moment, ready to demand answers, ready to confront them with all the force of his pent-up anxiety. But as he stood there, watching the doctors approach, his heart racing, he found himself rooted to the spot, unable to move.

Dr. Wu Yixue was the last to leave the OR. Noticing Jingsheng’s intense gaze, he paused, perhaps understanding the gravity of his next words. He gave a slight nod, a small gesture that held a world of meaning. “The surgery was relatively successful,” he began cautiously, “The hematoma pressing on the pituitary gland has been removed. There’s no immediate life threat.”

Relief flooded through Ye Jingsheng at the news, loosening the tight knot of fear in his chest. He rushed to the bedside as they wheeled his brother out, desperate for any sign of consciousness. “Xiao Ling, can you see me? Xiao Ling, talk to me—”

His relief was short-lived as silence met his pleas. His frustration boiling over, he slammed his hand against the bedrail, turning sharply towards the doctors. “You said the surgery was successful. Why isn’t he waking up? No one leaves until he does!” His voice, usually so controlled, was edged with a raw desperation that echoed loudly in the quiet hospital corridor.

Ye Jingsheng’s gaze followed the gurney as it was wheeled away, his emotions a tumultuous mix of hope and despair. The waiting room, filled with the buzz of concerned conversations and the soft beeping of medical equipment, seemed to close in around him, suffocating in its intensity.

As the doctors conferred around his brother, discussing quietly the next steps and monitoring every slight response, Ye Jingsheng felt a rare moment of helplessness wash over him. It wasn’t a feeling he was used to, nor one he welcomed. His life had been one of action and control, directing the flow of events as he saw fit. But here, in the sterile, white corridors of the hospital, he was just another anxious relative waiting for a miracle.

His brother’s condition was a harsh reminder of the fragility of life, something that his lifestyle often made him forget. The doctors had done what they could, the surgery was technically a success, but the rest was out of his hands. It was an agonizing truth for a man not used to relying on fate.

Wu Yixue, noticing the strain on Jingsheng’s face, approached him once more, his own expression one of professional concern tempered with a hint of personal care. “Ye Jingsheng,” he began, his voice low, “I understand how difficult this is for you. But you must prepare yourself for all possibilities. Recovery from such a surgery can be unpredictable.”

Ye Jingsheng nodded slowly, his eyes still fixed on the distant figure of his brother. “I know,” he murmured, more to himself than to the doctor. “But he has to wake up. He’s all I have left.”

As the crowd thinned, and the doctors dispersed, leaving instructions to the nurses, Jingsheng stood alone, a solitary figure amidst the chaos of the hospital. The weight of the night’s events pressed heavily on him, and he could feel the exhaustion creeping up, threatening to pull him under.

But he shook off the weariness, straightened his back, and set his jaw. His brother would wake up. He had to. Because if Ye Ling woke up, it meant that the balance of debts between them could finally begin to be settled. It meant redemption, not just for Xiao Ling but perhaps for him as well.

He turned to leave, his step was firm, his resolve clear. No matter what it took, no matter how long he had to wait, he would be there, a steadfast guardian until the moment his brother opened his eyes. And together, perhaps they could find a new path, one less burdened by the shadows of their past.

At the dimly lit corner of the hospital corridor, the blonde woman lazily flicked her hair back, her voice dripping with subtle amusement. “Ye Jingsheng is so consumed with his love for his brother, Ye Ling is bound to become his fatal weakness. How does someone like that survive in this line of work?”

From the shadows, a man leaned against the wall, his tone casual but edged with something sharper. “Both ruthless and deeply emotional, Ye Jingsheng has always been a walking contradiction.”

“Mr. Pei,” the woman, Wei An, spoke smoothly, her gaze lingering on him. “Hong Kong’s authorities reaching out to WUP for assistance, afraid of another gang war, and you so willingly accepting the assignment. It has everything to do with Ye Jingsheng, doesn’t it?”

Pei Jun’s lips curled into a faint, chilling smirk. “Even if they hadn’t asked, I would’ve come. Hong Kong,” his voice dropped, laced with a steely determination, “is a place I must return to. I won’t fail again.”

—-

As if sensing something amiss, Fang Yang, who had been silently waiting outside the hospital, stubbed out his final cigarette and instinctively looked up into the night.

At this moment, the sleepless city of Hong Kong seemed to hold its breath, its neon lights casting long, flickering shadows over secrets that refused to stay buried.