Proving God begins with the principle that no effort is wasted.

Li Hu led two of his men into a secluded alley.

The alley was so narrow that only two people could walk side by side. High walls lined both sides, their plaster peeling away to reveal the underlying blue bricks. A few tattered clothes hung overhead, their shadows swaying on the ground in the wind.

One of them lowered his voice and asked, "Brother Tiger, is that kid surnamed Jiang really involved in this?"

Li Hu didn't answer immediately; he pressed his hand to his chest—the sheepskin in his arms was digging painfully into him.

It was given to him by the Black Tiger Gang leader before he died, with only one sentence: "Don't let this fall into other people's hands." He didn't know what was drawn on it, but he knew that something the gang leader was willing to risk his life to give away couldn't be just a piece of waste paper.

"It's not clear yet." Li Hu's face was gloomy. "But the people in Reed Bay said that he used to be very close to the Canal Gang."

Another person chimed in: "Brother Tiger, so let's—"

The conversation abruptly stopped because there was another person at the alleyway ahead.

A young figure stood in the moonlight, tall and slender, with a calm expression. He wore a gray cloth outfit, with no knife at his waist and no weapon in his hand; he simply stood there, as if waiting for someone.

Li Hu abruptly stopped. A chill ran down his neck—it was the instinct honed from years of bloodshed; his body sensed danger before his mind.

"Jiang Lan?" He recognized the person who came.

Jiang Lan did not answer.

Li Hu placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. His short sword was made of fine iron, had been with him for five years, and had beheaded three people. His right arm was thicker than his left, a result of years of sword practice. He was a master of five acupoints, not considered weak among swordsmen.

But he wasn't sure.

"What are you going to do?" Li Hu stared at Jiang Lan, his voice low. "We have no grudge against each other—"

"You've inquired about me," Jiang Lan said, her voice low. "You went to Reed Bay, asked about the Black Tiger Gang, and even took over the fish farm."

Li Hu's pupils contracted slightly.

"Send someone to investigate me." Jiang Lan took a step forward.

Li Hu gripped the knife hilt tightly, his knuckles turning white.

"I just—"

Jiang Lan took another step. It wasn't a big step, but Li Hu felt his heart skip a beat.

It wasn't kung fu, it was the aura—every step this person took forward was like a pronouncement of judgment.

"Attack!" Li Hu shouted, drawing his short sword with a flash of light as it hurtled straight for Jiang Lan's throat.

Two henchmen also rushed out at the same time, one drawing a dagger and stabbing Jiang Lan in the lower back, the other picking up a wooden stick from the ground and smashing it on Jiang Lan's head.

Three-sided attack!

When the blade was still half a foot away from his throat, he raised his hand and pinched the blade between two fingers.

Li Hu's pupils contracted sharply. He tried to pull his knife out, but the blade didn't budge. Jiang Lan's fingers were like iron clamps, her bones harder than his knife.

"you--"

With a flick of her wrist, Jiang Lan freed the dagger from Li Hu's hand, where it tumbled twice in the air before landing back in Jiang Lan's grasp. The entire process took less than a breath.

At the same time, the dagger behind him had already stabbed into his side. Jiang Lan didn't turn around, but flicked his left hand back as if shooing away a fly. But his arm tensed up the instant it was thrown out, the force traveling from his shoulder to his elbow, from his elbow to his wrist, and from his wrist to his fingertips.

*Snap!* A crisp sound.

The dagger flew out, struck the wall, and clattered to the ground. The man's wrist was bent at an impossible angle, the bone protruding from his flesh, stark white. Before he could even cry out in pain, Jiang Lan's right elbow had already slammed into his chest. The sound of cracking bone was muffled, like stepping on a bundle of dry firewood.

The man flew eight feet, crashing into the wall, causing plaster to crumble and fall. He spat out a mouthful of blood, collapsed to the ground, and remained motionless.

The man with the stick froze, the stick hovering in mid-air, unable to fall.

Jiang Lan glanced at him. Just one glance, and the man's legs went weak. He wanted to run, but his legs wouldn't obey him.

Jiang Lan didn't give him a chance to react.

The left fist struck, landing squarely on the man's chest. The force penetrated deep, shattering more than one rib. The man staggered back five steps, lost his footing, and fell backward, hitting the back of his head on the stone slab, losing consciousness.

Three breaths later, two of the three people collapsed.

Li Hu's knife was in Jiang Lan's hand. He was unarmed, and his left arm was still broken—in those two attacks, he hadn't even touched the hem of Jiang Lan's clothes, and he had already ruined one of his arms.

Li Hu gritted his teeth. He knew he couldn't escape, but his right hand was still there. His right fist could still generate power.

He lunged forward, his right fist twisting out from his side and smashing towards Jiang Lan's face. He used all his strength in this punch, and the wind from the punch brought out a short whistling sound.

Jiang Lan didn't dodge; he didn't even raise his hand.

The fist was still three inches away from his face.

Li Hu felt his fist being blocked by something—not Jiang Lan's hand, but Jiang Lan's shoulder. Jiang Lan slightly turned her body, catching the punch with her left shoulder, while her right palm slashed out from below, striking Li Hu's elbow joint.

"Click."

Joint dislocation.

Li Hu's right arm hung limply, like a tree branch that had been broken in half.

He was in so much pain that the veins on his forehead bulged, but he couldn't scream—Jiang Lan's final palm had already landed on his chest.

This slap was light and airy, like brushing off dust.

But the force penetrated through.

Li Hu felt as if something had clenched his heart tightly. The whole world swayed before his eyes, then went dark. Blood seeped from the corners of his mouth, nostrils, and ears, unstoppable.

His legs went weak, and his body slowly slid down the wall. He scraped off a piece of plaster, and the debris landed on his shoulder.

"That sheepskin..." Li Hu's voice was no longer audible; his lips were moving, but no sound came out.

Jiang Lan squatted down, reached into his arms, and pulled out the rolled-up sheepskin. It was folded, wrapped in an oilcloth, and felt slightly heavy. He tucked it into his own arms and stood up.

The alleyway was quiet.

Moonlight shone on the three corpses: white walls, black shadows, and red blood.

Jiang Lan kicked Li Hu's short knife into the corner, then bent down and retrieved the two bags of loose silver and the wooden plaque engraved with the Black Tiger Gang's name from the corpse, tucking them into her sleeve.

He then channeled his inner strength and delivered a series of powerful punches to the corpse's joints, bones, and vital points, disfiguring it beyond recognition.

After doing all this, he warily scanned his surroundings.

With a swift movement, the figure disappeared silently into the shadows of the alleyway.

……