Hong Kong film: Rise of Prison Break

"Fighting and killing?"

Zhang Wenjie chuckled and shook his head.

"That kind of dirty and tiring work doesn't need to be done by you, Boss Lu."

"What I need... is what you've accumulated over half your life, through ups and downs and struggles in the business world—your vision, your methods, your network of contacts, and your mastery of the game of capital operation."

Robinson was stunned: "Uh... just for this?"

He could hardly believe it.

If I were to avenge myself, would the only price be using my business acumen?

Isn't this price... far too "light"?

It was so light that it made him uneasy.

"To launder 100 dollars of dirty money, in the past few years, you would have to launder at least 35 percent."

Instead of answering directly, Zhang Wenjie brought up a seemingly unrelated topic, gesturing with his finger in the air as if calculating, "And this market will only go higher, not lower."

He stopped there, saying no more.

Some things don't need to be said too explicitly.

Money laundering, the legalization of enormous illicit profits, is a huge, dangerous, and incredibly lucrative market.

He needs a professional, experienced, and absolutely reliable "key".

Robinson remained silent.

He was a seasoned veteran and instantly understood Zhang Wenjie's subtext.

Illegal?

Does this "woman killer" even care about this?

"Illegal..." he began slowly, drawing out the words as if he were savoring the full meaning behind them.

Suddenly, a low, then somewhat manic laugh escaped his throat. "Hahahaha... Okay! I'll do it!"

The laughter abruptly ceased. He stared at Zhang Wenjie, his eyes filled with a resolute determination: "An equal exchange, very fair. As long as I can get revenge, I'm willing to give up my life, let alone this old bone that should have been buried long ago!"

"Very good." Zhang Wenjie nodded in satisfaction, his face showing little excitement, as if he had just closed a routine deal. "I'm a person who always keeps my word. I hope you are a person who keeps your word as well."

He gave Robinson no further chance to express his feelings or ask questions, and directly raised his voice towards the door, saying, "Show him out!"

The ward door was immediately pushed open, and Ma Zhixiong slipped in, still wearing that ingratiating smile on his face.

Without even glancing at Robinson, he first bowed and scraped before Zhang Wenjie, asking, "Brother Jie, is there anything else you need?"

"Take him back." Zhang Wenjie waved his hand, leaned back on the pillow, closed his eyes, and gestured as if to see the guest off.

As Robinson watched Ma Zhixiong's almost humble posture in front of Zhang Wenjie, the last trace of unease and doubt in his heart slowly subsided.

The fact that a correctional officer could be so obedient says a lot.

"Brother Jie..." Robinson opened his mouth, but swallowed the words that were about to come out, and only whispered, "I hope... it won't be too long."

He couldn't wait, his hatred couldn't wait, and his increasingly frail body couldn't wait either.

no respond.

Zhang Wenjie seemed to have fallen asleep.

Robinson took a deep breath, and the resolute, shrewd, and hateful expression on his face instantly faded away like a tide.

He bent over again, his back hunched, his face regaining its ashen look of being plagued by illness, numb and resigned to his fate, and a series of broken, suppressed coughs came from his throat.

He reverted to being that inconspicuous old prisoner with one foot in the grave.

"Let's go, old man." Ma Zhixiong then turned his attention to Robinson, his tone casual and a little impatient, but there was something else in his eyes.

He adjusted the brim of his police cap, straightened his chest, and unconsciously adopted a tone of concern befitting one of his own: "Since Brother Jie values ​​you, then you're one of us. From now on, if anyone bullies you in the cell, just mention my name, Ma Zhixiong, or come directly to me!"

All he wanted to do now was throw the old man back into prison as soon as possible, and then... collect the hefty prize money he'd won tonight.

Thinking of the money he was about to receive, his steps became lighter.

The ward door closed again, and the footsteps faded into the distance.

Zhang Wenjie opened his eyes and casually tossed the burnt-out cigarette butt onto the floor beside the bed.

He lay on the slightly hard, gray hospital bed, which smelled faintly of disinfectant and mildew, with his hands crossed behind his head.

The incandescent light bulbs on the ward ceiling emitted a buzzing electrical sound, and the light was cold.

Countless images and fragments flashed through his mind: cramped and filthy cells, vicious prisoners, cunning guards, gambling tables, blood, and faces and names that only existed in memories or legends...

"Prison Break... The Thirty-Six Stratagems... Robinson Crusoe... The Killer King..."

His lips moved slightly, silently uttering a few words, as if he were piecing together a complex jigsaw puzzle.

A short mule can only survive on the streets by sheer ruthlessness and luck; he'll never amount to anything.

When you're young and strong, you can rely on your blood and sweat to earn a living, but that's about it.

To truly climb the ranks in a gang, you either need to lie low under a senior member with some connections but mediocre abilities, waiting to be discovered and promoted; or you need a special stroke of luck.

Like he did before?

Neither high nor low, either you end up as a scapegoat and go to jail, or you lose an arm or a leg in some pointless fight.

In the world of martial arts, those who lack sufficient value are merely cannon fodder who can be used at any time.

Brotherhood? Or gold?

Anyone with a brain knows how to choose.

brother?

That's for betraying someone at a crucial moment, or for using as a stepping stone!

Going to jail and having a criminal record?

Zhang Wenjie didn't care at all.

This is Hong Kong, a capitalist paradise.

As long as you have enough money, who cares about your past?

When wealth accumulates to a certain level, people will naturally rush to lick your boots.

What he lacks now is not ruthlessness, nor courage, but... talent. Professional talent.

Robinson's appearance was like an unexpected find, perfectly filling the most crucial yet most vulnerable cornerstone of his future business empire.

Professional tasks should be left to professionals.

Robinson Crusoe, a shrewd and experienced man, was the best at weighing the pros and cons.

Faced with the irresistible prospect of "revenge," he would certainly risk everything and fight to the death.

Because in the field of "making people pay the price," Zhang Wenjie himself is the most professional expert.

"Clang..."

A crisp, echoing sound of a door opening interrupted Zhang Wenjie's thoughts.

He glanced at it out of the corner of his eye.

Chung Chu-hsiung pushed the door open and walked in, then closed it behind him.

Completely different from the imposing and ruthless "assassin hero" image he had just displayed in the cell, he now had a flushed face, a wide grin on his lips, and a smile that was a mixture of excitement, smugness, and a touch of lewdness as he rubbed his hands together and strode toward the hospital bed.