Chapter Twenty-Seven: Did You Rob a Bank?

"Brother Yang, just take the car!" The speaker wasn’t Zheng the Cannon, but Qian the Toad. "You don’t know Zheng the Cannon well enough—he’s got a nickname, ‘Sticky Rice Chicken,’ meaning he’s stingy to the bone but always wants a bit for himself. Today, with these three vehicles, we’ve skinned him for at least three hundred thousand; he’s really bleeding out."

"But..." Yang Meng hesitated.

Qian the Toad waved a broad hand. "I know what you’re worried about. You’re afraid he’ll cause trouble for me at the Zhao Village market, aren’t you? Brother Yang, you’re not familiar with the second-hand motorbike trade. We deal not only with buyers but with sellers, too. If we misjudge and take in a lemon—a water-damaged or mouse-car, what are we supposed to do? If we don’t sell, we lose money; if we do sell, it’s risky. When you walk by the river often, you’re bound to get your shoes wet. Making money means bearing risks. The best way is to have someone share the load. This guy is my lightning rod—Zheng the Cannon, don’t glare at me, that’s the truth! Brother Yang, just take the car. I’ll have someone handle the transfer and registration right now, so he won’t have time to regret!"

"You’re the one who’ll regret it!" Zheng the Cannon glared.

Qian the Toad grinned. "Zheng the Cannon, let me speak sincerely—if I weren’t worried that Zhai Dacheng would mess up the Zhao Village second-hand market, I wouldn’t even bother coming back. Don’t worry, I won’t bully you; we’ll get along as we always have."

"Come on!" Zheng the Cannon’s eyes flashed. "Qian the Toad, don’t get cocky with me! When I’ve snatched your business, we’ll see if you can still smile!"

Qian the Toad kept smiling. "Then let’s rely on our own abilities. Honestly, even if you hadn’t given Brother Yang the bikes, I wouldn’t kick you out of Zhao Village market. Like I said, I need a target out front, and that target is you! How’s that? Regretting handing over all your stock? Three bikes lost for nothing—hurts, doesn’t it?"

Zheng the Cannon widened his eyes. "Meeting a friend like Brother Yang, what’s there to be upset about?"

Qian the Toad chuckled. "Alright, stubborn to the end. Brother Yang, let me borrow your ID for a moment. I’ll have someone get the transfer and plates done right now, so he won’t have time to back out." With that, he pointed to his porter. "Xiangzi, take a few people to the vehicle bureau and get this sorted."

"You’re going to a lot of trouble," Yang Meng said politely.

Qian the Toad shook his head. "Trouble? Not at all. It’d be trouble for you without connections to handle the paperwork. We do this for a living—we know the ropes. Zheng the Cannon, am I right?"

Now Zheng the Cannon was triumphant. "You still need me for this! You can’t pull it off alone!"

Qian the Toad frowned. "What’s gotten into you? Now that you’re connected with Brother Yang, you’re swelling with pride?"

Zheng the Cannon glared. "There are four bikes here—you expect your guy to ride them all to the bureau?"

Qian the Toad was stumped; Zheng the Cannon was right. Even with connections, someone had to be present for the registration and transfer of motorbikes. Xiangzi alone couldn’t handle it.

Seeing Qian the Toad’s expression, Zheng the Cannon grew smug. "Step aside, this is where I shine!"

Qian the Toad wasn’t to be outdone. "Brother Yang, I’ll go with him. I’m afraid Sticky Rice Chicken will get sentimental and run off with the bikes!"

"Brother Yang, I’ll go along with him. We’ll get it sorted in no time," Zheng the Cannon said.

Yang Meng scratched his head. "Alright, thanks for your trouble. I’ve got a few friends coming over for barbecue tonight. I need to marinate the meat. Why don’t you join us later?"

Qian the Toad started to accept, but stopped. "Brother Yang, I appreciate the invitation, but the next market day is coming up soon. I need to make preparations. I’ve been away for a while, and I need to organize my stock."

Zheng the Cannon glanced at Qian the Toad. "Yeah, Brother Yang, don’t think our market happens only every five days—there’s a lot to do in between, contacting suppliers and customers. Let’s catch up next time."

Yang Meng was puzzled by their response; were they trying to keep their distance now? And he was right—they both wanted to establish a good relationship with Yang Meng, a merchant’s instinct, but they didn’t dare get too close yet. The conflict between Yang Meng and Zhai Dacheng hadn’t reached its conclusion, so they needed to keep observing—a typical business mentality.

Yang Meng didn’t dwell on it, preferring less trouble anyway. Besides, he had a small experiment to run at home, and outsiders wouldn’t be ideal witnesses.

Once Qian the Toad and his crew had left, Yang Meng eagerly took out his Jade Goblet of Yi Di.

He hadn’t yet figured out the goblet’s purpose. The middle-aged immortal claimed the wine inside could cure all diseases, but Yang Meng didn’t believe it—ancient times didn’t have the modern viruses and illnesses we face now.

And to be honest, the taste of the wine paled compared to modern yellow wine sold on the street. Whenever he drank it, Yang Meng felt sorry for those immortals...

The divine goblet, a treasure of Yi Di the Wine God, had become useless in Yang Meng’s hands. Aside from being able to replenish the wine with magic, he couldn’t think of any other purpose for it.

Tonight, with barbecue planned, Yang Meng had a sudden inspiration to experiment. The wine was too risky to use medicinally, and its taste was unimpressive—but what about using it as cooking wine for marinating meat?

He acted immediately, bustling about the kitchen. He didn’t marinate much, just enough for a test. After all, it was celestial wine—who knew what side effects it might have? He diluted it before using it to marinate the meat.

Qian the Toad’s crew was impressively efficient. Before Yang Meng had finished prepping his ingredients, the four motorbikes roared back into the alley, drawing plenty of attention.

Leading the pack was Xiangzi, Qian the Toad’s assistant, who handed over all the paperwork to Yang Meng. The official plates would be delivered later. He declined an invitation to stay, parked the bikes in the courtyard, and left. The courtyard was spacious, but with four heavy bikes parked, it was now quite cramped.

Yang Meng put the documents into his cycling backpack. He was tempted to go for a mountain ride immediately, but remembering that Hu Er Leng and the others would soon arrive for barbecue, he decided to hold off and discuss plans with them.

Just as he finished prepping the ingredients, he heard a knock at the door.

"Hmm? They’re here already?" Yang Meng wiped his hands and went to open the gate. "Who is it?"

"It’s me!" came a familiar voice in his hometown dialect.

Yang Meng opened the gate. "Well, look at that, Lobster—I thought you’d be the last to show up, but you’re first!"

The visitor was Qi Kun, known by the nickname 'Lobster'.

Why was he called that? Because he used to be skinny, often underestimated in fights among his peers. To look fierce, he tattooed a big scorpion on himself. But after turning eighteen, he ballooned up, now weighing nearly two hundred pounds. Once, while out, someone saw his tattoo and insisted they’d seen 'dragon and tiger tattoos,' but never a lobster, and pressed him about its meaning...

Thus, he earned the nickname 'Lobster,' and now works as a substitute taxi driver in the city.

He usually switches shifts at six in the evening, so Yang Meng expected him to be the last to arrive, but he was the first.

Qi Kun walked in, announcing, "Today I picked up a beautiful woman at the airport. Her family had an emergency, so she rushed to the hospital and handed me a thousand yuan. After dropping her off, I came straight here. Stop gawking—look what I brought! Fifty-six degree Red Star! Tonight, we each knock back three bottles!"

Yang Meng laughed. "Don’t exaggerate—you’ll be overachieving if you finish one. What about Madman? When’s he coming?"

Madman’s real name is Ling Feng, but everyone prefers to call him Madman—not because he’s wild, but because they don’t want to mention his rare surname.

The Ling surname is uncommon, but ancient, dating back to the Three Sovereigns and Five Emperors, with branches linked to Fuxi, the descendants of King Wen of Zhou, and at worst, a government post in the Eastern Han—all prestigious origins.

Ling Feng often boasted about his surname, which annoyed everyone, so they just called him Madman. He did have a streak of madness—despite lacking formal education, he passed rigorous tests to work as an auxiliary police officer, and even distinguished himself during a criminal arrest. He’s currently studying for an adult college diploma, hoping for full-time status.

He and Qi Kun are cousins, sharing a rented apartment, hence Yang Meng’s inquiry about Madman’s whereabouts.

Qi Kun replied, "They had a mission at the station today—you know how it is, you can’t contact them while they’re out. He might be late, so he said we should start without him... Whoa! What’s this?"

Qi Kun, carrying the liquor, entered the courtyard and was immediately struck by the four imposing motorbikes. He dropped the liquor crate and ran over to the bikes. "Er Leng said you’re changing jobs—what, you’re dealing in motorbikes now?"

Yang Meng beamed. "These are all mine!"

"Burning newspaper for the ancestors—are you kidding me?" Qi Kun clearly didn’t believe him. "This ‘Six Eyes’ second-hand would still cost over two hundred grand, right? You could afford that? Don’t make me laugh!"

Hailing from Zhuo Mountain, Qi Kun was well-acquainted with bikes, having grown up riding them.

Yang Meng laughed heartily. "Don’t worry about where the money came from. Look, check if these bikes are really mine!"

He laid out the documents for all four bikes in front of Qi Kun. "Here, Lobster, see for yourself—are these my bikes?"

Qi Kun picked up the documents, glanced over them, and his eyes widened. "Damn, tell me honestly, you didn’t rob a bank, did you?"