As Fang Senyan's heavy punch surged forward, the man facing him instantly felt an indescribable, immense force pressing through the dagger blade he was lunging with. The dagger slipped from his grasp as the blade warped, flying away, while blood immediately streamed from the tiger’s mouth grip of his right hand.

More than that, Fang Senyan’s punch continued its momentum, carrying an indescribable, deep, heavy whoosh of wind as it bore down on the man’s face. This man appeared to have received formal combat training; he instantly retracted both arms, crossing his elbows defensively in front of him, forming a seemingly perfect guard.

But it was useless.

Not even slightly useful.

Fang Senyan’s strength, four times that of a normal man, slammed into him. To the recipient, it was like an irresistible force of fate, utterly impossible to withstand! What use was a defensive posture? The sheer kinetic energy attached to the fist blasted the man four or five meters backward. His head struck the wall behind him with a dull thud, leaving behind large smears of red and white matter. His eyes remained wide open as he slowly slid to the floor. Clearly, survival meant immediate and severe crippling!

Having delivered the blow, Fang Senyan didn't spare a glance for the fate of the first man. He subtly shifted his stance, instantly blocking the doorway to the distribution room, and looked at the remaining man, who was frozen in shock:

“Do you want to live or die?”

The remaining man swallowed hard, utterly stunned:

“Are you sent by the Four Seas Gang or the Heavenly Dao Alliance? Opposing the Bamboo Union Society means only one end: death!”

Fang Senyan ignored him and stated calmly:

“Do you know where Crab lives?”

“Crab?” the man was momentarily bewildered.

Fang Senyan continued in a level tone:

“About thirty years old, triangular eyes, a broken eyebrow, very thin lips, looks at everyone as if they owe him money.”

“I know, I know! He’s in the room at the end of the hall, turn right,” the man quickly replied.

Fang Senyan nodded, having no intention of lingering. He casually knocked the man unconscious and strode toward the end of the corridor. However, as he reached the latter section of the hall, a cold voice suddenly cut through from behind him:

“Stop right there, unless you want your head blown open.”

Fang Senyan frowned slightly and turned his head just enough to see a middle-aged man standing behind him, aiming a silenced pistol directly at him. The grip of the middle-aged man’s hand on the weapon was remarkably steady, as if the grip were fused into his palm, radiating a chilling aura of someone who had seen and taken lives before.

Fang Senyan truly felt that the members of the Bamboo Union Society were inescapable specters: he merely intended to ask for directions, yet now he was entangled in all this trouble? Furthermore, it was one thing now, but once he rescued San Zai later, he would truly be hesitant to act rashly! Killing one is murder; killing ten is no different, so perhaps it was best to eliminate all potential threats in one clean sweep, making the rescue operation simpler and more decisive.

With this thought, a hint of bloodlust flashed in Fang Senyan’s eyes, and he stopped as instructed.

“Hands behind your head, squat down with your face against the wall,” the middle-aged man holding the gun commanded slowly.

Fang Senyan’s expression remained blank, and he complied. Then, someone approached to search him. Upon finding no weapons, the searcher stepped away. Moments later, an angry shout came from the entrance area:

“Matsushita-kun and ngne have both been killed!”

In truth, Fang Senyan had only dispatched Matsushita-kun; the Taiwanese man, ngne, had merely been knocked out. Presumably, the person saw the gruesome state of Matsushita-kun first and jumped to a conclusion, hence assuming ngne was dead since he wasn't moving. The middle-aged man didn't utter another word upon hearing this, appearing utterly accustomed to life-and-death situations, his face as still as an ancient well. He gestured with the pistol pointed at Fang Senyan toward a side passage:

“Inside.”

Fang Senyan was thinking the same thing; killing someone in a public corridor like this would attract too much attention, and involving the police would be a major nuisance. He guessed the Bamboo Union Society members felt the same way; they reached an unspoken accord, and Fang Senyan cooperated fully, following them into the passage, turning right, and entering a room.

The room was quite large, easily spanning three hundred square meters. The furniture was all pushed against the walls, leaving a vast open space in the center, resembling a training ground or dojo—it felt spacious and brightly lit.

The wooden floor in the center of the room was smooth and resilient, polished so cleanly that faint reflections of figures could be seen, and it even possessed a slight springiness underfoot. At the far end of the wall opposite the entrance sat a figure clad in a snow-white kimono, their back to the door. This person seemed engrossed in admiring a piece of calligraphy hung on the wall. Behind them stood an exquisitely crafted weapons rack, upon which rested a samurai sword that looked ancient and well-worn. Notably, the young woman Fang Senyan had previously “harassed” was now wearing a kimono herself, bending low to pour tea at a small side table, dedicating her entire focus to the task, completely undisturbed by the preceding events.

Several other people were kneeling in the room, all dressed in black suits, white socks, with their leather shoes discarded to the side. However, Fang Senyan detected an unpleasant odor, clearly indicating someone suffered from athlete’s foot. Among them, a stern-looking man in his forties, exuding authority, addressed the man who had been pointing the gun at Fang Senyan:

“Hu An, what is the meaning of this?”

Hu An replied without haste:

“Chairman, this person killed Matsushita-kun and ngne. I suspect he is a mole sent by a rival faction who learned about our gathering.”

Fang Senyan noted that the last person had entered the room and the door behind him was shut, instantly easing his mind. His expression darkened instantly. Casually, he twisted his neck and cracked his knuckles, performing a brief warm-up exercise. Hu An’s pupils contracted sharply, and he roared in anger:

“I told you not to move! This is your final warning!”

Fang Senyan stated blandly:

“I will also give you one final warning: anyone who intends to kill me has only one outcome—death.”

Hearing this, everyone in the room displayed looks of mockery and derision, except for the figure seated high on the platform with their back to them, clad in white kimono. They remained utterly unmoved, seemingly completely immersed in the calligraphy, even touching the painting with a finger, appearing deeply absorbed.

“Oh! So fierce? You little idiot,” Hu An sneered, “I want to kill you right now. Let’s see how I die.”

The moment his words fell, Fang Senyan suddenly dropped low like a ferocious beast and lunged forward! Hu An didn't hesitate for an instant, pulling the trigger. Tiny wisps of white smoke rose from the muzzle of the silenced gun, and the sound of the bullet hissing into flesh, spraying blood, could almost be heard. Yet, the man before him did not fall; instead, he had already closed the distance, raising his head! He stared back with an expression layered with contempt, dominance, madness, and ferocity.

Why isn’t he dead? The thought flashed through Hu An’s mind in sheer terror. His instinctive reaction was to shout loudly for backup.

But in that very instant, Fang Senyan delivered an uppercut directly to his jaw!

His capacity for speech was henceforward permanently extinguished!

This single punch sent Hu An flying diagonally upward, nearly half a meter off the ground. In mid-air, he performed a bizarre backward somersault before crashing down face-first! It must be noted that Hu An was a stout middle-aged man, nearly 190 centimeters tall, appearing robust and capable, weighing at least ninety kilograms. Fang Senyan’s single punch propelled him upward nearly half a meter—the sheer viciousness of the force contained within that blow was completely beyond anyone’s imagination.

A half-mangled piece of bloody tissue flew out of the air—as Fang Senyan threw his punch, Hu An was about to open his mouth to call for help. Under the massive impact, not only did his lower jaw shatter, but his tongue inside his mouth was violently bitten clean off. Thick saliva mixed with blood streamed from the corners of his mouth, his brain suffered extreme shock, and his eyes rolled back, rendering him unconscious. Even if he didn't suffocate, he was certainly suffering from a severe concussion!

However, the moment Fang Senyan attacked, the few men nearby were certainly not idle. They were elites of the Bamboo Union Society; anyone brought out by the “Chairman” for personal protection naturally possessed formidable skills. They immediately drew their weapons, aimed, and fired. The motion was seamless, in no way inferior to professional soldiers.

If Fang Senyan had been a raw recruit just entering the system, he might have been momentarily lost. But now, having faced life and death dozens of times in the system’s battles, he wouldn't just stand there and take fire. He had already planned his follow-up maneuvers before delivering the uppercut:

Immediately after sending Hu An flying, he charged forward, slamming a punch into the chest of the nearest gunman, then smoothly swung that unfortunate man in front of him, using him as a literal human shield!

The sound of silenced shots—chchchchch—rang out continuously, splattering blood, tearing holes in the surrounding wooden partition screens. Most shots missed the intended target, but the unfortunate fellow struck in the chest, already barely breathing, took several friendly fire rounds and immediately kicked his legs out, dying on the spot.

Fang Senyan shoved the corpse toward another gunman nearby. Once within a three-meter range, he vanished with ghostly swiftness, sweeping out an elbow with savage force that sent the target spinning horizontally 470 degrees through the air before crashing down.

In the next few seconds, the beast-like Fang Senyan charged wildly left and right through the hall. Although he was hit three more times, the twenty-odd points of actual damage were negligible to him, but the men who fired those shots likely would never stand up again in their lives.