Chen Mo flashed into the courtyard of the manor, looked at the car riddled with holes from his Flying Blade, and opened the trunk.
Several briefcases lay inside. Opening them, he saw they were all packed with one-thousand-dollar Hong Kong banknotes—thirty million in total. Chen Mo cursed inwardly; selling drugs was certainly profitable, but it was a heartless business.
After all, ninety percent of the people in Hong Kong were his fellow Zhonghuajia countrymen. Dealing drugs here was a wicked act that invited karmic retribution. If they really had the guts, they should take their drugs to the Americans or the Japanese—that would be a deed of infinite merit.
Chapter 101