Chapter Thirty-Eight: A Good Person Only in Words

That day, when he returned to Ling Feng’s hospital room, he saw Qi Kun there berating Ling Feng. After all, they had agreed to drink together, yet Yang Meng and the others hadn’t even touched a drop, while Ling Feng ended up drunk and hospitalized. Who could make sense of such a thing?

Hu Erleng suggested they buy some alcohol at the supermarket near the hospital and have a drink right there in the ward. The two of them began to make a ruckus in the room. After a moment’s thought, Yang Meng took out his gourd of wine and let each of them have a small sip. Instantly, the whole world quieted down.

Since it was immortal wine, the worst that could happen was they’d get drunk—Yang Meng didn’t give it much thought. He became so absorbed in reading over the next few days that he even left his phone switched off, completely forgetting about the incident. He told himself he really couldn’t let that happen again in the future...

But something puzzled him: several days had passed, and even if the others couldn’t reach him by phone, surely they would have come to find him here? Had something happened to Ling Feng in the hospital?

He tried calling their mobiles, but all were switched off. Yang Meng felt uneasy. No, he had to go to the hospital and check!

With this thought, he immediately mounted his “Six-eyed Demon” and set off for the hospital. This bike was unlike any he’d ever ridden before. It didn’t sound loud, but it was ferocious. When he first tried it, Yang Meng didn’t even dare twist the throttle; in first gear, if he floored it, the speed would shoot up to one-twenty in an instant—and that was without having modified any of the bike’s settings. If he tweaked it for a launch start, one squeeze of the throttle and the thing would take off like a rocket!

This wasn’t an exaggeration. Many people unfamiliar with heavy motorcycles misjudged them, gave too much throttle at the start, couldn’t hold the front down, and the next thing you’d see was the bike flying off on its own while the rider was left standing in place...

Even Yang Meng, who’d been riding bikes since childhood, needed quite a while to get used to this one’s capabilities. Ordinary people would have no hope of handling it.

But the bike was undeniably eye-catching. All along the way, Yang Meng basked in the stares it drew—every passerby gave it a second look. Even traffic police took notice: he was stopped and asked for papers four times on his way.

One incident stood out: he had documents for four different vehicles in his bag, and when the police saw this, they spent ages checking before finally letting him go—they’d suspected Yang Meng was running a fake plates racket.

After wasting a good bit of time, he finally arrived at the hospital, only to find the entrance completely blocked off.

“Business is always good at the hospital, huh!” he thought. Here, the bike’s advantages shone—traffic jams didn’t slow him down. But he soon realized something was off: a huge crowd was gathered, many holding up phones to film... What had happened?

Yang Meng’s “Six-eyed Demon” was so intimidating that the crowd instinctively parted to let him through. He could faintly hear shouts and curses.

So the road was blocked because of a fight?

Probably another car accident. Road rage was a disease, he thought wryly.

But when he saw what was actually happening, Yang Meng’s expression darkened: several people were beating and kicking two others. One person lay on top of the other, shielding them from the blows.

Just by their uniforms, it was obvious who the victims were: two sanitation workers. Looking closer, both were elderly—a cleaning lady was being shielded by an older man, who was taking the brunt of the assault. Now, a gang of young people was beating them mercilessly.

Among their assailants were two fashionably dressed women, one clutching a dog, both repeatedly kicking the old cleaning man. One of them cursed as she kicked, “Do you know how expensive my Taotao is? He’s a direct descendant of ‘King!’ Sell you two old things and you wouldn’t be worth as much as my dog! How dare you chase off my Taotao? So what if he pooped in the street? And you expect me to clean it up? Old fool, do you know who I am? Make me clean up dog shit? Then what are you cleaners even for? Hit them harder! Teach these old fools a lesson! Knock some sense into them!”

She was holding a strange-looking dog, black, yellow, and white. Yang Meng recognized the breed—a Wire Fox Terrier—now barking madly alongside its mistress at the two battered cleaners.

“To hell with this!” Yang Meng cursed when he saw the scene. He revved his bike, lifted the front wheel, and charged straight into the fray, regardless of gender.

“What the hell?”

“Ow!”

“It hurts!”

Yang Meng crashed into the group like a bowling ball, scattering them in all directions. The scene erupted in shrieks and wails.

“Honey!” A man standing beside a Porsche 911, smoking a cigar, saw the woman with the dog sent flying and rushed over to help her up. Pointing at Yang Meng, he barked, “Keep an eye on that punk, don’t let him get away! I’ll deal with him myself!”

With that, the men standing around several nearby cars closed in and surrounded Yang Meng.

The woman had taken quite a hit—Yang Meng had aimed at her on purpose. Her face was covered in blood. The man shook her for a while before she slowly came to, “What happened to me?”

“Honey! Thank goodness you’re awake!” he breathed in relief. “You’re bleeding quite a bit!”

“What? I’m bleeding?” The woman touched her face in shock and cried out, “My nose is broken! This is the nose I just had done in Korea! I’ll kill him! Where’s Taotao?”

Just then, the dog let out a miserable yelp. She followed the sound and nearly fainted. When she’d been knocked over, she’d thrown the dog from her arms; unrestrained, it saw its chance for freedom and tried to run, only to be run over by a passing car on the other side of the street.

The dog was dead.

“Honey! Kill him! Our Taotao!” she screamed, on the verge of madness.

Her partner nodded. “Just wait, honey. Let me handle this. You think you can lay a hand on Wan Changhe’s woman and walk away? Dream on! Don’t just stand there—break his arms and legs and drag him over here!”

Yang Meng had already parked and dismounted. Who was this Wan Changhe? Why did he always go out with so many people? Did he really think he was some international drug lord?

Unbeknownst to him, it was a simple misunderstanding—these days, aside from celebrities chasing headlines, who else goes out with an entourage? Wan Changhe had been summoned by his wife.

His wife, Miao Li, wasn’t actually married to Wan Changhe. She was only twenty-one, and Wan Changhe was old enough to be her father. But despite her youth, her romantic history was complicated—she already had a long record of abortions. After so many, Miao Li suffered from numerous ailments, including chronic gynecological problems. Most importantly, she’d become habitually unable to carry a pregnancy to term.

She’d met Wan Changhe in a bar. He fancied her youth and beauty; she liked his wealth and extravagance. They hit it off, and she became his mistress.

At first, Miao Li insisted she loved only Wan Changhe and cared nothing for status or titles. But what mistress is ever truly satisfied? In the end, Wan Changhe abandoned his wife and children to live with Miao Li.

Still, Miao Li wanted more—she wanted to marry Wan Changhe for security. But he wasn’t foolish; why tie himself down now? So Miao Li schemed to have his child.

But that was no easy feat, and she’d come to the hospital seeking treatment. At the entrance, her dog had defecated on the street, and the annoying sanitation workers dared to ask her to clean it up. An argument broke out, and she quickly called Wan Changhe for backup. She hadn’t expected this “sudden hero” to intervene.

Now, her rage knew no bounds—not even if Yang Meng knelt and begged would it satisfy her.

Yang Meng was just about to remove his helmet when someone kicked at him. Without bothering to take off the helmet, he kicked the assailant flying.

“Nice kick!” cheered the onlookers.

“These people deserve a beating!”

“Hit them good!”

The bystanders were more excited to see Yang Meng fight than Yang Meng himself.

Yang Meng ignored them, swiftly dispatching all of Wan Changhe’s men.

Wan Changhe, having just helped Miao Li up, turned to see all his underlings out cold.

“Who...who the hell are you?” he stammered, swallowing hard. “Don’t come any closer!”

His voice trembled. With Yang Meng’s helmet on, Wan Changhe desperately wanted to see the face beneath.

Yang Meng walked over without a word and slapped him down. Wan Changhe collapsed onto the ground and passed out.

Yang Meng was truly furious now and wouldn’t waste any more time on them—beat them first, talk later.

“Good!” the crowd erupted in applause again.

Someone pointed a phone at Yang Meng: “Bro, take off your helmet so I can get a clear shot of your face!”

Yang Meng had been about to remove his helmet, but hearing this, he shoved the person aside. “Take a shot? Take a shot of your damned self! I don’t expect any of you to step in and help, but you could at least call the police and I’d say you did your part! But what do you do, besides standing around and gawking? You cold-blooded lot are worse than the scum who did the beating!”

Every time news surfaced online about people being bullied while bystanders watched coldly, there’d be an outcry from netizens. Yang Meng could never understand—was it that those netizens never went out, or the bystanders never went online?

All just self-righteous heroes with nothing but words!