Chapter Twenty-Four: Can You Not Handle This Car?

The moment Yang Meng heard the words “market tyrant,” his anger flared. Back in the day, he had worked at a pork stall in a farmers’ market, where he’d suffered no small amount of bullying at the hands of these so-called “market tyrants.” These people typically banded together, relying on violence to force sales, extort commissions, and coerce honest vendors—exactly the kind of people businessfolk dreaded encountering.

The “market tyrants” that Qian Scarface spoke of were none other than Zhai Dacheng’s cronies. As it turned out, the two biggest secondhand motorcycle dealers at the Zhao Village Market were Zheng Cannon and Qian Scarface. For years they’d been evenly matched, until Zheng Cannon, through Hammer, managed to connect with Zhai Dacheng, driving Qian Scarface out and achieving a monopoly in the market.

But soon, his nightmare began: Hammer and his crew were true “market tyrants.” They stationed people in the market to keep an eye on Zheng Cannon, now demanding hefty cuts on every sale, no matter the vehicle. On the surface, business seemed to be booming, but actual profits had shrunk considerably.

“Well deserved!” Yang Meng said after hearing Qian Scarface’s story. “I suppose I understand why you’re here—you want back in at Zhao Village Market, right?”

Qian Scarface didn’t deny it. “That’s right. I let that fool drive me out, but I swear on my conscience, I’m not just going back for the money. Otherwise, Zheng Cannon wouldn’t be so eager to have me return. Even if he’d wanted me back before, I wouldn’t have returned with Zhai Dacheng’s men around—how could I?”

Yang Meng chuckled. “Not for the money? Don’t tell me it’s for the sake of the country and the people, because I’d never believe it!”

Qian Scarface suddenly turned the question around. “Mr. Yang, you’ve been to Zhao Village Market a few times, haven’t you? Have you noticed any changes in the secondhand motorcycle market there?”

Yang Meng thought for a moment. “Changes? I’d say there are more wrecks than before. Loads of rebadged and rebuilt bikes—aren’t they just ripping people off?”

Qian Scarface nodded. “You’re right! Under Zhai Dacheng, there’s a gang of teenage bike thieves, maybe sixteen or seventeen at most. There used to be stolen bikes at the market, but they were the work of roving dealers. Zheng Cannon and I never touched that sort of business. But now? Can Zhai Dacheng’s men refuse to sell what the thieves bring in? That would ruin their own trade. If this keeps up, sooner or later the authorities will crack down. Let me tell you, I’m a local. Because of the secondhand motorcycle market, tons of people here rely on the industry—repair shops, insurance, parts sales, customization, trade-ins, you name it. If something happens to the market, a whole crowd will lose their livelihoods.”

Yang Meng was speechless. “Honestly, you’ve managed to dress up a money-making scheme as patriotism. With that silver tongue, you should be lecturing on ‘success strategies.’”

Qian Scarface wasn’t the least bit embarrassed. “Actually, I’m considering running for village chief.”

Yang Meng gave him a thumbs-up. “Then best of luck to you! But I still don’t get why you’re involving me in this. You’re not expecting me to become the new market tyrant, are you? Because I’ll tell you now, I have no interest in that. Besides, as you said, this is Zhai Dacheng’s cash cow. Cutting off his profits is like killing his parents. I’ve already got bad blood with him—are you trying to make us mortal enemies?”

At last, Zheng Cannon chimed in, “Come on, Yang Meng, don’t make it sound so scary. You’re the guy who dared punch the Young Master of the Long family—are you really afraid of Zhai Dacheng? You’re joking, right?”

Qian Scarface added, “Everyone’s saying now that I brought you back to challenge Zheng Cannon for the market turf. So let’s lean into the misunderstanding—Zhai Dacheng’s guys won’t dare mess around anymore.”

Yang Meng was about to refuse, but Qian Scarface quickly said, “Wait, Mr. Yang, don’t rush to say no. I know what you’re worried about. We guarantee your name won’t be misused—it’s just to scare off Zhai Dacheng’s men. And I don’t expect you to lend your name for free; I’ve prepared a gift for you.”

“A gift? What kind of gift?” Yang Meng blinked in surprise. Was he really about to receive a present?

“Of course!” Qian Scarface glanced at Zheng Cannon. “I’m not like some people who think they can fix everything with a meal after making a colossal blunder. Who still cares about a free meal these days?” He found time to take another jab at Zheng Cannon, who blushed furiously but had no retort.

Qian Scarface waved a hand, signaling to the young men by the alley mouth. They unloaded a rectangular wooden crate from a small truck, placing it on a manual hydraulic cart and wheeling it over.

Yang Meng blinked. “Is that a motorcycle transport crate?”

Qian Scarface nodded and motioned for the crate to be opened. When Yang Meng saw the motorcycle inside, he gasped, exclaiming, “The ‘Six-Eyed Demon’? Brand-new, 2015 model? Where on earth did you get this thing?”

Before him sat a green superbike, noticeably larger than the usual road racers—a real beast.

Seeing Yang Meng’s reaction, Qian Scarface knew he’d hit the mark. With a smug glance at Zheng Cannon, he said, “You’ve got a good eye, Yang Meng—this is an authentic, officially imported 2015 ‘Six-Eyed Demon.’ It may be nearing the end of its era, but a good machine is always a good machine. Don’t you agree?”

Yang Meng was speechless, his eyes sparkling like stars as he gazed at the bike.

The so-called “Six-Eyed Demon” was the nickname for the Kawasaki Ninja ZX-14R, bestowed by Chinese riders for its six headlights. For years, it had been the dream machine for motorcycle enthusiasts worldwide.

Long ago, the major motorcycle manufacturers engaged in a fierce battle for speed supremacy, each releasing their fastest models. The two most legendary were Suzuki’s “Hayabusa”—the so-called “Land Aircraft”—and the Kawasaki ZX-14R, the “Six-Eyed Demon.” Both were “unlimited class” machines, showcasing their makers’ peak capabilities. Their rivalry was legendary: the Hayabusa had bested Kawasaki’s ZX-11 and ZX-12R, but in the end, it fell to the ZX-14R.

However, increasingly strict emissions standards have made these bikes unavailable in many countries. And with Kawasaki’s introduction of the even more formidable H2R, the “speed king” titles of both the Six-Eyed Demon and the Hayabusa have been usurped. Now, these models are legends on the wane. Yet, by any measure, the ZX-14R remains one of the finest superbikes ever built.

Of course, the H2R can’t easily dethrone the Six-Eyed Demon and the Hayabusa in the motorcycle world, for a simple reason: the H2R can’t be registered or ridden on public roads. It’s a track-only machine. The street-legal H2 can be registered and, on paper, outperforms the Six-Eyed Demon, but it’s much harder to handle and tends to become unstable at high speeds, so in practice, the ZX-14R often outshines it.

Qian Scarface, beaming, introduced the bike, “The Six-Eyed Demon has a unique 1441cc inline-four engine, ABS brakes, and perfect traction control. See the intake in the center of the front fairing? That’s the ram air duct, channeling air straight into the engine for maximum power. The factory twin metal exhausts keep noise to a minimum—don’t be fooled by the power, it’s as quiet as an electric bike when you ride it. You can also switch between full and low power modes depending on the environment. Because of the ‘gentlemen’s agreement,’ the speedometer tops out at 299 kilometers per hour, but this bike easily breaks that and goes well over 300.”

In truth, production models like the Hayabusa can all surpass 300 km/h with ease, let alone the later, faster Six-Eyed Demon. As for monsters like the H2R, they can even break 400! After that era of wild, costly speed wars, the manufacturers realized it couldn’t continue—costs far outstripped returns. So, they made a gentlemen’s agreement: no production bike would exceed 300 km/h. That’s why today’s superbikes all have speedometers that max out at 299.

Whether this was self-deception or not, Yang Meng didn’t know—nor did he dare question it…

“Don’t be shy about accepting the bike, Yang Meng—don’t say it’s too expensive or anything. Just take it. As long as I can return to Zhao Village Market, all will be well. The paperwork’s all in order—title, certificate of conformity, insurance, vehicle tax certificate—everything you need. It’s currently on a temporary plate; just head to the DMV when you have time to register it.” As he spoke, Qian Scarface handed Yang Meng a small pouch.

Yang Meng stood there, torn, the pouch in his hand. To take it or not? That was the question.

Qian Scarface asked curiously, “What’s wrong, Yang Meng? You don’t seem too pleased.”

Yang Meng sighed, “Qian Scarface, now I finally understand what they mean by ‘the agony of happiness.’ Honestly, I’ve considered getting a cruiser, a chopper, a streetfighter, a vintage bike, or even a naked sports bike—but I never thought about buying a full-on superbike like this.”

“Huh?” Qian Scarface was momentarily stunned. “Yang Meng, are you saying you can’t handle this bike?”