Xiang Yu sat in the back seat of the sleek, black sedan, the hum of the engine a low, constant murmur beneath him. The two men in the front seats, stoic and heavily armed, exchanged terse glances, their eyes flicking to the rearview mirror every few seconds. They were on high alert, fully aware of the formidable presence they were transporting. Xiang Yu, however, seemed unfazed. He gazed out the window, a slight smile playing on his lips as the cityscape blurred past.
The car pulled up to the imposing gates of the Han Mansion, a sprawling estate that exuded power and opulence. Xiang Yu stepped out, his movements fluid and unhurried, as if he were merely visiting an old friend. The guards flanked him, their postures rigid with vigilance, and led him through the grand entrance.
Inside, the air was thick with the scent of expensive cigars and polished wood. Han Jing, the dragon head of the triad, lounged on a plush leather couch, one leg draped casually over the other. He exhaled a cloud of smoke, his demeanour one of absolute authority and control. The room was dimly lit, shadows dancing on the walls, adding to the aura of intimidation.
Xiang Yu approached, stopping a few feet from Han Jing. The bodyguards positioned themselves strategically around the room, their eyes never leaving the newcomer. The butler, a stoic figure with a slight bow, announced, "Master, he is here."
Han Jing leaned his head back, blowing a lazy puff of smoke into the air. He let the silence stretch, a tactic to unsettle most men, but Xiang Yu remained calm, his expression unreadable. After a moment, Han Jing turned his gaze to Xiang Yu and gestured to the chair opposite him. "Sit," he commanded.
Xiang Yu complied, his movements smooth and deliberate. He settled into the chair, meeting Han Jing’s gaze with a steady, fearless look. The tension in the room was palpable, but Xiang Yu showed no sign of discomfort. Han Jing’s lips curled into a slight smile. "You really aren’t afraid of me, are you?" he mused, his voice a low rumble. "You’re nothing like your father."
Xiang Yu’s smile widened just a fraction, a glint of something dangerous in his eyes. "No," he replied softly, "I am not."
Han Jing never spoke of it, but the memory of that day was etched deeply in his mind. Xiang Shu hadn’t taken the bullet for him voluntarily. He had grabbed him and used him as a human shield. The thought of what Xiang Yu’s reaction would be if he ever found out crossed Han Jing’s mind more often than he cared to admit. But Xiang Yu would never know.
Still, the young man was a wild card, a beast that couldn’t be tamed, and that made him dangerous. It was precisely why Han Jing had sent him to Han Xin. Yet, even that decision was fraught with unease. Han Jing didn’t fully trust his own son and the idea of handing over such a potent weapon as Xiang Yu made him uncomfortable.
Today, Han Jing had summoned Xiang Yu to remind him who was truly in charge. It wasn’t Han Xin. As Xiang Yu sat opposite him, his brows arched slightly at Han Jing’s comment about fear. Han Jing was astute enough to recognise the truth. This demon king wasn’t afraid of a mere mortal. Xiang Yu’s face remained impassive, but his words were clear and unwavering. "I don’t fear any man."
Han Jing wasn’t offended. Instead, he chuckled softly, a sound that resonated with a mix of amusement and menace. He curled his fingers, signalling the butler, who approached with a tray. "Sir, what would you like to drink?" the butler asked.
"Anything is fine," Xiang Yu replied, his tone indifferent.
The butler was about to pour some whiskey when Han Jing raised his hand, stopping him. With a wave, he dismissed the butler and shuffled closer to the coffee table. He poured the whiskey himself into a crystal glass, the amber liquid catching the dim light. "You must be wondering why I called you over," Han Jing said, his voice smooth and controlled.
Xiang Yu watched him, his expression unreadable. The tension in the room was thick, but he showed no sign of discomfort. Han Jing handed him the glass, their eyes locking in a silent battle of wills. "I wanted to remind you," Han Jing continued, "that no matter where you are or who you serve, the true power lies here, with me."
Xiang Yu took the glass, his fingers brushing against Han Jing’s for a brief moment. He raised it to his lips, taking a slow sip. "I understand," he said simply, his voice calm and measured. But behind his eyes, a storm brewed, one that Han Jing could sense but not fully grasp.
Han Jing leaned back, satisfied for now. He had made his point. But as he watched Xiang Yu, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this young man was a force of nature, one that could either be harnessed or become a devastating tempest.
When Han Jing had handed Xiang Yu the crystal glass, his eyes had briefly stared at the ring on Han Jing’s index finger. It was a striking piece, gold carved into a dragon with its mouth open, a symbol of power and dominance.
Han Jing’s gaze steady on Xiang Yu he said, "I need help with my son," his voice measured.
Xiang Yu’s brow twitched slightly thinking what help this old man could probably want from him. If it was to betray Han Xin that was impossible. Han Jing brought his own glass to his lips, pausing for effect. "Not that son," he clarified, "the other one."
Xiang Yu’s surprise was subtle, a mere flicker in his otherwise impassive expression. "What do you need help with?" he asked, his tone neutral.
Han Jing took a slow sip of his drink before answering. "He is, how can I say this... terrible with guns. He can’t even protect himself if attacked. I need you to teach him."