Madame Gao

It was late at night.

Robbie lay in bed, everything that had happened over the past few days surfacing in his mind.

When he had first arrived in New York, he had planned to find a job to support himself and Gabe. But Master Wang had soon come knocking, offering him a job as a deliveryman and security guard for the "Azeroth Specialties Shop."

No meals or lodging included, no weekends or holidays, no five insurances and one fund, on call twenty-four hours a day, available whenever summoned.

At first, Robbie had refused.

Not to mention that being Ghost Rider had given him abilities beyond those of ordinary people.

Although he rejected the Spirit of Vengeance deep down, those powers still made him feel just a little inflated. And under the Spirit of Vengeance’s constant subtle influence, he had begun to feel that he had both the right and responsibility to take the place of the state’s violent institutions and judge those bastards who deserved to die but were still alive.

Just like the slogan Master Wang had mentioned a few days ago from that book, "The Story of 105 Men and 3 Women":

"Deliver justice in God’s name!"

The feeling that he could take someone’s life at any moment, combined with the feeling of looking down on all living beings from the moral high ground, made him seem low-key on the surface while actually growing increasingly arrogant. No matter how impressive someone was, they meant nothing to him—like that flashy older bachelor who had just landed a ten-billion military contract a few days ago, then promptly vanished.

A dignified Ghost Rider, working as a security guard and deliveryman?

Even without that identity, he was confident that he was Los Angeles’s best amateur racer and professional mechanic. He made quite a bit every month.

How much could he possibly earn as a security guard and deliveryman for some grocery store?

I, Robbie, am above that!

But when Old Wang told him he could receive one drop of "Essence Wine" every month, Robbie agreed without a second word.

One drop of Essence Wine was worth one million!

That was equivalent to earning thirty thousand a day. He could not make that much in a month as a mechanic!

Where else could he find a deal like that?

Of course, Robbie was not stupid. Such high pay definitely came with a catch, like danger.

But he was not afraid.

The Spirit of Vengeance had said that Ghost Riders were immortal.

Even if he died, it did not matter. At worst, he would crawl back out of Hell. It was not like it had never been done before…

Well, Robbie himself had never done it, but the Spirit of Vengeance said his predecessors did it all the time!

Actually, as long as Master Wang was around, the specialty shop did not need a security guard. Nor did it need a deliveryman for the time being.

Robbie had plenty of free time.

Other than learning martial arts from Master Wang so that he could better use Ghost Rider’s powers, Robbie spent most of his time, urged on by the Spirit of Vengeance, preparing to take revenge on behalf of others.

Robbie felt a sense of mission.

Every second of every day, countless people in this world were hurt. They had no power to take revenge.

I will avenge them. That is Ghost Rider’s mission!

According to the Spirit of Vengeance, anyone guilty of a crime deserved to die.

That was way too edgy. Way too extreme…

Robbie was not that kind of person.

He had his own rules.

Petty thieves only needed a lesson—like broken arms, broken legs, or a broken third leg.

But those who truly deserved death had no need to stay in this world wasting food!

"Ding!"

A crisp notification sounded. An email had arrived, pinned to the top and marked in red.

Robbie hurriedly opened the laptop he had used for five years and began reading.

His expression grew increasingly grim.

"The Hand, an organization that has existed for over a thousand years. The shadows of the Hand lie behind many world-shaking disasters: the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, the destruction of Pompeii, the Tunguska Explosion, the Apocalypse Explosion…"

"For more than a thousand years, the Hand has caused countless tragedies and committed sins beyond measure…"

"Its members are spread across countries throughout the world: whites, blacks, Asians; Asia, Europe, the Americas, Africa…"

"Many world-famous criminal organizations are affiliated with the Hand, such as the Triads, the Yamaguchi-gumi, and the Russian Mafia…"

"Madame Gao is one of the Five Fingers of the Hand, controlling New York’s drug manufacturing and trade…"

"To prevent workers from leaking secrets, she had every worker’s eyes gouged out…"

Robbie clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white.

How could there be such vicious scum in this world?

"Madame Gao must die!"

Robbie rose to his feet and headed outside.

New York’s nights were prosperous and bustling, but beneath the neon lights and extravagance lay endless evil.

Hell’s Kitchen.

A tiny, hidden processing plant.

More than a hundred blind people with Eastern features worked along the assembly line.

Each of them had been personally taught only their own portion of the work.

Because they could not see, they did not know what they were doing, nor what anyone else was doing. They had no desire to find out.

Like a pyramid scheme or a cult, they underwent unified brainwashing every day, one belief taking root deep in their minds:

Our work is sacred.

Madame Gao gave us this job. She allowed us to support ourselves and gave meaning to our lives.

For Madame Gao, we willingly gouged out our own eyes to ensure that no one would leak secrets and that our work would not be disrupted.

Madame Gao is our faith.

Without Madame Gao, we would have nothing.

The site was utterly silent. Only the monotonous sounds of the blind workers repeating their tasks turned the place into a world completely stripped of speech.

More than a dozen armed Eastern men guarded every entrance and exit. Their leader continuously paced through the factory, inspecting the blind workers’ labor.

His name was Zhou Cheng, Madame Gao’s right-hand man, responsible for drug production and trafficking in New York.

Suddenly, the door opened.

An elderly woman leaning on a cane shuffled inside.

She was an Eastern woman who appeared to be at least seventy years old. She wore a black coat over a long black skirt, her hair meticulously combed. One look was enough to tell that she was highly disciplined, intelligent, and refined.

In truth, she was more knowledgeable than anyone in the secular world. No historian was qualified to discuss history in front of her.

She herself represented history.

"Madame Gao."

Zhou Cheng was clearly surprised. He hurried over and asked respectfully, "Weren’t you in Hong Kong? Why did you come back so soon?"

"That is not your concern."

Madame Gao spoke calmly. "How are things in New York?"

"We have already taken control of one-third of New York’s drug trade. Another third is in Wilson Fisk’s hands, while the remaining third is controlled by other gangs."

Zhou Cheng quickly reported, "Everything at Rand Corporation is normal. Harold has been imprisoned by our people ever since he was resurrected. His son and daughter have no idea that Rand Corporation belongs to you. With Rand Corporation as cover, no one knows about our drug trade. Our cooperation with Fisk has been fairly smooth, but lately he seems to be growing disobedient and secretly expanding his forces. Should we warn him?"

"There is no need. Fisk is a smart man. He knows the limits of my tolerance."

Madame Gao was about to say something else when she suddenly turned her head toward one of the exits.

"Ah!"

A pained scream rang out. Zhou Cheng’s heart tightened, and he immediately drew his gun, growling, "It’s Lin Cheng. Something happened to him. Could it be the New York police? No, there are our people in the police department, and Fisk’s people too! It must be another gang—the Russian Mafia, the Japanese Yamaguchi-gumi, or the Irish Mob!"

"Not them."

Madame Gao narrowed her eyes slightly. "It is someone terrifying."

Bang!

The door was kicked open, and Robbie strode in, chains wrapped around his body.

PS: The Hand’s exact age is unknown. The eruption of Mount Vesuvius destroyed Pompeii in AD 79, and Madame Gao herself said she suffered hardships in the seventeenth century. So Madame Gao is at least over four hundred years old, and the Hand has existed for at least nearly two thousand years. Madame Gao is an immortal old monster… Let’s just say she has lived for over a thousand years. It is not important.

Thanks to Ziyuan882 for the 100 donation, and thanks to SS for the 100 donation!