Hong Kong film: Rise of Prison Break

"My name is Qian Wendi."

Zhang Wenjie stopped grinning, put his cold mask back on, and announced a name.

"If you're not satisfied... you can come and settle accounts with me, 'Qian Wendi,' anytime in the future."

When you're out and about, using the name "scapegoat" is perfect; let all the trouble go find that "escaped convict."

"I... I'll remember you."

Guo Zhiqiang stared intently at the devil in the driver's seat who called himself "Qian Wendi," as if trying to etch his image into the depths of his soul, even though the other man was wearing sunglasses and could not be seen clearly.

He suppressed his almost explosive anger and deep-seated hatred, turned around and staggered toward his family who were slumped on the grass.

Zhang Wenjie got out of the car nimbly, closed the door behind him, walked a few steps to the old bread truck, opened the door, and got into the passenger seat.

He rested his left hand on the open car window, raised the black document bag containing the newly signed equity transfer documents in his right hand, and waved it at Guo Zhiqiang, who was hurriedly helping his family members up.

"Mr. Guo," his voice carried clearly in the night wind, tinged with an indifferent detachment, "my boss asked me to pass on a message to you: 'If only you had known this would happen, you wouldn't have done it in the first place. You lost because you had too many attachments. He won because he had long ago...become fearless.'"

He paused, looking at Guo Zhiqiang's suddenly frozen back, and continued, "In the end, you can't afford to lose! But my boss... can afford to lose, and can afford to win."

Farewell.

He spoke the last two words very softly, yet they were like two cold files, grinding against Guo Zhiqiang's eardrums and heart.

The van let out a low growl, started up quickly, accelerated, and soon disappeared around the corner of the street, leaving only a faint trail of exhaust fumes.

Guo Zhiqiang stood frozen in place, holding his still-soothing grandson in his arms, the words "farewell" and the name "Qian Wendi" echoing in his ears.

He stared in the direction the bread truck had disappeared, his eyes filled with an extremely complex mix of emotions: the exhaustion of surviving a disaster, the immense emptiness of losing wealth and power in an instant, and an overwhelming, unforgettable, yet helpless, hatred for "Robinson Crusoe" and "Wendi Chan".

"Husband! Husband, are you alright?" came the crying voice of the daughter-in-law who had just been released from her restraints from behind.

Guo Zhiqiang turned his head stiffly, like a rusty machine.

Looking at his good-for-nothing son who only knew how to eat, drink, and have fun, and who had dragged his whole family into being kidnapped, and his weeping daughter-in-law, the anger, fear, humiliation, and frustration that had been suppressed for so long finally found an outlet and exploded!

"Useless!!! All of you are useless!!!"

He turned around abruptly, raised his hand, and with all his might, slapped his son twice across the face!

He slapped his daughter-in-law, who was lunging at him, to the ground!

The old man unleashed astonishing power, knocking both of them to the ground. They covered their faces, staring in horror at the patriarch of the family, who appeared to have gone mad.

"From today onwards! You two! Stay home obediently! Don't go anywhere! If you dare to go out and cause trouble again, I'll break your legs!!"

Guo Zhiqiang pointed at them, roaring hoarsely, his chest heaving violently.

He knew that the Guo family had been severely weakened by this battle and had to keep a low profile and stay away from the Lu Group, a place now filled with deadly turmoil.

---

On the bread truck that had already driven away.

Zhang Wenjie removed the tiny, rice-grain-sized earpiece that had been plugging into his right ear. He had listened to every single word of the "family drama" that had just unfolded in front of Guo Zhiqiang's house.

He expressionlessly pinched the expensive miniature listening device between two fingers and casually flicked it out of the car window.

The listening device traced a faint arc and disappeared into the roadside ditch.

"If there's a problem... go find Qian Wendi." He muttered to himself, a cold, amusement playing at the corners of his lips. "Heh..."

The car accelerated, merging into the still bustling main road late at night, heading towards its next destination.

The night was deep.

The chess pieces on the board are moving step by step to their designated positions according to the player's will.

The name "Qian Wendi" has become a conspicuous poisonous thorn stirring up this murky water.

In the dimly lit, bumpy back seat of the van, a small reading lamp cast a pale, eerie glow.

Zhang Wenjie lowered his head and carefully examined the equity transfer document he had just "obtained" from Guo Zhiqiang.

On the cold paper, the ink of Guo Zhiqiang's signature was still wet, conveying a sense of panic and humiliation.

His gaze fell on the name of the transferee, "Robinson," without the slightest ripple in his eyes.

He pulled out a seemingly ordinary but slightly heavy "correction pen" from the glove compartment.

Unscrew the pen cap, and the nib is not the usual white correction fluid, but a transparent special solvent.

With a steady wrist and precise movements, he lightly applied the pen tip to the three words "Robinson".

laugh……

After a slight, almost inaudible sound, the printed name "Robinson" along with any possible anti-counterfeiting marks below faded and disappeared quickly, like watermarks erased by an eraser, leaving only the original fibrous texture of the paper, clean as if no words had ever been printed.

A few seconds later, the solvent evaporated completely.

Zhang Wenjie picked up the matching black pen from the folder. The ink in the pen was perfectly matched with the solvent he had just used, ensuring that the new handwriting was firm and difficult to identify as added later.

He bent down and, in the place where "Robinson" was originally, wrote his name, Zhang Wenjie, stroke by stroke, with steady and powerful strokes.

He closed the folder with a soft "click." Without turning his head, he extended his arm behind him and said, "Liao Zhiwei."

"Boss!" Liao Zhiwei, who had been sitting silently in the shadows of the back of the car, immediately responded, leaning forward and raising his hands high as if receiving a sacred object, respectfully accepting the light yet incredibly heavy folder.

"Give it to Wu Guangde to handle. Use the old method, through layers of offshore companies, to clearly and cleanly transfer the ultimate beneficiaries of all the shares to my name. Be quick, and more importantly, be clean."

Zhang Wenjie's voice was calm, yet it carried an unquestionable final command.

"Understood, boss! Absolutely no leaks!"

Liao Zhiwei carefully placed the documents into a waterproof and shockproof metal briefcase and fastened the lock.

Then, he took out an electronic device from his pocket, about the size of a remote control, all black, with only two red buttons, and respectfully handed it to Zhang Wenjie.

"Boss, here's the remote control." Liao Zhiwei lowered his voice, a hint of smugness in his voice.

"The Crocodile King and his gang, along with several of Liu Yaozu's key henchmen who were sent to find people, have all been 'dealt with'."

"As you instructed, miniature pulse-sensing bombs were implanted under the skin of their necks. If their hearts stop beating, or they leave the signal range by more than 500 meters, or... press this button, it will 'bang'." He mouthed exaggeratedly, his facial muscles twitching. "Now, they're all 'obedient'."