Liu Ren: "Who Do We Answer To?"

Brooklyn. The Cohen syndicate's sudden disappearance sent shockwaves through the underworld. They had partnerships with numerous organizations; "goods" shipped in from overseas, for instance, had always relied on their docks to come ashore. Now that Cohen and his crew had vanished, countless supply routes were abruptly severed. A Jewish mobster pounded on the table in fury, looking toward the man seated at the head. "Mr. Rothstein, they've gone too far! Cohen was one of our people—he was a Jew!" "I know. So? What do you propose we do about it? Go to war with them?" Looking down at the man, Arnold Rothstein questioned him evenly. Few who were unfamiliar with the history of the Mafia would recognize his name, yet despite being Jewish, Arnold Rothstein was the mentor to Charles Luciano himself. In years to come, he would be inextricably tied to the rise of the Mafia across the Atlantic. He had not only mentored Luciano, but also Meyer Lansky—and it was precisely those two who would forge a loose criminal underworld into a vast, illustrious empire. Speaking with calm detachment, Arnold tapped his fingers on the table. "War doesn't bring wealth. It only takes lives." Having said that, Arnold turned his head. "The Japanese crossed him once, and now they've been driven completely out of Manhattan. Cohen tried the same, and look what happened. That young man is a rabid dog. He doesn't give a damn who you are, because he's desperate and hungry for everything." Lighting a cigar, Arnold glanced around the room. "Now, which of you wants to step up and tell me you can take him down?" As Arnold's gaze swept across the men, many lowered their heads. They knew full well what Arnold meant: he wanted someone to play the sacrifice, trading pieces on the board. If whoever went after Liu Ren succeeded, the payoff would be enormous. But what if they failed? Who would bear the brunt of the bloody retaliation that followed? With casinos and lucrative revenue streams already firmly in their grasp, none of them were eager to clash head-on with a lunatic. Yet if the docks were completely cut off, it would create no small amount of trouble for everyone involved. Puffing on his cigar, Arnold fell silent for a moment before speaking. "Set up a meeting for me with Qing from He'an. I imagine he'll be far easier to reason with than that young hothead." Upon hearing Arnold's command, someone stood up and promptly left. Two days later. Chinatown, He'an Guild Hall. Several black sedans pulled up outside. Arnold stepped out from the lead car. He looked like an ordinary middle-aged man, though his attire was impeccably sharp and immaculate. Trailing behind Arnold were representatives from various Jewish syndicates. "Please." A Chao stood by the entrance to receive them, his face calm and devoid of flattery. As the visitors filed upstairs and entered the conference room, Arnold broke into a broad smile, extending both hands. "It's been a long time, my friend!" "Good to see you again, Rothstein!" Stepping forward into a brief embrace, Uncle Qing clearly had a history with Arnold. New York was vast, yet the underworld was small; the same faces always ran in the same circles. As long as you had rubbed shoulders or bumped heads a time or two, you were bound to know each other. As for whether the two were genuine "friends," that was open to interpretation. In any case, Liu Ren didn't believe for a second that these Jewish mobsters would be of any real help to He'an. Entering the room, Arnold turned his gaze toward the young man clad in a black pinstripe suit, complete with a fitted vest and a striking crimson tie. Arnold smiled warmly. "You must be Liu? You look remarkably sharp." "Thank you for the compliment." Returning Arnold's smile with an easy nod, Liu Ren acknowledged the greeting. Once everyone took their seats, Liu Ren remained standing respectfully at Uncle Qing's side. "Qing, as you well know, the Brooklyn docks are tied to the livelihoods of many of us here. Since Cohen has abandoned the operation, we're more than willing to buy it back..." Speaking to Uncle Qing, Arnold made no mention of how Cohen had "abandoned" it; he simply brought up the port and their mutual interests. After all, the men seated behind him largely represented Brooklyn syndicates. "Rothstein, I know what you're trying to say," Uncle Qing replied, not yielding an inch as his gaze swept over the gathered men. "But as you also know, the Brooklyn port is just as crucial to us. Moving forward, most of our operations will be shifting over there." As an old hand in the underworld, how could Uncle Qing not see through Rothstein's attempt to use numbers and stature to exert pressure? Yet if he dared concede an inch today, these men would not hesitate to wage war and seize the port right back. In New York, any sign of weakness meant hell would break loose on you. "Qing, business in Brooklyn has never had anything to do with you!" At Uncle Qing's words, Arnold's expression instantly turned stern. This was no longer just about the port; He'an intended to plant its banner in Brooklyn itself. "Don't you Chinese think you're biting off far more than you can chew? Well?! Where does that leave the rest of us? You have to answer for this!" A reckless man among the group slammed his hand on the table and rose, barking sharply. At those words, Liu Ren's gaze turned chillingly cold as he locked eyes with the man. "We walk the streets—who the hell do we have to answer to? You? Even Cohen didn't dare talk to me like that. Who do you think you are?!" Staring the man down like a predator stalking prey, Liu Ren made no effort to conceal his malice. Seeing that both sides were on the verge of drawing steel and blood, Arnold immediately raised a hand. "Qing, the port operations can go to you. But the rest of the business must continue as before. We can still be friends." "Of course, that won't be an issue. After all, who turns down making money?" Smiling warmly at Arnold, Uncle Qing acted as if the friction a moment ago had never occurred. With the terms of their future business settled, Arnold looked back at Liu Ren. "Young man, you're quite something. I certainly didn't have your ruthlessness back in my day." "Thank you for the compliment." Liu Ren smiled politely at Arnold Rothstein, but the moment the man turned away, Liu Ren's eyes iced over. Did that old bastard really think nobody could see through his vicious intent? Trying to kill him with praise! Watching Arnold lead his men away, Uncle Qing clapped Liu Ren on the shoulder. "What do you think of him?" "Too smart. Won't live long." Liu Ren explained with a faint grin, the corners of his mouth curving upward. "You're right about that. Rothstein is indeed very smart. He turned most of his operations into business deals. War isn't his style, but he's dangerous." Uncle Qing smiled as he explained. Back when they were establishing their foothold in Manhattan, they had clashed with that Jewish boss more than a few times. "We can't cut off their business at the docks. Keep the cooperation going. Otherwise, we'll draw everyone's fury." Uncle Qing warned Liu Ren, worried the young man might overlook the unspoken rules. "I understand, Uncle Qing." Liu Ren didn't argue. He knew full well the stakes involved. The transit routes through the docks were the lifeblood of most syndicates. If you cut off a man's livelihood, you couldn't blame him for fighting you to the death. Liu Ren had no desire to make enemies of the entire city all at once. He preferred devouring them one by one. Before any conflict of interest arose, he was the absolute best ally you could ask for. But the moment friction sparked, you had better believe an Orc Lad would shout "Waaagh!" and kick down your door, plunging everything into utter madness. Lighting a cigarette by the windowsill, Liu Ren exhaled a thick cloud of smoke and watched the black cars drive away. Their agreement meant Brooklyn had tacitly accepted He'an taking over the docks. Naturally, this was because Arnold Rothstein preferred not to turn business into war. Yet the seeds of conflict had already been sown, and sooner or later, someone would pay the price.