So fish stands were overturned, with big and small fish flung across half the street, flopping helplessly on the ground.
Wherever these n passed, shops were smashed and stalls were overturned.
Hardy frowned slightly at the scene. Isn’t this just like the gangsters smashing streets in the future? So, the tradition dates back to this ti.
As the group of n got closer, Hardy’s ten bodyguards imdiately gathered around him, each slipping a hand into their jackets, ready to draw their guns at any mont.
Hardy wasn’t afraid, but he signaled to his n to stay alert in case the reckless group of thugs tried to get too close.
Just as the group of n arrived in front of a dried fish shop, a wave of people suddenly charged out from inside. These n, wearing white clothes, numbered around thirty to forty, outnumbering the n in black. Each one carried a blade—so held kitchen knives, others wielded machetes, and so had fish-cutting knives.
"Kill them!"
A brawny man among the n in white roared and charged toward the n in black.
"Get them!"
The leader of the n in black shouted back.
The two sides imdiately clashed in a violent brawl.
Machetes swung wildly, iron rods crashed down, and blood splattered everywhere. The scene beca bloody and brutal.
In reality, street fighting isn’t like what people imagine—dragging out for dozens of rounds. Both sides carried lethal weapons, so within just a few breaths, the battle was decided.
The n in black, who ca to smash the street, were clearly unprepared, while the n in white had the advantage of numbers. Before long, many of the n in black were cut down, and the remaining ones fled for their lives, injured.
The n in white gave chase, slashing at the fleeing n with relentless fury.
Two of the n in black ran toward the market stalls where Hardy was standing, with five or six n in white hot on their heels. They were about to reach the area when Hardy’s bodyguards, fearing that these people might disturb Hardy, instantly drew their guns.
"Bang, bang, bang, bang!"
The head of security fired his gun at the charging n. However, he didn’t aim directly at them—he raised the muzzle slightly, and the bullets flew over their heads.
Whoosh!
The sound of gunfire froze everyone in place.
The n in black tumbled to the ground, while the n in white stopped about ten ters away from the bodyguards. Even the surrounding citizens all turned to look.
Seeing that it was a group of foreigners, with several holding guns, the n in white realized they must be protecting soone important. They were so frightened that they turned and ran back.
The ones still fighting near the dried fish shop also stopped and quickly left. Those n in black who could still move stumbled away, clutching their wounds.
However, those seriously injured could only lie in the blood, groaning.
"Toot!"
"Toot, toot!"
In the distance, the sound of police whistles approached.
Before long, a few patrol officers ca running. They didn’t pay much attention to the people lying on the street, instead grabbing a bystander and asking,
"Where was the gunfire? Where?"
Street fights were common, but gunfire was a serious matter.
Soone pointed toward Hardy and his group.
The policen saw the group of foreigners at the entrance and imdiately felt a sense of dread. The leading officer paused and said to two others, "You two call for backup. I’ll go over and see what’s going on."
"Be careful, sir," one of the officers warned.
"Judging by the looks of it, they’re bodyguards for so important person. Don’t worry," the officer replied as he walked toward Hardy’s group.
He stopped beside the bodyguards and asked in English, "Were you the ones who fired the shots?"
One of the bodyguards glanced at the officer and replied expressionlessly, "Yes, we fired. They were fighting here, endangering our boss’s safety. We didn’t shoot anyone, just fired to scare them off."
The patrol officer nodded.
"I need to know who your boss is, so I can include it in my report," the patrol officer asked again.
The bodyguard didn’t respond but instead looked toward Hardy.
At that mont, Hardy walked over and looked at the patrol officer, saying, "My na is Jon Hardy. You can write that in your report."
The officer was startled.
He had certainly heard of Hardy’s na.
Since Hardy arrived in Hong Kong, every newspaper had reported on him extensively. There were only a handful of people who didn’t know his na.
Snap!
The patrol officer saluted Hardy.
"Mr. Hardy, it’s a pleasure to et you. I apologize for the disturbance," the officer said respectfully.
Hardy thought to himself, this young officer has good manners. "It’s no big deal; I’ve been on the battlefield and seen far worse. By the way, what’s your na?"
"My na is Jayce, Mr. Hardy," the young officer quickly replied.
Hardy nodded.
"Handle things here. I don’t have ti to go back with you to give a statent. Is that fine?" Hardy asked.
"Of course, no problem at all," Jayce quickly responded.
After all, this Mr. Hardy was soone who had been received by the Governor himself, accompanied by the Commissioner of Police. Jayce, a lowly street officer, wouldn’t dare ask him to co to the station.
"Good, then I thank you. I’ll rember this favor. If you ever need anything, you can look for Victor. Do you know Victor?" Hardy asked.
Jayce was thrilled inside. Continue reading at empire
He hadn’t expected such fortune to fall from the sky—Mr. Hardy rembered him with a favor.
"Yes, I know Mr. Victor," Jayce quickly replied.
Hardy didn’t say anything further, turning around to leave. The bodyguards surrounded him, vigilant for any potential threats.
As Hardy left, he found it rather amusing. He had granted Jayce a favor, which was essentially giving him a rope. If Jayce was smart, he would climb up that rope and gain Victor’s support. Hardy believed his rise would be swift.
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