Chapter 20: Uncle Yong's Reputation (2)

Xing, a man of about thirty-five, stood over six feet tall and was as burly as a calf. A scar marred his face, and a vivid blue tattoo was visible on his neck. With a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips, he gestured toward me after hearing Dahu speak. "No more talk. Hack him. I’ll take the blame if anything happens."

As soon as he gave the order, Dahu and his men charged.

I looked down at Xiaowen and said, "Go with them! Old Biao! Take Xiaowen and get out of here!"

With that, I grabbed a chair and flung it at them.

At that same moment, Xiaowen’s voice rose from behind me: "You all know better than anyone who Uncle Yong sat here for for the past half hour. You can walk away today, but after today, as long as this man named Zhang Zhicheng is still alive, you will have missed your only chance to gain a foothold here. Mark my words."

At her declaration, Chen Jianjun, who had been seven parts fearful and three parts hesitant, cursed, "Damn it, let's fight them to the end!"

Finally, I wasn't fighting alone.

But this situation was different from the daytime. Back then, my sudden, unexpected strike had caught Dahu and his men off guard. This time, however, they were prepared.

The six of us held out for only three minutes against the onslaught of over twenty men. We were all bloodied. Their blades were thin, and the gang seemed to have a degree of restraint, aiming for non-lethal areas; though we were injured, none of us were critically hurt. Yet, my reckless, "kamikaze" fighting style couldn't overcome their overwhelming numerical superiority.

Dahu, knowing how vicious and ruthless I could be, had three or four men pin me firmly to the ground after knocking me down. He stepped on my head and held a machete against my face. "Think you're tough? You ruined my look—let's see how I open you up today. Xiaowen, I've asked you out so many times, and you choose this little piece of trash? How is he better than me?!"

The bastard was trying to pour his heart out to Xiaowen while torturing me. From beginning to end, Xiaowen just sat on her chair, as steady as a mountain. It was hard to imagine what was going on in her mind.

Hearing Dahu’s words, Xiaowen let out a cold, soft scoff. That scoff infuriated Dahu even more. He raised his blade and slashed down toward my face.

I closed my eyes, gripping the shard of a broken beer bottle in my hand tighter and tighter.

I counted in my mind, calculating the distance. I was aiming for Dahu’s neck. I was ready to kill him in one blow.

Just as I was about to move, a cough sounded nearby, followed by a voice: "Anyone eating at my place is my guest. That’s enough."

I opened my eyes and saw Old Hai. It was he who had reached out and grabbed Dahu.

Dahu shoved Old Hai’s hand away. "Who the hell are you? Get lost, or do you want me to smash your stall too?"

Old Hai, who had been smiling a moment ago, backhanded Dahu across the face and sneered, "Screw your mother! You little punk!" The curse was delivered with perfect, sharp enunciation.

Dahu, having been slapped, relied on his numbers and prepared to lunge, but his boss, Xing, held him back. Xiaowen had said the locals kept a low profile, yet they occupied the very top of the local food chain. Whether you were an entrepreneur, a laborer, or a street thug, you ultimately made a living under the locals' rules. In some southern cities, you could never fathom the influence behind an ordinary-looking old man or woman. There was a huge cultural divide between North and South in this regard; as a popular saying went, in the South, you couldn't tell who was rich, while in some parts of the North, you couldn't tell who was poor.

Xing took out a cigarette and offered it to Old Hai, smiling. "Friend, do me a favor. This kid hurt my brother today. If I don't settle this, I won't be able to lead my men. I'll pay for the broken tables and chairs. You're from Jinju Village, right? I'm actually friends with Song Tianci from your village."

Old Hai swatted Xing’s hand away and said coldly, "You can go call Old Song here and see if he dares to cause trouble at my stand."

Xing frowned. "No respect at all?"

Old Hai lit a Double Happiness cigarette and pointed at Xing. "You're their boss, right? If you want to hack this kid and then run for it, go ahead tonight. But if you want to keep making a living around here, I suggest you leave now. I’m running a business, and they are my guests. Hitting them is a slap to my face."

Dahu raised his blade. "So what if you're a local? You think you're something special? Do you think my brothers were scared into submission?"

Old Hai narrowed his eyes, ignoring Dahu and looking at Xing. "Want to compare numbers? Or money?"

Dahu tried to speak, but Xing glared at him and cursed, "Shut up!"

Turning back to Old Hai, Xing cupped his hands in a gesture of respect. "Fine, I'll give you this face. As long as he's eating here, I won't touch him. But the moment he pays and leaves, I'm settling this. My brothers and I have nothing if not time!"

Xing then prepared to wait outside the night market for us.

Old Hai pulled out his phone, dialed a number, and spoke a few sentences in a local dialect we couldn't understand. After hanging up, he handed the phone to Xing. "It's for you. Old Song."

Xing put on a smile and took the phone with both hands. "Brother Song, it's me, Little Xing. Yeah, right, right... I'm just here to teach a blind little brat a lesson. What?"

The smile on Xing’s face froze. He looked back at us, his gaze locking onto my face. He returned the phone to Old Hai and trotted toward me, helping me up with a fawning smile. "Uncle Yong's friend! Hey! Brother, why didn't you say so earlier? This is just the Great Flood destroying the Dragon King's temple—we're all family causing a misunderstanding. I'm Guo Changxing. Let's be friends."

His reaction caught me completely off guard. But I realized Old Hai must have called Xing's friend, Song Tianci, and told him I was Uncle Yong’s friend. I knew Uncle Yong had influence, but I never imagined it was this vast.

It reminded me of the humiliation when I dropped out of school, back when I was being harassed by Wu Chen’s family. If I had known someone like Uncle Yong back then, would that black-faced man—my father, who had never bowed his head despite the hardship of toiling in the fields—have had to kneel in public to beg for mercy?

At that thought, a surge of petty, vengeful spite rose within me. I scrambled up, grabbed a stool, and smashed it down onto Xing’s head. The blow was heavy and sudden; Xing hadn't expected me to lash out, and he collapsed to the ground under the force of it.

I kept raising the chair, smashing it down again and again. Xing’s underlings wanted to intervene, but Xing roared at them, "If you make a mistake, you own it! If you get hit, you stand tall! As long as this brother can vent his anger, what's a little blood?"

I smashed it a dozen times, until Xing’s face was covered in blood.

"That's enough," Xiaowen said, standing up. She gave me a calm look, turned, and walked away from Old Hai’s night market.