The underworld bosses who dared to challenge Lin Wei soon learned the bitter truth: fear was their only legacy.
One by one, messages trickled in like blood through cracks in stone—desperate pleas wrapped in hollow humility, offers of uneasy alliance stained with panic, and the groveling words of men once feared now reduced to whispers in the dark. They spoke his name not in defiance, but as one might invoke a vengeful spirit, praying that the unseen god of vengeance might pass them by.
Lin Wei listened to none.
He sat in silence, a figure carved from patience and fire, while his enemies unraveled themselves in terror. He did not respond, nor did he forgive. Under cover of darkness, his enforcers moved like shadows cast by a dead moon—silent, deliberate, lethal. There were no screams to mark their passage, no traces left behind. Just empty rooms and broken ambitions. Empire after empire crumbled without a fight, their rulers vanishing into nothingness, as if the earth itself had swallowed them for their insolence.
Each boss who had threatened his family disappeared without trace or warning, as though their existence had been nothing but smoke in the wind. No explanations came. None were needed.
Back home, within the quiet sanctuary of his estate, Lin Wei's wives sensed a storm lingering at the edges of their world. The air felt heavier, the nights quieter, as if the house held its breath. Yet all they saw was his calm exterior—a gentle smile that masked something far more consuming.
He smiled softly to them, as if nothing in the world had changed. But behind that smile lived a burden only shadows could understand—the weight of vengeance carried out not in rage, but in absolute silence. He hid it all, tucked deep within, as if to shield them from the darkness he had become.
And so, the war raged on, unseen by most, but felt by all who had once dared to rise against him.