A midnight drizzle blurred the neon lights of the city, streaking across the tinted windows of a sleek black sedan as it rolled through nearly empty roads. Three black Land Cruisers followed close—one in front, two behind—silently guarding the car's every move.
Inside the sedan sat a man in his late thirties. His neat black hair framed a composed face, though his sharp eyes revealed years of navigating cutthroat business wars. He leaned back against the leather seat, fingers loosening the knot of his blue tie.
Blue trousers, white shirt, and a long matching coat. Everything about him spoke of refinement, authority, and control.
This man was Li Yan—among China's most formidable tycoons.
His phone buzzed. He answered with practiced ease.
"Boss," a man's voice reported, steady but tinged with excitement. "Everything is done. We can launch tomorrow."
Li Yan's lips curved faintly. "Good work." He ended the call and gazed at the rain-smeared skyline.
Towering buildings glimmered in the haze—monuments of glass and steel he had helped raise, symbols of the empire he had built brick by brick. Yet, despite their brilliance, it all felt strangely hollow lately.
The sedan turned onto the silent road leading to his villa, tires hissing over wet asphalt.
That was when a wall of headlights cut through the drizzle. Over a dozen cars swerved into view, boxing them in from both sides.
"Ambush!" the bodyguard from the front passenger shouted.
The world exploded.
Gunfire ripped the night apart. Glass shattered—sparks flared as bullets ricocheted off steel. The driver swerved hard, but the sedan skidded to a halt under the relentless assault.
Doors burst open. Masked attackers poured from the surrounding vehicles, swift and ruthless.
Li Yan's guards reacted instantly. They spilled from the Land Cruisers, weapons blazing. Shots tore through the rain, bullets screamed, bodies fell on both sides—yet it was clear. The enemy was organized. Prepared.
Through it all, Li Yan moved with calm precision. He opened his door and stepped into the storm. Rain soaked his coat, but his expression remained unreadable. "So… they finally made their move," he murmured.
His sharp eyes swept across the battlefield as rain hammered down, transforming the street into a war zone. His guards fought fiercely, but the attackers surged forward like a black tide.
Li Yan understood that this work was just one of many rivals who envied his empire.
"Boss, get back inside!" one of his men shouted, firing from cover.
Li Yan didn't move. He stooped, picked up a pistol from a fallen guard, and fired twice—two attackers crumpled into the rain-slick pavement.
The man who built an empire wasn't just a merchant of money and contracts. Beneath that polished exterior, a past forged in survival lingered.
A bullet tore through his coat, grazing his shoulder. He barely flinched, eyes narrowing as he fired again—another man dropped.
Yet for every man he struck down, three more closed in, relentless as the storm.
Engines roared as the Land Cruisers tried to ram the blockade, but grenades detonated beneath them. Fireballs erupted, smoke flooding the street as two escorts went up in flames.
Li Yan's jaw tightened—no fear, only grim certainty. This was no random assault. It was a purge—a carefully planned erasure.
The attackers moved with military discipline. Whoever orchestrated this wanted no witnesses. No survivors.
Another explosion shook the ground. Shrapnel ripped into his side, hot blood spreading across his shirt. He gritted his teeth, pressed forward, and kept firing until the pistol clicked empty—then snatched another weapon from a fallen guard.
"Boss!" A loyal guard rushed to his side, trying to shield him. A hail of bullets tore through the man's chest before he could say more, his body collapsing at Li Yan's feet.
Li Yan's grip tightened, face hardening like iron. Rain mixed with blood beneath his feet, painting the pavement red. Corpses littered the street—his men, their attackers—yet the enemy pressed forward without pause.
Through the smoke, a figure emerged. Tall, broad-shouldered, with a jagged scar carved down his jawline. He carried himself with the confidence of a man who had killed many times before.
Unlike the others, he wore no mask. His lips curled into a cruel grin as his gaze locked on Li Yan. "So this is the great Li Yan," he sneered. "Tycoon of the East. King of the boardroom. Did you think your wealth could buy your way out of death?"
Li Yan's expression didn't waver. "If you've come this far, then you already know money means nothing to me. But if it matters that much to you, I'll pay ten times your worth—if you agree to get lost out of here."
The scarred man chuckled darkly, shaking his head. "Tsk… what a tempting offer. But you and I both know—you'd never let me live if you walked away tonight."
Li Yan let out a low chuckle of his own. "You did your homework well."
The scarred man raised his hand. A dozen muzzles shifted instantly, all trained on Li Yan.
But Li Yan moved first. Dropping into a crouch, he rolled across the rain-slick asphalt and came up firing. Two men fell instantly. Another shrieked as a bullet tore through his thigh.
The scarred man's grin widened. "Not bad… for a businessman. Don't you think you chose the wrong profession?"
Li Yan ignored him, his eyes blazing with a cold determination. Each shot he fired was deliberate, efficient—like a commander holding the line, refusing to bow even when the battle was lost.
But inevitability pressed in. His guards were gone. The enemy's numbers seemed endless. Blood loss drained him fast, vision swimming.
A flash of steel broke through the haze—the scarred man lunged, dagger glinting under the dim headlights. Li Yan twisted, catching his wrist with one hand while firing point-blank with the other. The bullet grazed the man's shoulder, forcing him back, but not before the dagger carved deep across Li Yan's side.
Agony seared through him. Blood poured freely now, soaking his coat until it clung heavily against him.
The scarred man smirked. "Stronger than I expected. But strength doesn't matter when death has already chosen you."
His men advanced, guns raised. Li Yan's pistol clicked empty. He looked at it, then calmly let it fall into the water at his feet. His chest heaved with ragged breaths as he straightened, meeting his enemy's eyes without fear.
For a moment, the world fell silent. Only the storm spoke, hammering against steel, glass, and flesh alike.
And then Li Yan chuckled softly, shaking his head. "So this… is how it ends?" His voice was low, almost reflective. "All the towers I built… all the wars I won… and it all crumbles in one night."
His vision blurred, neon lights bleeding into streaks of crimson and gold. The world tilted, weighed down by exhaustion. Yet within his fading eyes still burned a final spark. "If this is fate," he whispered, "then let it come. Let me see what lies beyond this world."
The scarred man lifted his pistol and pressed the muzzle against Li Yan's forehead. "I'm impressed," he murmured. "You never bowed, even to death. So I'll grant you a quick one."
The gunshot thundered through the storm.
White-hot pain tore through Li Yan's skull. His body jolted once, then collapsed into the rain-slick street. The storm swallowed his last breath, washing crimson rivers down the gutters.
Darkness swallowed everything.
And just before his consciousness slipped away, a strange thought brushed his mind—soft, fleeting, like a whisper from another world: If there really is such a thing as fate… then let me see what lies beyond this night.