Siheyuan came through and sent Jia Zhang to prison

The underlings exchanged glances, and no one dared to ask any more questions—they relied on Zhang Jie for their livelihood and always obeyed orders. They did whatever their boss said, and nothing else mattered to them. Asking too many questions might only bring trouble upon themselves.

Zhang Jie went over the details of the plan again, from how to infiltrate the restaurant to the code for the attack and the retreat route, confirming everything before leading his men to the Peace Hotel. Upon arrival, he told his men to wait at the street corner while he, with a wad of cash in his pocket, went into the restaurant's kitchen. The owner, a plump middle-aged man, was wearing an apron and supervising the work. Seeing Zhang Jie enter, he was about to greet him with a smile when he was startled by the money Zhang Jie offered and the short knife protruding from his waist—the blade gleamed coldly, clearly indicating he was no pushover.

Zhang Jie threatened him with a sinister look in his eyes, saying things like, "Cooperate and I'll keep you safe," and "If you try anything funny, I'll shut your restaurant down." The boss dared not disobey and quickly nodded and bowed in agreement. He then hurriedly arranged for Zhang Jie's men to go into the kitchen. Some tied on aprons and pretended to wash dishes, while others picked up cleavers and pretended to chop vegetables. They mingled with the real workers, heads down, working diligently. Without close inspection, it was impossible to tell that they were different.

Zhang Jie hid in a teahouse diagonally opposite the restaurant, chose a window seat, ordered the cheapest tea, but kept his eyes fixed on the restaurant entrance, like a wolf waiting for its prey. He watched the waiters come and go, watched the customers enter the restaurant in twos and threes, and a smug smile curled at the corner of his mouth—everything was under his control, just waiting for He Feng to step into this carefully laid trap.

What he didn't know was that all of this was already within He Feng's expectations. He Feng had received intelligence from Zhao Lei that morning and knew clearly that Zhang Jie was going to make a move at the Peace Hotel. However, before confirming whether Zhang Jie himself would be there, he gave the order: "No one is allowed to make any rash moves until Zhang Jie shows up. Keep an eye on him and don't alert him."

Time passed slowly, the wall clock ticked away, and afternoon arrived in the blink of an eye. He Feng straightened his clothes, smoothed out the slightly wrinkled cuffs, and prepared to head to the Peace Hotel. Before leaving, he looked at Zhao Lei, who was also fully prepared, and reiterated his instructions in a steady tone: "Remember, follow our plan exactly as we set out beforehand. Don't move an inch until Zhang Jie shows up in person, understand? His underlings are nothing to fear; what I want is Zhang Jie, the big fish."

Zhao Lei nodded emphatically, his eyes sharp as an eagle, and patted his chest to assure him: "Don't worry, Director, the brothers have set up positions around the restaurant—the teahouse across the street, the back alleys, and the shops across the street are all being watched by our men. As soon as he dares to make a move, we guarantee to rush in immediately, working together from the inside and outside, and we won't let him get away!"

He Feng nodded, said nothing more, and turned to walk towards the Peace Hotel. Sunlight fell on him, casting a long shadow, his steps unhurried. In a private room on the second floor, Jiang Hu was already waiting. Several cold dishes were laid out on the table—smashed cucumber, cold black fungus salad, braised beef, and an unopened bottle of baijiu. Seeing He Feng enter, he quickly stood up, a forced smile plastered on his face, and greeted him, “Director He, you’ve finally arrived! Please sit down, please sit down. I’ve been waiting for ages.”

The two sat down and chatted idly, talking about whether the weather was hot or not, and whether prices had risen recently. Neither of them mentioned Zhang Jie or the smuggling, but the inexplicable tension in the air was like a fully drawn bowstring, as if it would snap at any moment.

Hiding in the teahouse, Zhang Jie glanced at the sun and saw it gradually setting in the west. The crowd at the restaurant entrance was thinning out, and he felt the time was right. He picked up his teacup, took a big gulp of cold tea, and winked at one of his henchmen beside him, his voice so low it was almost inaudible: "It's time to make our move."

He thought his plan was foolproof, but he didn't notice that besides the police officers lying in ambush around the restaurant, a man in a gray cloth jacket was leaning against the trunk of an old locust tree on the street corner. The man's hat brim was pulled low, obscuring most of his face, and he was toying with a copper coin in his hand, spinning it rapidly between his fingers. His eyes, however, were as sharp as a hawk's, fixed on Zhang Jie in the teahouse through the gaps in the leaves—clearly, this man was also waiting to see a good show, but he didn't know who his gun would ultimately be pointed at.

He Feng picked up his celadon teacup and took a sip of the warm pre-rain Longjing tea. The tea was bittersweet, but his gaze fell on Jiang Hu's face across from him. His tone was as calm as a deep pool, yet it carried a hint of subtle inquiry: "Mr. Jiang, you specially invited me to a place like the Peace Hotel today and ordered a table full of dishes. You can't just be inviting me to dinner, can you? If you have something to say, just say it directly. There's no need to beat around the bush."

Jiang Hu rubbed the ivory chopsticks in his hand against the rim of the white porcelain bowl, his fingertips glistening with sweat. His eyes darted furtively out the window, and after a long pause, he let out a dry laugh, his voice weak: "Actually...it's about what happened last time. If it weren't for your help the other day, I really wouldn't know how I would have handled that mess—the one where the goods in the warehouse were seized. I must toast you with this glass of wine as an apology, to thank you and to apologize for causing you so much trouble." As he spoke, he picked up the white porcelain wine glass in front of him, but his wrist trembled uncontrollably, spilling a considerable amount of wine.

He Feng smiled, neither responding to his words nor touching his wine glass. His gaze casually swept across the window—the pedestrians on the street seemed ordinary: vendors carrying loads, women leading children, workers hurrying along. But the shoe repairman at the street corner, holding an awl, hadn't made a single stitch, his eyes constantly glancing towards the second floor of the restaurant; the man by the window in the teahouse across the street held his teacup for a long time, his lips never touching the rim, his eyes fixed on the restaurant entrance. He already knew what was going on, but his face remained impassive, his fingertips lightly stroking the lid of his teacup: Zhang Jie, that kid, is quite patient. He's been setting things up for so long, and still nothing.

Meanwhile, Zhang Jie, hiding in a greasy corner of the restaurant's kitchen, could no longer contain himself. He stared at the wooden door leading to the private room on the second floor, his knuckles whitening from digging into the weathered frame, wood chips embedded in his fingernails. He gave a low, urgent shout to his henchmen disguised as waiters, his voice sharp and ruthless: "The time is almost here, make your move!"

The henchmen immediately dropped what they were doing—the dishwasher tossed aside his rag, the vegetable chopper slammed his knife down on the cutting board, and they swiftly pulled out short sticks and daggers hidden under their coarse aprons. They were crouching low, preparing to rush towards the stairwell to block the back door of the private room—but the moment they stepped out of the kitchen door, before even reaching the stairs, they were pinned down by several figures emerging from the shadows. The police officers Zhao Lei had brought were prepared; their movements were as swift and efficient as constables catching thieves. Before they could react, their wrists were twisted behind their backs and tightly bound with water-soaked hemp rope, the rope causing them sharp pain.