"To clean up our act, to go from the Ghost Shadow Gang to the legitimate Fujian Business Association of today, we bled for two whole generations and paid with I don't know how many lives." Lin Daohang's voice gradually calmed, his face expressionless as he gazed out the window. "We cautiously pandered to politicians, donated to the police department, and even acted like obedient grandsons, catering to the whims of those white congressmen. And what did we get in return?"
He suddenly grew agitated. Feeling a flush of heat, he couldn't help but shrug off his suit jacket, loosen his tie, and roll up his shirt sleeves.
Chen Haisheng glanced in the rearview mirror.
He saw the shocking knife scar on Lin Daohang's collarbone and the bullet hole in his forearm, stark against his aged body.
