Quickly conquer the martial arts world, and let your fists dominate the heavens!

With a twist and a push, Chen Zhan caused the bearded man to lose his balance and be thrown against the wall behind him. The back of his head slammed against the wall, brick dust fell down, and he slid down the wall to the ground.

The two police officers behind him reacted very quickly. One threw away his handcuffs and reached for his gun, while the other swung his chain at Chen Zhan's head.

The iron chains rattled and clattered in the air, accompanied by a strong gust of wind.

Chen Zhan dodged to the side, the iron chain grazing his sleeve and hitting the wall, kicking up a cloud of dust.

He grabbed the chain with his backhand and pulled it forward, causing the policeman swinging the chain to stumble forward, his forehead pointing directly at Chen Zhan's elbow.

"Bang."

After a muffled thud, the man fell backward, his head hitting the ground, his limbs outstretched, and he didn't move again.

The police officer had already gripped his gun but hadn't even had time to pull it out when Chen Zhan was already in front of him, his fingers spread wide, pressing against his face.

His palm covered his eyes, nose, and mouth.

Subtle force was injected.

The bones in the man's face made a series of fine cracking sounds, and his body suddenly arched up and then went limp.

Three people lay huddled together at the corner of the corridor.

Chen Zhan walked around them and continued forward.

Like a ghost.

After walking down a deserted corridor, the air became colder and more humid.

The first iron gate appeared ahead.

The iron gate wasn't very thick, but it was covered with rivets and secured with a large brass lock. This gate separated the office area from the prison area.

Chen Zhan raised his right hand, placed his palm on the center of the iron gate, and slightly hooked his five fingers into the gaps in the iron sheet.

The force is channeled to the palm.

"Creak—"

The iron gate was pushed in half a foot, several rivets on the door frame flew off and bounced to the ground with a clanging sound, and the brass lock was pulled off the door panel, with half of the iron hanging on the ground.

He squeezed in sideways.

Behind the iron gate was another corridor, narrower and darker than the one before. There were only two oil lamps hanging on the wall, their wicks burned very short, and the flames were small, barely illuminating the path beneath their feet.

Chen Zhan's footsteps echoed on the stone floor, the sound reverberating through the narrow corridor.

"Da—Da—Da—"

The rhythm is even.

The oil lamp on the wall swayed violently as he passed by, the flame flickering left and right, its light and shadow dancing erratically on the wall, the vibrations of his footsteps causing it to be pulled along.

A second iron gate appeared, thicker than the first, with a horizontal iron bolt added to it.

This time, Chen Zhan used both hands, one hand gripping the iron bolt and the other pressing against the door panel.

The iron bolt slowly bent and deformed in his palm, eventually being twisted into a twisted lump of iron.

He tossed the lump of iron aside, and the iron gate, having lost its resistance, crashed open with a "bang," slammed against the wall, bounced back, and he caught it again.

At the end of the corridor, the third iron gate.

This door is the thinnest, merely a symbolic partition; it has no latches, only a simple bolt.

Chen Zhan extended a finger and flicked it lightly.

"bite."

The latch snapped open, and the iron gate slid silently inward.

We've arrived at the prison area.

Two rows of cells, four on each side, with iron bars on the doors. The floor was wet and reeked of a mixture of mold and urine.

The two cells closest to the prison are filled with people, huddled in a corner, mostly suspects arrested in recent days.

Hearing the iron gate open, someone looked up and peered through the iron bars into the corridor. They saw a man slowly walk in. The man was initially bewildered, then showed fear and shrank back into a corner.

Chen Zhan didn't look at them; his gaze swept across the two rows of cells, identifying each one.

In the first room, there were two middle-aged men in tattered clothes whom I didn't recognize.

In the second room, a gaunt old man was curled up in a ball; I didn't recognize him.

The third room was empty.

The fourth room was empty.

In the first room on the right, a young woman was sitting in the corner with her knees drawn up to her chest; I didn't recognize her.

The second room on the right.

A person huddled in the innermost corner, holding their head in their hands, curled up like a frightened hedgehog, their shoulders trembling incessantly.

Chen Zhan stopped in front of the iron bars of the cell.

He didn't speak or knock; he just stood there.

The person in the cell seemed to sense something, and their trembling shoulders stopped for a moment.

Slowly, very slowly, he raised his head.

First the forehead, then the eyebrows, and then a pair of bloodshot eyes.

Wang Shun saw a stranger's face.

High cheekbones, a pointed chin, and an old scar on his left cheek have nothing to do with Chen Zhan's appearance.

He shouldn't have recognized that face.

But his body reacted before his brain did, as if all the blood in his body had been drained in an instant.

He saw those eyes.

Disguise can alter bone structure and skin, but it cannot change the look in one's eyes.

He had seen those eyes in the alley, in the rain at night, and in the moment when Luo Ze's head was smashed.

Wang Shun's mouth gaped open, and a gasp escaped his throat, "You...you..."

Chen Zhan gripped the horizontal bar of the iron gate with one hand, his fingers curled up.

The crossbar creaked, bent, and deformed in his palm. The iron gate detached itself from the frame, and he picked it up and gently placed it aside.

He went into the prison cell.

Wang Shun's eyes followed his movements, his lips trembling as he opened and closed them. He didn't even have the strength to shrink back into the corner. He just sat there stiffly, staring wide-eyed as the figure walked towards him step by step.

Chen Zhan squatted down in front of him.

The two were less than a foot apart, their breaths hitting each other's faces.

He looked at Wang Shun.

Wang Shun looked at him.

Some of the prisoners outside the cell were peering over the iron bars.

The entire cell block was so quiet that only two sounds could be heard.

One was Wang Shun's rapid, almost broken breathing; the other was water droplets seeping down from somewhere above his head, "tap, tap, tap," tapping on the stone slab.

"Why choose this option when you could have avoided death by saying nothing? Why?"

Chen Zhan was puzzled and confused.

Wang Shun had no reason to confess voluntarily; doing so would only bring harm, not benefit.

Neither Charles nor Jason would show any mercy to a betrayer; the betrayer would only face harsher punishment.

They might not even survive.

He thought about it for a long time, and in the end he could only blame it on...
stupid.

He doesn't believe in himself.

He felt that by confessing and being arrested, he could gain wealth and status, and even become a mid-to-upper-level officer in the police force.

Chen Zhan extended his hand.

I placed my hand on the top of his head, palm covering the crown of his head, with my fingertips applying slight pressure.

Wang Shun's eyes rolled upwards suddenly, his mouth opened to its limit, and his body convulsed violently.

Then there is no more.

Clean and swift. Wang Shun's body lurched forward, landing face down on the wet stone slab with a dull thud.

There was no struggle, no convulsions.

Chen Zhan stood up, glanced down at the corpse on the ground, and turned to walk out of the cell.

In the other cells, some prisoners buried their faces in their knees and trembled, while others clenched their fists tightly, afraid to make a sound. Behind the iron bars, all was silent.

Chen Zhan passed through three iron gates and returned to the corridor.

Their pace remained unchanged, neither quickening nor slowing down, just the same rhythm they had taken when they arrived.

The steady, even "tap," "tap," "tap" sounds were completely out of place amidst the chaos of everyone else in the building.

At the corner of the corridor, the three police officers he had previously taken down were still piled up there, and he walked around them.

As I passed an office, I heard hurried footsteps and shouts coming from inside.

A body was discovered in the corridor.

"Someone has broken in!"

"Alarm! Sound the alarm!"

Shouts rose and fell, and the entire first floor suddenly erupted into chaos.

Chen Zhan didn't stop or run; he maintained the same pace, walking through the corridor back to the lobby on the first floor.

The dozen or so people who were originally in the hall were now in complete chaos. Some were drawing their guns, some were running outside, and some were shouting for reinforcements.

A foreign police officer carrying a rifle saw Chen Zhan walk out of the corridor and raised his gun to shoot.

Before he could even aim, Chen Zhan had already taken two steps forward, stood in front of him, grabbed the barrel, and twisted it to the side, causing the gun to flip and explode.

The policeman was stunned for less than half a second before Chen Zhan's hand was already on his chest.

"Bang."

The person flew out, crashing into the long table behind them, sending papers flying everywhere.

Two more police officers rushed in from the side, one wielding a baton and the other a ruler.

Chen Zhan slightly turned his body to dodge the sweeping baton, grabbed the wrist of the man wielding the iron ruler, and twisted his wrist with a crisp cracking sound. The iron ruler fell to the ground, and he threw the man away, sending him crashing into his companion who was swinging the baton. The two of them rolled away together.

A gunshot rang out from the corner of the hall—"Bang!"
The bullet struck the floor a foot away from Chen Zhan, sending up a shower of broken bricks.

The shooter was a foreigner hiding behind the counter, holding a revolver. His hand was trembling, and his aim was terrible.

Chen Zhan's gaze swept over, and the foreigner's eyes met his. The gun in his hand fell to the counter with a "clatter," and he turned and ran towards the back door.

Chen Zhan did not chase after him, but walked straight towards the main gate.

There were still a few people in the hall. Some were lying on the ground, unable to get up. Some were knocked unconscious by the people who had been thrown out earlier. Some had crawled under the table.

No one dared to stop him anymore.

Chen Zhan walked across the red carpet, traversing the entire hall, without anyone else standing beside him.

As I stepped out of the main gate, I could already hear urgent whistles and footsteps coming from the street in the distance; reinforcements were rushing over.

He stood on the steps and paused for two seconds.

A night breeze blew from the river, carrying damp moisture, causing the hem of his brocade robe to flutter slightly.

Below the steps, the two guards he had previously knocked down remained in their original positions, one leaning against a doorpost, the other lying face up, their guns still upright beside them, not fallen.

He stepped down the stairs, turned into the alley on the left, and disappeared into the darkness.

The Gordon Hall behind us was brightly lit, with its two oak doors wide open.

Looking inside from the outside, the lights in the hall were on, the oil paintings on the walls were hanging properly, and the curtains were hanging down neatly.

Everything is normal.

But no one was standing there anymore.

Three-quarters of an hour later, Deputy Chief Constable Jason arrived at Gordon Hall, panting, with more than twenty fully armed constables.

As he rushed into the hall, he stepped on something. Looking down, he saw a document listing people and events related to Chen Zhan, the Flying Thief.

The document was soaked in blood.

He raised his head.

A dozen or so people were lying haphazardly in the hall, with tables and chairs overturned and documents scattered everywhere.

He strode across the hall and rushed into the corridor.

There were three corpses piled together at the corner of the corridor, with chains and handcuffs scattered all over the floor.

He pushed open the doors of each office.

There were people lying on the floor in every room.

He walked all the way in, past the three iron gates that had been smashed open, and into the prison area.

They saw Wang Shun's body lying on the ground.

Jason stood at the cell door, looking at the empty iron bars of the door. The door had been completely removed and was placed neatly against the wall next to it.

He slowly turned around and looked at the police officers who had followed him.

Everyone's face was white.

Jason walked through the entire Gordon Hall.

He opened the door to every room, from the lobby to the corridor, from the offices to the cells.

Forty-three bodies were found, and not a single patrol officer survived.

All the prisoners in the cell were alive, with a few remaining huddled in a corner, too afraid to even move their eyes.

"He massacred the entire police station?"

Jason stood in the center of the lobby on the first floor, while the police officer behind him quietly announced the final number.

"Move the body to the backyard and cover it with a sheet."

After saying that, he turned and walked towards the door.

Charles died, and the position of Chief Constable became vacant. He thought that as long as he captured and killed Chen Zhan, he would have made a great achievement and the position of Chief Constable would be within his grasp.

The afternoon's operation was massive, involving the Canal Gang, two major martial arts schools, and constables from the government. Hundreds of people surrounded one man, and he thought he had it in the bag.

They killed a lot of people, but didn't catch any big fish; they all got away.

Even worse, Chen Zhan not only escaped being surrounded, but instead stormed into the police station, turning the British Empire's law enforcement center in Tianjin into a mere shell.

He could guess how the higher-ups would handle it.
The chief constable died, and the deputy chief constable's situation was even worse after he took over. He couldn't bear the blame, nor could he deny it.

We can't just wait here.

Jason strode out of Gordon Hall and gave three orders to the police behind him: seal off the building, clean up the bloodstains, and prevent the news from leaking out.

But it can't be kept secret for long; at daybreak, the whole of Tianjin will know.

But he still has at least a few hours left.

Levi, a director of Swire Group, had previously mentioned that he had invited a master from Beijing through Prince Yi's mansion. The master had just arrived in Tianjin during the day and should be at the Municipal Council in the French Concession at the moment.

The Municipal Council was where high-ranking political and business figures in the concession held meetings; currently, everyone with authority was there.

He had to go, partly to report the situation and partly to request help.

The police station's own personnel are no longer sufficient.

Jason picked up a dozen or so fully armed police officers and hurried away from Gordon Hall.

The group walked through the streets of the concession area towards the French Concession.

It was late at night, and there were almost no pedestrians on the street. Patrolling police officers occasionally passed by, nodding in greeting from afar.

The footsteps of a dozen or so people echoed on the wet stone slabs, their sounds bouncing back and forth in the empty street.

Jason walked in the middle of the group, organizing his thoughts as he went.

After walking through a section of road without lights, a police officer behind me glanced back. The street was dark and there was nothing there. He then turned around and continued walking.

Jason felt a chill on the back of his neck. He twisted his neck and pulled his collar tighter.

As the group turned the last corner, the Municipal Council building came into view.

The French Concession Municipal Council, officially known as the "French Concession Municipal Council," was located in the heart of the French Concession, adjacent to the intersection of Rue Saint-Louis and Rue de France. (End of Chapter)