Beihai, Late Autumn 1997. Deep Night at the "Lu Residence."
Outside the window, the waves repeatedly crashed against the jagged rocks of the shore, a dull and monotonous rhythm. Inside the study, Lu Changfeng sat under the dim glow of a desk lamp, leafing through this month's consolidated income reports from various sectors.
His Parker fountain pen drew heavy lines under several key figures: "Dijiao Pier Seafood Markup: 15%," "Sanzhong Road 'Powder' Commission: 32%," "West District Barbershop/Restaurant Protection Fees: 800,000 RMB."
"Brother, those seafood wholesalers have been acting up lately," whispered Ah Sheng, a key lieutenant standing nearby. The walkie-talkie clipped to his waist crackled with occasional static. "They tried to bypass our pier and ship goods directly to Qinzhou. Changhai took some men and intercepted them at the crossroads. He impounded their trucks and broke the leader's legs."
Lu Changfeng didn't look up. He deftly twirled the pen between his fingers. "Breaking legs is a tactic, not the goal. Ah Sheng, remember—we aren't just street fighting; we are creating a 'Closed Loop.' Tell Changhai that Dijiao Pier is the throat of the West District. Anyone who tries to bypass this throat... make sure they can never speak again."
Meanwhile, on Sanzhong Road, beneath the shimmering neon lights, a dark undercurrent surged.
Ah Jun, the "God of Wealth" under Lu Changfeng, sat in a VIP suite of the "Dreamland" nightclub. His briefcase didn't contain cash this time, but rather meticulously packaged bags of "White Devils."
"Brother Jun, this batch is pure. The boys are all waiting for it," a few local street thugs said, bowing low, their eyes filled with raw greed.
Ah Jun sneered. "Boss Changfeng said that on Sanzhong Road, even a single cigarette butt, if it's got white powder in it, comes from us. If any outside 'loose goods' try to crawl in here, dump them straight into the depths of the sea off Guantou Ridge."
Lu Changfeng's logic was terrifying—it was "Absolute Control."
From Cape Road to Guizhou Road and Beibu Gulf Square, even the old ladies selling roasted oysters at roadside stalls had to pay a few dozen yuan in "Management Fees" to the Haicheng Gang's runners every month. This was no longer simple extortion; it was a distorted tax that had seeped into the very pores of the city.
"Changhai, do you think we're just robbing people?" Lu Changfeng closed the ledger and walked to the window, staring at the pier sinking into the darkness.
Lu Changhai grinned, playing with a combat knife that had a blood groove carved into the blade. "Brother, what else would you call it? If it's not a robbery, did they just gift it to us?"
Lu Changfeng shook his head, his gold-rimmed glasses reflecting a bone-chilling, icy light. "No, it's not a robbery. Since the law cannot govern the business here, we shall be the ones to set the rules. This is us collecting a 'Technical Service Fee' on behalf of the city. On this stretch of coast, I am their law."
Under Lu Changfeng's management, the Haicheng Gang had transformed into a behemoth entrenched in Western Beihai. Like venom, it corroded normal commercial logic. From barbershops to massive piers, from gambling dens to drug stalls, every cent of circulating cash was stained by the shadow of the Haicheng Gang.
The stone lions at the Lu Residence remained silent, but the very breath of the city's western side seemed to tremble with the flick of Lu Changfeng's pen. People of that era knew all too well: in the West District, nothing was bigger than the "Rules" of the Lu family.