Gangster heir? Please call me a legitimate entrepreneur.

The salty, alkaline winds at the shipyard chilled you to the bone.

Several rickety electrical wires hung precariously from the rusty tin roof eaves.

A dilapidated gold-plated van, its paint chipped and worn, screeched to a halt in the open space in front of the factory, its surface covered with pebbles.

A plume of black smoke billowed from the exhaust pipe, choking several stray dogs nearby, who tucked their tails between their legs and ran away.

The passenger-side window was rolled down halfway.

Gao Qiang was wearing an oversized gray suit and a yellow safety helmet from Sihai Construction.

He was covered in sweat, clutching a crumpled flight information sheet in his hand.

He yelled at the top of his lungs towards the back seat.

"Director K! Director K, wake up! We've arrived!"

In the back seat, a foreigner with messy hair and a stubble beard suddenly woke up.

Old K was wearing a yellowed, tattered jacket and smelled of stale, leftover whiskey.

He went bankrupt in Hollywood after offending capitalists and spent two years sleeping in a basement.

He suddenly received a mysterious phone call from China, saying they wanted to sign him to film a "gangster epic" for a rock-bottom price.

Old K thought he had finally made it big and was going to make an Eastern version of "The Godfather".

He rubbed his bloodshot blue eyes and leaned out from the front seat.

"Oh my God. Is this the hideout of China's most secretive underground organization?"

Looking at the dilapidated industrial ruins around him, Old K's eyes gleamed with the fervor of artistic creation.

"Fantastic! The dilapidated metallic texture, the desolate atmosphere—it's the perfect location for filming a gang shootout!"

He pushed open the car door and stumbled out.

Open your arms wide as if to hug.

"Let the storm rage on! Let the blood and bullets fly!"

"Clang!"

The heavy iron gate of the factory was kicked open from the inside.

Old K was so startled that he shrank back and almost strained his back.

A series of synchronized footsteps echoed from the factory like muffled thunder.

More than a hundred security guards, dressed in black stab-proof vests, ran out in two columns.

The movements were clean and swift; the leather shoes struck the gravel ground, raising a cloud of dust.

They weren't carrying machetes or guns.

They were fully equipped with transparent polymer riot shields and black restraint forks with electric arcs attached to their waists.

Standing in the sunlight, it resembles an insurmountable black steel wall.

Old K was stunned.

His vision of Chinese gangsters was that they would be thugs wearing floral shirts, shirtless, and wielding watermelon knives, slashing wildly in the streets.

But these people in front of me.

These are clearly fully armed special riot police!

"My God... are all Chinese gangsters this focused on self-defense?"

Old K swallowed hard and hid behind Gao Qiang.

At the very front of the group, Lei Hu strode out.

He wasn't wearing a suit; he was shirtless, with a white towel draped around his neck.

His head was covered in white sweat, and the centipede-like scar on his face looked particularly ferocious in the sunlight.

He was also holding a large megaphone in his hand.

"Security Department, listen up! Stand at attention!"

"Whoosh!" One hundred shields slammed into the ground simultaneously.

Lei Hu nodded in satisfaction and turned to look at the enormous figure standing at the end of the line.

Black Panther.

The former king of underground boxing.

He was now wearing a white, tight-fitting shirt that was two sizes too small.

The muscles weighing over 200 pounds were tightly constricted into the fabric, and the buttons on the chest were so taut they were about to burst out.

He also had a cheap, bright red tie around his neck, which made it difficult for him to breathe.

Below him were tight black trousers and a pair of gleaming leather shoes.

"New security captain! Come out and set an example for the foreign director!"

Lei Hu honked the horn and roared, making Old K cover his ears.

Black Panther shuddered, his legs instinctively twitching.

The three recitations of the "Public Security Administration Punishment Law" last night, along with the electric shock to his lower back, had completely shattered his underworld dignity.

He took a deep breath and stepped out of the ranks with stiff, stiff steps.

Its enormous body resembled a mountain of flesh, exuding an overwhelming sense of oppression.

Old K's legs went weak when he saw this burly man with a face full of scars and chest muscles big enough to trap flies.

This is definitely a top-tier assassin in the mafia!

He's the kind of person who has at least a dozen lives on his hands!

Black Panther walked up to Old K and stopped.

The muscles in his chest heaved violently due to tension.

His mind was replaying the service etiquette taught by Lei Hu.

Stand up straight.

His hands were pressed tightly against the seams of his pants, like wooden stakes.

then.

He took a deep breath and bent over abruptly.

Bow at a 90-degree angle.

"Hello! Welcome Director K from Sihai Film & Television Media! We wish you a pleasant work experience!"

The hoarse voice made Old K's ears ring.

After bowing, Black Panther straightened up.

He forced a standard smile, revealing eight teeth, through his chapped lips.

The flesh on his face was squeezed together, and the scar writhed like a living worm.

His smile was uglier than a pig being slaughtered.

It even carried a hint of flattery.

Old K's mind went blank.

He felt that his artistic worldview had collapsed.

A ruthless gangster, dressed in a tight white shirt, bowed and smiled at him like a doorman at a five-star hotel.

What kind of gangster epic is this? This is fucking magical realism!

"Tiger, Brother Tiger... is my smile acceptable?"

Black Panther maintained that eerie smile, his eyes twitching, and whispered to Lei Hu, who was holding a megaphone beside him.

Lei Hu touched his bald head and leaned closer.

"It's alright, just a bit stiff. I'll practice in front of the mirror for half an hour when I get back. Also, make sure your top button is fastened properly, your chest hair is showing."

Black Panther quickly pulled his tie up, tightening it so much that his eyes rolled back in his head.

"Okay, Tiger, I got it."

Gao Qiang watched this scene from the side and wiped the sweat from his face.

As an undercover police officer, he's used to seeing things like this.

Even he himself was bribed with two million and a BMW. What's so strange about a washed-up underground boxer being forced to work as a security guard?

He tugged at Old K's tattered jacket sleeve.

"Director K, stop looking and come inside. Our chairman is waiting for you in a meeting."

Old K was pulled into the abandoned factory by Gao Qiang like a puppet on a string.

The searchlights in the underground arena were still on.

Su Ye sat in a folding chair behind the monitor.

Holding a chipped thermos, he was looking down at the financial statements that Chen Suan handed him.

His coat was draped over the back of the chair, and his gold-rimmed glasses reflected a cold light.

"Boss, the director has arrived," Chen Suan reported weakly, clutching his stomach.

Su Ye raised his head and his gaze fell on Old K.

He glanced at it for two seconds, then frowned slightly.

"He stinks. Zhang Tiezhu, take him to take a shower and change into a clean suit. We are a reputable company, and we value appearance."

Zhang Tiezhu, who was standing in the corner, immediately stood at attention and saluted.

"Yes, boss!"

He strode over, grabbed Old K's arm, and dragged him like a dead dog toward the makeshift shower room next door.

Ten minutes later.

Old K, who had washed himself clean and changed into an old black suit, was pressed down into the leather chair opposite Su Ye.

He nervously rubbed his hands together, his blue eyes revealing unease.

"Mr. Su... I heard from General Manager Gao that you want to make a shocking gangster epic? I've already come up with the storyboard..."

Old K excitedly pulled a stack of crumpled draft paper from his pocket.

"The male lead must be a ruthless killer. The opening scene is a gunfight on a rainy night..."

"Director K, excuse me for interrupting."

Su Ye put down the thermos, the bottom of which made a soft sound as it tapped on the table.

He pushed up his glasses and looked calmly at Old K.

"What I want to film is not gunfights or assassins."

He picked up a beautifully bound A4 document from the table and threw it in front of Old K.

"This is the script."

Old K paused for a moment, then quickly picked up the document.

His hand trembled slightly when he saw the title above.

The coordinated plan includes the documentary "Four Seas Fresh Produce Goes to the Countryside to Help Farmers Harvest Leeks" and the promotional video for "Four Seas Travel Ride-Hailing Etiquette".

"What...what is this? Agricultural assistance? Ride-hailing service?"

Old K stared wide-eyed, his face filled with disbelief.

"I'm a Hollywood action movie director! You want me to film a farmer harvesting leeks?!"

Su Ye ignored his surprise.

"This industry has fast capital turnover and can also serve as a public relations moat for the group."

He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed.

"I want you to use the camerawork from 'Fast & Furious' to film our Sihai Express refrigerated trucks delivering pork."

"Use the lighting and soundtrack from 'The Godfather' to film Black Panther opening the car door for the old lady and carrying her grocery basket."

"The scene needs to be grand, and the emotions need to be high. I want all the citizens of Longhai City to see how the employees of Sihai Group use legitimate physical power to serve the people."

Old K felt his brain wasn't working properly.

"This...this is absurd! Filming pigs leaving the farm with footage of a nuclear explosion? Viewers will think we're crazy!"

Su Ye chuckled softly.

"This is the secret to generating traffic through extreme contrast. You don't need to understand Chinese netizens, you just need to execute."

He picked up the thermos and blew on the steam.

"The pay is one million US dollars. Payment after filming. Want it?"

I heard it was one million US dollars.

Old K swallowed hard; his artistic principles crumbled instantly.

"Damn! God is my witness, I could make that boar look tougher than Schwarzenegger!"

Su Ye nodded in satisfaction.

7 PM.

The security department's duty room in the lobby on the first floor of Sihai Group.

Black Panther, wearing a tight white shirt, sat on a plastic stool.

His large, thick fingers were struggling to hold a pen and were writing crookedly on a piece of paper.

Lei Hu pushed open the door and came in, carrying two boxed lunches.

"Leopard, dinner's ready. Time to practice your calligraphy?"

Lei Hu slammed the lunchbox on the table and leaned over to take a look.

The paper was covered with "Hello," "Thank you," and "Welcome" that he had taught Black Panther to write.

The handwriting was so bad it looked like a dog's scratch, and the paper was torn in several places.

Black Panther put down his pen and rubbed his aching wrist.

I swallowed hard as I looked at the braised pork in the lunchbox.

"Tiger Brother," he said in a muffled voice.

"Am I considered a full-fledged employee today?"

Lei Hu took a bite of rice. "Fine. The contract's already signed. What, you're still not satisfied and want to run away?"

Black Panther shook his head, his eyes filled with complex emotions.

He pulled a crumpled payslip out of his pocket.

This was sent to him by Chen Suan this afternoon.

"I just checked. The base salary is 8,000, plus five social insurances and one housing fund. There's also a year-end bonus."

Black Panther bit his lip, and the scar that ran across his entire face twitched slightly.

"I used to fight my way to the death in the underworld, earning several thousand dollars a day, but it all went to medical bills and bribes. I didn't even get medical insurance."

He raised his head and looked at Lei Hu.

The ruthless edge of the martial arts world in his eyes had unknowingly dissipated.

"Brother Tiger, give me a hint. As long as I smile like a flower every day and don't kill anyone, will I really get paid on time?"

Lei Hu rolled his eyes and stuffed a piece of braised pork into his mouth.

"When has the boss ever been short of money? Outstanding employees can even get a Volkswagen Passat at the end of the year. As long as you don't do anything reckless, the company will provide you with a retirement plan."

Black Panther remained silent.

He looked down at the payslip, then at the few lines he had just written.

After a long pause, he threw down his pen.

He picked up the boxed lunch and shoveled it into his mouth.

"Damn. With social insurance and housing fund, why would they bother with underground boxing?"

Black Panther mumbled incoherently.

"Tiger, I'll be on the early shift tomorrow. I absolutely have to win the monthly 'Smiling Champion' award."