Chapter 114 — The Third Drop of Blood
He Shuwei was dressed in mourning clothes, waiting outside He Dongting’s study.
A breeze drifted through the corridor. Though the weather had begun to turn hot, his face was still pale and weak. He coughed several times, looking as sickly as ever.
Third Master He had died suddenly. The old Madam He had doted most on this youngest son—now a white-haired mother sending off her black-haired child, grief-stricken beyond words. It was she who had asked Shuwei to come and ask how the funeral should be arranged.
After about a quarter of an hour, the study door opened from within, and several people came out. Leading them was none other than Lord Bai Jiu.
It was the second time the Lord Bai Jiu of the Bai family had met Shuwei. He glanced at him briefly, stopped, and said mildly, “This afternoon a Bai family car was in an accident on the eastern outskirts—one dead, two injured. Has Young Master He heard?”
He Shuwei coughed once. “Not yet. There has been… turmoil in the household, and I’ve been too occupied. How has Mr. Bai handled it? Do you require any help?”
Lord Bai Jiu shook his head. “Only my men from the East Courtyard were slightly injured. But it was no accident. In the northern lands, there’s much snow and slippery roads; I always have the cars reinforced with an extra layer of iron plating. Only that saved us today.”
He Shuwei nodded, feigning concern. “Mr. Bai should still be more careful in the future. There are so many cars in Shanghai—your drivers must be especially attentive…”
Lord Bai Jiu gave him another look and said slowly, “If there’s a next time, I’ll handle it according to northern rules.”
Then he left with his people.
Standing in the corridor, He Shuwei’s heart pounded violently. The Bai family’s master hadn’t uttered any threats, yet that one sentence alone made cold sweat bead on his forehead—it felt as if a gun had been pressed to his temple.
A voice came from within the study, calling him in. He Shuwei composed himself and hurried inside to pay his respects.
He Dongting had already heard of Third Master He’s sudden death in the opium den. As He Shuwei gave his report, He Dongting said nothing, simply looking at him with expressionless eyes.
“…By the time the people at the den found him, the body was already stiff. The owner said that earlier in the day, Third Uncle had called over a prostitute from the Changsan Shuyu house to keep him company, but when he died, she was gone. I’ve sent the police to investigate, but there’s no result yet. The inspector said Third Uncle likely died from accidentally drinking liquor mixed with opium paste.”
As He Shuwei spoke, his face bore genuine-looking sorrow, that of a nephew mourning a relative.
“Father, Grandmother is heartbroken. She asked me to inquire how the funeral should be arranged.”
There was a cigarette on the table. He Dongting pondered a moment, rubbed his forehead, and asked, “What do you think?”
“I followed Grandmother’s orders and purchased the offerings,” He Shuwei replied humbly. “But as for the arrangements, I’m too young to know. I’ll rely entirely on your instruction.”
He Dongting said hoarsely, “Let the steward take you. Keep vigil for three days.”
He Shuwei agreed, then added, “Grandmother wishes to see you—she seems unwell.”
He Dongting answered coolly, “I’m not a doctor. If she’s sick, call one or send her to the hospital. I can’t help her. The Bai family’s car left from my residence before that accident; I must look into it.”
He Shuwei acknowledged and withdrew.
After he left, He Dongting opened his drawer. Inside lay a pistol.
What Bai Jiu had sent earlier was not only information—but also this gun. The “accident” that afternoon had been far from simple, and it was no easy escape.
The Bai family’s car had been carrying “Xie Jing.” Halfway to their destination, several vehicles began following them. They changed route toward an eastern factory, yet were still chased down and blocked. Fortunately, Bai’s car was reinforced with an iron layer; they rammed their way out. Inside were seasoned fighters, and even the man disguised as Xie Jing was armed with two guns.
The Bai, He, and Xie families had all taken precautions, setting up this deadly trap.
Their enemies had opened fire—there would be no mercy in return.
The next morning’s newspaper ran large headlines about the crash: Four cars collided; one dead, two injured from the pursuing vehicles, while those in the other three sustained minor injuries.
What should have been a mere accident turned into scandal when reporters uncovered a darker story—one tied to the textile factory acquisition deals. The cars that rammed Bai’s belonged to Japanese cotton merchants, and iron rods and wrenches were found in their trunks—clear evidence of foul play.
The factories in question? Those under He Dongting’s name, which both the Bai and He families were competing to acquire. All of them had prior grudges with the Japanese. Suspicion spread across the papers.
When He Dongting read the news, he was furious. He filed a complaint with the provincial office, demanding a thorough investigation.
The Bai family, meanwhile, kept silent. Small newspapers began running stories praising Lord Bai Jiu—his patriotic achievements beyond the Great Wall, earning foreign exchange, a genius businessman.
Some papers focused on the collision itself: three Japanese cars wrecked beyond repair, while Bai’s remained almost intact. Reports on how “Bai Family Motors” made cars that were “solid and crash-resistant” spread like wildfire—ironically boosting their sales.
Within three days, angry mobs twice smashed the gates of the Japanese Embassy.
Combined with earlier student protests, anti-Japanese sentiment exploded. Crowds burned Japanese-made cloth in the streets, shouting to support national goods. Even workers at Japanese-owned textile mills joined marches, demanding justice for murdered Chinese laborers. Police arrested many demonstrators, but pressure from business associations forced their release.
A “minor car accident” had become the spark igniting the city’s long-simmering outrage.
Three days later, after the mourning period for Third Master He ended, He Dongting summoned He Shuwei back to the mansion for a talk.
The vast living room was empty and echoing. He Dongting sat in the main seat, two black-clad bodyguards behind him.
He Shuwei sat opposite, still gaunt and reeking faintly of incense and candle smoke, his expression that of a dutiful nephew mourning an uncle.
He greeted softly, “Father.”
He Dongting looked at him and asked, “I’ve given you three days. Do you have anything you’d like to tell me?”
He Shuwei’s eyes reddened. He began to speak about the brevity of life, but He Dongting cut him off, motioning for someone to bring in a witness.
The first was the prostitute from the Changsan Shuyu house. As soon as she saw He Shuwei, she began muffled sobbing and struggling, trying to spit out the cloth gag.
He Dongting stared coldly at the pale, trembling youth before him, his eyes darting and evasive.
“One witness may not be enough,” he said icily. “Bring another.”
Soon, a second man was dragged in—a servant from the He household, head bloodied, tied up, gagged with cotton. He was the one who had arranged He Shuwei’s contact with the Japanese merchant.
He Shuwei shot to his feet, staring at the two kneeling before him. Sweat poured down his forehead. His mouth opened several times, but he couldn’t form a complete sentence.
The prostitute managed to spit the gag from her mouth and shrieked, “You dog! You murdered him and tried to pin it on me! You knew all along you were a fake—colluding with Third Master He to deceive everyone!”
She turned toward He Dongting, weeping hysterically.
“Master He, this bastard knows everything! You must give me justice! I’ve suffered enough—only lit his pipes, did nothing else! Today someone lured me to the outskirts, tried to kill me! It was this He Shuwei—this bastard—who wanted me silenced!”
He Shuwei collapsed to his knees, crawling a few steps forward before the guards blocked him. He grabbed at one of their sleeves, crying out in panic, “Father, I’m innocent! I didn’t kill anyone—you know I wouldn’t dare! I—I don’t have the courage for that!”
He Dongting stared down at him and said grimly, “You’ve been consorting with the Japanese, haven’t you?”
He Shuwei’s mind raced wildly—then he shook his head and said, “No.”
