Chapter 692: Unease
Los Angeles, San Manuel Casino VIP Room.
After pushing his last chip into the pot, Zhao Weixiang’s fingers trembled uncontrollably.
The dealer revealed the river card—a straight flush. The stack of chips before him shrank once more.
The white-haired old man across from him slowly raked in his winnings. He was a regular at the casino and the owner of a local real estate firm.
“Mr. Zhao, your luck seems a bit off tonight?”
“The wheel of fortune turns,” Zhao Weixiang replied, seemingly unfazed, and downed his drink in one gulp.
The whiskey burned his throat but did nothing to suppress the inexplicable unease in his heart.
This nameless anxiety and restlessness had been plaguing him for days.
A few days ago, he’d heard rumors from San Francisco’s underworld.
Ordinary gang warfare wouldn’t have fazed him—such things were common in the States.
What truly troubled him was the woman known as Black Phoenix.
“Black Phoenix, Hell’s Titan, the Black and White Fiends… why does it all sound so familiar?” Zhao Weixiang muttered, pouring himself another drink.
“What was that?” the old man asked.
“Nothing.”
Zhao Weixiang stood to take his leave. “I believe I’m done for the night.”
After leaving the private room, several burly bodyguards immediately fell into step, forming a protective circle around him as they rode the elevator directly to the underground garage.
Soon, he arrived at a discreet villa in downtown Los Angeles, flanked by his security detail.
The moment he got home, his phone rang.
“Talk.”
“We have confirmation from San Francisco. Jess of the Corallo Family has taken full control. Rossi’s been captured. That Eastern woman known as Black Phoenix is Liu Yutong, twenty years old, from China.”
“I knew it!” Zhao Weixiang’s pupils contracted.
“I hear she maneuvers effortlessly through both legitimate and underworld channels back in China. On paper, she’s a lawful entrepreneur, but her power is immense, and her people are increasingly capable and ruthless. In San Francisco, she crushed Rossi and the Hell’s Angels almost effortlessly.”
“What’s her connection to Bai Jingchen?”
“The day Bai Jingchen was attacked, Liu Yutong happened to be in San Francisco. After the incident, she’s been investigating alongside the police, it seems. I believe it’s only a matter of time before she traces it back to us.”
Zhao Weixiang erupted: “Useless! Couldn’t you clean up after yourselves?”
For the first time, he regretted orchestrating the attack on Bai Jingchen. Not out of fear of Bai himself, but because he’d never imagined drawing this calamity across the ocean!
No one understood better than he how difficult and terrifying Liu Yutong could be.
She was absolutely the most uncanny person he’d ever encountered—and “uncanny” went far beyond her appearance.
Dealing with her always left him feeling utterly transparent, as if every scheme fell precisely within her predictions.
Then there was Wanlong Society. They wore the veneer of legitimate enterprise, followed the rules, even championed public causes. But cross them, and you’d discover the terrifying violence concealed beneath those black suits.
He wanted no part of confronting this woman unless absolutely necessary.
But it was far too late for that.
The voice on the other end grew agitated.
“How? This has blown up. Police, embassy, media—they’re all watching. I’m trying to sever ties and clean up the loose ends.”
Zhao Weixiang suppressed his fury.
“What’s Bai Jingchen’s condition?”
“Not dead yet, but close. He’s had two surgeries. The odds of waking up are reportedly less than thirty percent.”
“Isn’t that exactly what you wanted? With the Bai family in chaos, the biggest obstacle to our West Coast transport routes is removed.”
Zhao Weixiang fell silent.
Under normal circumstances, this would have been the ideal outcome.
The money he’d embezzled from China was never enough to sustain his lifestyle in the States.
Casinos, mansions, bodyguards, women—each was a black hole devouring his funds. He needed steady income, and the Snakehead Gang’s smuggling networks, underground labor markets, even organ trade—all were obscenely profitable.
It had taken years to become a partner in the Snakehead Gang. Of course, he never showed his face publicly, remaining hidden behind the scenes, providing strategy, money laundering channels, and planning the elimination of troublesome targets.
Bai Jingchen was one such target.
The plan had been flawless.
They fed him false information, luring Bai Jingchen to a derelict warehouse in the docks. The hitmen were unknowns, using untraceable black-market firearms. Even the fall guy was ready.
Once the dust settled, he might even infiltrate the Bai Group. Though the intermediary who’d contacted the Snakehead Gang had used layers of proxies and false identities, Zhao Weixiang excelled at unmasking the puppet masters through his network of money and connections.
Zhao Weixiang had shared this lead with no one.
It was too valuable. He’d dreamed of using it as leverage when the time was right to launder his identity completely and escape his wanted status.
Such a flawless, promising plan.
Now it lay in ruins!
Because Liu Yutong had arrived.
She was undoubtedly here for him! Given her capabilities and methods, tracing the Bai Jingchen attack back to Zhao Weixiang was only a matter of time!
“Boss Zhao, the boss is extremely displeased with how this is unfolding. He wanted me to remind you that if this goes south, you bear full responsibility and consequences! Additionally, the boss says we’re low on inventory. The next delivery deadline is tight—you must find a way to replenish the shipment on schedule. If the goods aren’t delivered promptly… you know the consequences.”
The threat was unmistakable.
Zhao Weixiang knew what “inventory” meant—a batch of healthy young ones, especially Easterners, which fetched premium prices.
“Rest assured, I’ll deliver on time. But afterward, I’m leaving Los Angeles for a while.”
“Understood. The boss has arranged accommodations and a new identity for you in Miami. You can return once things cool down.”
The call disconnected.
Zhao Weixiang set down his phone, only then noticing his palms were slick with sweat.
The sense of unease intensified.
He walked to the liquor cabinet and poured another whiskey. The amber liquid swirled in the glass, reflecting his distorted face.
Liu Yutong!
And Wanlong Society!
Like ghosts that refuse to rest!
Fine then…
This isn’t gun-restricted China!
If you’re bold enough to follow me here, then prepare to be buried on this free land forever!