Chapter 111: An Immense Predicament

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In the distance, Wen Tianming watched as Zhao Li single-handedly took down two bodyguards. His face darkened, but he said nothing, turning back into the small cabin.

For Zhao Li to boldly storm in alone like that, Wen Tianming thought, if it were him, he would have arranged a full ambush outside first; otherwise, coming alone was a death sentence. Moreover, the intermittent sniper shots and the warship hovering overhead already spoke volumes.

Putting himself in Zhao Li’s shoes, Wen Tianming was sure Zhao Li had set a deadly trap outside, and was merely savoring the thrill by coming in alone. The sight of the warship’s eerie blue cannon muzzles filled Wen Tianming with dread. Such a weapon, capable of obliterating underground fortifications seven or eight meters deep, was beyond his ability to counter. No matter how advanced his cultivation, survival was highly unlikely.

If only time could be reversed, Wen Tianming wished he had kept silent when the military provocations were recorded—or better yet, gone further back and strictly disciplined his unruly subordinates, urging them to keep their heads down and avoid provoking the military. Quiet wealth was preferable. Why invite trouble? He had forgotten that he was once a notorious drug lord of great renown.

Soon, Wen Tianming snapped out of his self-pity. As a local power himself, after despair came calm deliberation on how to handle this crisis. But the armed warship overhead was an immense threat; unlike their secret headquarters, there was no underground escape tunnel here. Under the menace of such energy weapons, there was nowhere to run. That complicated matters.

In just a short time, Zhao Li had knocked down over a dozen more men outside. These men were armed, and even though they were down, Zhao Li could not disarm them all at once. Several tough fighters, after enduring the initial pain, began reaching for their weapons, preparing to fire.

But before they could shoot, a mechanical voice from the sky forced their gaze upward. The warship’s thirty-millimeter autocannons fired several bursts at a nearby clearing, sending shells that exploded into craters. The sight of the blasted ground terrified the men, and after struggling, they reluctantly dropped their weapons.

Sanders’ sniper shots seemed continuous; whenever someone tried to use a weapon, Sanders, hidden in a covert position, picked them off one by one.

These were merely peripheral members, lacking the core members’ desperate courage. The gruesome scenes and the autocannon fire overhead had crushed most of their fighting spirit. Their earlier loud defiance had vanished, replaced by the hope that Zhao Li would tire and stop, allowing them to surrender peacefully.

But clearly, they were disappointed. Zhao Li remained vigorous, showing no sign of exhaustion. The agonized screams from the fallen reminded everyone of Zhao Li’s words upon entering: he was here to collect debts. They all understood the grim outcome—one killed in the camp, another returned with broken limbs. Seeing the broken arms and legs littering the ground, the conclusion was clear. Yet some found solace believing Zhao Li was only here to break limbs, inflicting pain but sparing lives.

This psychological comfort was effective; many stepped forward voluntarily, abandoning resistance and bracing for the pain, which seemed to lessen with acceptance.

Soon, Zhao Li realized his opponents had lost all will to resist. What meaning was there in subduing such enemies?

His gaze shifted; he grabbed a man who stepped forward. “Where is your leader?”

The man choked, barely able to breathe, and gestured repeatedly for Zhao Li to loosen his grip. Annoyed, Zhao Li twisted his arm and knocked him out, then seized another.

This man, closer to the ground, clearly understood the question and, before Zhao Li asked, pointed toward Wen Tianming’s cabin. Quick wit was rewarded: Zhao Li shoved him down without further harm, allowing him a moment’s relief, grateful for his own cleverness.

With James’ warship above, escape was nearly impossible. The subordinates knew this well; Wen Tianming knew even better. Aside from his annoyance at these inept peripheral members leaking their gathering plans, he braced himself for the coming storm.

Zhao Li was advancing toward them now. With no one else around Wen Tianming, he steeled himself, strapped several sticks of high explosives to his waist, stuffed an unknown pill into his mouth, and charged at Zhao Li.

“Wen Tianming?” Zhao Li recognized the man from military reports, recalling his arrogant gestures during their earlier exchanges. Now, facing Zhao Li, all his former swagger had vanished.

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“Even if my men caused all this, killing so many, isn’t that enough? There’s no need to wipe us out completely, is there?” Wen Tianming’s voice trembled with helplessness as he faced Zhao Li.

“Not until I get you!” Zhao Li’s cold gaze fixed on him as he stood his ground.

“Come on!” Wen Tianming shouted and surged forward. Though no match for Zhao Li’s bodyguards, he was considered a top fighter here. Despite knowing he might not win, he was ready to fight.

Boom. Their fists collided, evenly matched, neither yielding an inch. A small crater formed beneath their feet as all their strength rooted them in place.

Even so, neither signaled retreat; their internal energy continued to pour out, each striving to force the other back. It was a raw, unrefined clash of strength. Sweat beaded on their foreheads.

Wen Tianming was almost twice Zhao Li’s age and believed Zhao Li had only toppled his men through skill, and after such exhaustion, should be fatigued. Yet Zhao Li remained vigorous.

What surprised him more was the pill he had taken—an extracted potent stimulant from drugs that could double one’s power temporarily. The drug had fully taken effect, yet Zhao Li still could not be pushed back.

Gritting his teeth, Wen Tianming unleashed a torrent of true energy from his dantian like a raging tide. Zhao Li did not flinch, countering with equal force, and the battle resumed its deadlock.

The remaining fighters watched anxiously. From afar, Sanders continuously scanned through his sniper scope, alert for any movement.

The pressure from Wen Tianming’s true energy intensified. Zhao Li’s nameless energy was pushed to its limits. Despite the sudden spike in his cultivation from refining the energy, he was only able to match his opponent—something Zhao Li had not anticipated. The stimulant’s effect waned as his energy output continued, and his mind gradually cleared.

After such exertion, the pill’s potency finally wore off, and Zhao Li began to think clearly again.

Wen Tianming’s gaze grew vacant, yet his punches still carried fierce true energy. Zhao Li sensed his opponent’s instability.

Moreover, a shift in angle revealed several sticks of high explosives strapped to Wen Tianming’s lower back. Zhao Li’s mind flashed to the image of a slowly spinning planet—the rotation of true energy suddenly accelerated, crashing down like a tidal wave upon Wen Tianming.

This sudden change caught Wen Tianming off guard. Zhao Li’s true energy seemed to transform into a sharp sword, piercing through his defenses. What was once a stalemate shattered instantly; Zhao Li’s energy surged like a breaking bamboo shoot, penetrating Wen Tianming’s meridians.

No meridian, no matter how strong, could withstand such a sudden blow. Wen Tianming, at his limit, suffered chaotic energy flow, spat blood wildly, and collapsed backward. Zhao Li reacted swiftly, lunging forward to tear the explosives from his waist. Without hesitation, he broke all of Wen Tianming’s joints, immobilizing him completely before finally releasing him.

At this point, Zhao Li felt a rare fatigue. Looking around, nearly two or three hundred men lay groaning, dozens bleeding heavily, uncertain if alive or dead. The rest stood motionless, staring blankly.

Recalling everything he had done since treating Li Mengdie’s wounds, Zhao Li broke into a cold sweat. When had he become so fierce—to charge alone into hundreds of enemies with such ferocity?

Wen Tianming was now a broken heap, alive but utterly helpless. Zhao Li glanced at the dumbfounded survivors; some trembled at his gaze.

“Everyone drop your weapons and gather over there!” Seeing their fear, Zhao Li pointed without mercy.

The group scattered without protest, rushing over and throwing their weapons haphazardly on the ground.

Once they were all gathered, Zhao Li exhaled deeply. “Who here can provide medical aid?”

Several hands went up. Zhao Li scanned them. “You, separate the wounded by severity over there. And you few, assist nearby!” He pointed decisively.

No one dared resist and obediently complied. Zhao Li then spoke into his communicator to Sanders and James: “Alright, tell the others to come.”

“Waiting for your signal is like waiting for grass to grow!” James’s blunt voice crackled through. “They’re almost there. Hang on a bit longer.”

After acknowledging James, Zhao Li found a place to sit and turned his attention to Sanders. “Sanders, what’s really going on here?”

“The adrenaline rush is all you, none of my business,” Sanders drawled lazily, like a mangy dog. “I told you to fully drain it earlier, but you didn’t listen. Who’s to blame? Lucky for you, no lasting side effects.”

Hearing this, Zhao Li recalled Sanders’ warnings. But he was more concerned about Li Mengdie, seemingly forgetting he had taken the same stimulant. No wonder he had such feelings for Christine and couldn’t suppress his basic physical skills for several cycles.

Thinking back on how, in a frenzy, he had shouted about storming the enemy’s lair alone—and then actually did it—he shuddered at the hidden dangers ahead. Fortunately, the outcome was favorable: the Black Prison leader Wen Tianming captured, the rest surrendering quietly. Zhao Li wiped sweat from his brow, retrieved his police baton from the mess on the ground, picked up a rifle, and kept a vigilant eye on the subdued men.

Another military warship soon appeared overhead, elite troops pouring out. Seeing the strange scene, they asked no questions, saluted Zhao Li, and took over guard duty while the warship returned to fetch reinforcements.

Soldiers acting as cameramen recorded the entire scene. All weapons were collected—standard issue—and the small arms cache here was an unexpected boon for Zhao Li.

Cleanup would be handled by the soldiers, but Zhao Li’s headache was a troublesome debt he still couldn’t explain to Christine and Li Mengdie. In just a few hours, another problem had arisen. Thinking of Christine’s deeply wronged expression, Zhao Li felt troubled.

It seemed necessary to consult Kang Hongyuan on how to resolve this. Just as the thought crossed his mind, Zhao Li spotted Kang Hongyuan’s figure.

The elite squad had just disembarked from the warship; Zhao Li hadn’t noticed Kang following behind. But this was fortunate—having the old man here meant a good plan was sure to come.

Pulling Kang away from the crowd to a quieter spot, Zhao Li turned off his radio, guessing their conversation would remain private. He then explained his difficulties.

“What difficulties?” Kang Hongyuan looked at Zhao Li with utter disdain, making Zhao Li’s fist itch. But knowing Kang couldn’t withstand a punch, Zhao Li restrained himself, glaring fiercely. If Kang couldn’t offer a satisfactory answer, he’d have his revenge.

“Explaining things to two little girls is a bit troublesome,” Kang stroked his short beard, leisurely explaining. “But compared to explaining to your immediate superior, that’s nothing. That’s the real difficulty.”