Chapter Seventy: The Sky Has Fallen

Zhang Wanjun was a name known to all along the Haizhou road, but in recent years, as he had become increasingly low-key, most of the lower-rank street thugs had never met him. However, the man who shouted just now was someone nearly every small-time hood in Haizhou recognized: Lu Yong, the manager of Haizhou's Century of Light.

Century of Light, a disco club that had opened at the end of ’99, had always been the largest in Haizhou. As for Lu Yong, the so-called manager, to put it plainly, he was the boss who kept the peace. Century of Light was the favorite hangout of Haizhou’s street toughs, so Lu Yong’s face and reputation were notorious among them all. Everyone knew he was daring, ruthless, and had many underlings. Even more, everyone knew his boss was Zhang Wanjun. As Zhang Wanjun himself had stepped back from street affairs, Lu Yong had essentially become his spokesperson in the underworld.

With Lu Yong’s shout, the thugs clustered around Zhou Long finally noticed that five cars had pulled up. One Audi A6, two Mitsubishi Pajeros, and two Haima Premacy vans. Except for the Audi, from which no one emerged, the other four vehicles disgorged over twenty men in one go, immediately surrounding the group. At the front, Lu Yong weighed an iron rod wrapped in black electrical tape, his face fierce and menacing.

The gangsters froze in place, not knowing what was going on. Just moments ago, Zhang Wanjun’s brand new A6 had parked beside their boss’s Accord, and Zhang Wanjun had even greeted their boss. Everyone was whispering about this hidden connection—their boss, it seemed, had powerful friends. But in the blink of an eye, Lu Yong, Zhang Wanjun’s right-hand enforcer, had shown up for a fight?

Seeing the group still standing there, Lu Yong flared with anger. Without hesitation, he swung his iron rod at the nearest thug, splitting his head open and sending blood everywhere.

“When I speak, do you take it for nothing? Get the hell out of here, now!” he bellowed.

The realization dawned on the thugs instantly. Lu Yong was here to deal with them. Unlike Zhou Hua, Lu Yong had always been infamous for his ruthlessness. Haizhou’s gangsters knew his stories by heart, and would shudder at the mention of his methods. In a panic, Zhou Hua’s dozen or so men scattered in all directions, hands over their heads. Lu Yong was still unsatisfied, chasing after them, swinging his rod and kicking: “Damn it, move faster!”, “Move your ass or I’ll beat you harder!”, “You dare look back? Want to see your mother’s grave?”

Zhou Hua was stunned. He had just stepped out of his car to see what was happening, only to watch Lu Yong single-handedly drive off all his men. His own underlings fled like children before a father, not daring to utter a word.

“Brother Yong, what are you doing…” Zhou Hua’s voice was shaky. He wasn’t stupid—one look at the situation and he realized something was wrong. Thinking of Song Liang, who had been sitting calmly in the car, he instinctively guessed that Lu Yong must have been called in by Song Liang.

By now, all of Zhou Hua’s men had fled, scattering like stray dogs. They could always find a new boss, but offending Lu Yong meant they’d have no place in Haizhou. Besides, with Lu Yong himself stepping in, even a fool could tell Zhou Hua couldn’t stand up to him—no one would risk themselves for him now.

Lu Yong kept striking his left palm with the iron rod in his right hand, squinting as he looked Zhou Hua over. “Hua, is it? So what’s the deal here? You’ve crossed Brother Liang today?”

Zhou Hua’s back was slick with cold sweat as he tried to ingratiate himself. “Brother Yong, this is just a misunderstanding. One of my boys got beat up by a high school kid, I was just helping him out. I didn’t mean to go against Brother Liang.”

At that moment, Zhang Wanjun, who had earlier arrived in his own Audi, walked over and stopped in front of Zhou Hua, squinting. “Hua, you even dare to mess with my friends now? Are you planning to run everything on Haizhou’s streets from now on?”

Zhou Hua felt as if the sky was about to collapse. Just half an hour ago, Zhang Wanjun had greeted him, filling him with pride and vanity. Only now did he realize Zhang Wanjun was here to cause him trouble.

“Brother Jun, there must be a misunderstanding here. I really don’t know this Brother Liang, I just…”

Zhang Wanjun raised his hand for silence, then looked at Song Liang, who was still seated in the Accord, and smiled. “Old Song, you still can’t get enough of that beat-up Accord?”

At that, Song Liang opened the door and got out. He nodded and smiled at Zhang Wanjun, then turned to Zhou Hua. “Allow me to introduce myself: my name is Song Liang. Li Mu is my younger brother. Since you said yourself you’d take responsibility for your brother’s actions, let’s settle this between us.”

Li Mu also got out of the car at this moment. With influential figures backing him, he followed the principle of speaking less, doing less, and learning more. He simply stood in place, saying nothing.

The moment Zhou Hua heard the name Song Liang, what little hope he had left vanished entirely. Song Liang’s reputation in Haizhou was no less than Zhang Wanjun’s. Though Song Liang himself was not a gangster, people in Haizhou knew his influence far outstripped Zhang Wanjun’s.

First, Song Liang was far wealthier—he was in real estate, while Zhang Wanjun merely contracted all the cement and sand work on his sites, making his money by following Song Liang’s lead. Second, Song Liang’s connections dwarfed Zhang Wanjun’s—though Zhang Wanjun was trying to “go legit,” he’d never become a guest at the city party committee’s table, never be invited by schools to cut ribbons at new buildings, and certainly never possess the vast, tangled network Song Liang had in Jinling. At the end of the day, Zhang Wanjun was just a gangster, no matter how impressive he seemed in Haizhou’s small world, while Song Liang was part of the upper crust—a social elite who could navigate both the legal and illegal worlds.

Zhou Hua understood all this well. He wasn’t stupid; he’d only helped Guo Yuhang for the sake of currying favor with his father. Never would he have imagined that a mere high schooler could summon someone as legendary as Song Liang.

“Brother Liang, I was wrong, I didn’t recognize greatness when I saw it, I deserve to die, I…”

In a panic, Zhou Hua nearly had a heart attack.

Inside the car, Guo Yuhang watched the scene unfold, his own heart pounding in his chest. Though he hadn’t gotten out, he saw and heard everything clearly, and now realized just how formidable Li Mu really was. There would be no easy way out of today’s trouble.

Terrified, Zhou Hua rambled on about his own stupidity, slapping himself hard across the face with both hands, the sound crisp and clear—he didn’t hold back in the least.

Song Liang grew impatient. “Don’t waste my time with that nonsense. Earlier, you said with your own mouth that you’d take responsibility for your brother’s actions. So I’ll tell you how I intend to resolve this.”

Zhou Hua, on the verge of tears, begged, “Brother Liang, I was really wrong, please forgive me, I…”

“Let me finish!” Song Liang barked, pounding his fist on the Accord’s roof with a bang, scaring Zhou Hua and Guo Yuhang out of their wits.

Seeing Song Liang’s anger, Lu Yong raised his iron rod and slammed it across Zhou Hua’s back, sending him sprawling to the ground. Lu Yong then grabbed his hair, yanking his upper body up so he was kneeling, his back curved like a C.

“Brother Liang hasn’t finished speaking. If you interrupt again, I’ll rip your mouth apart.”

Lu Yong’s voice wasn’t loud, but every word was clear and cold as ice.

Zhou Hua’s back and scalp throbbed with pain, but he dared not utter a single word.

Song Liang waved his hand. “Easy, Yong, let’s all talk calmly and rationally.”

Lu Yong nodded and released Zhou Hua, who didn’t dare to stand, remaining kneeling on the ground.

Song Liang resumed his usual composure and spoke. “Your brother messed with my brother, and my brother hit him. That was between the two of them, and should have been resolved by them alone. I shouldn’t have gotten involved. But since you insisted on stepping up to take the blame, I can’t be blamed for treating you as his equal.”

“You tried to go after my brother and cursed me for quite a while. I have to settle that account with you. As for your brother’s actions, since you insisted on taking responsibility, I’ll hold you accountable for those as well.”

Zhou Hua, hearing this, quickly pleaded, “Brother Liang, cursing you was my fault, hit me, scold me, I have nothing to say. But I won’t cover for that kid anymore. He got us into this, got me into your bad books. Let him bear the consequences himself.”

Song Liang glanced at Guo Yuhang, who was pale with fright in the car, then said to Zhou Hua, “Since you said you’d take it, you’re taking it. If you’re not satisfied, after I’m done with you, you can settle things with him yourself.”

Zhou Hua panicked, wanting to beg and explain, but Song Liang cut him off with a wave. “Relax. I’m not going to hit you or scold you. I’m just annoyed, so let’s do some business today.”

Zhou Hua was lost, not understanding what Song Liang meant. Song Liang cast a glance at the brand-new Accord. “How much did you pay for this car?”

“Two… two hundred sixty-eight thousand.”

Song Liang replied coolly, “I’ll buy it from you at cost. How about it?”

Zhou Hua was even more at a loss, but Song Liang’s offer to buy his car triggered an instinctive urge to say no. However, he’d spent all his savings on it—he’d been living large for years, and all his money had gone into this car. He simply couldn’t bring himself to refuse.

Seeing no response, Song Liang frowned and urged, “Speak!”

Zhou Hua blurted out, “Alright, Brother Liang, whatever you say.”

“Good. Two hundred sixty-eight thousand, the car is mine,” Song Liang nodded, then turned to Lu Yong. “Yong, I can’t stand the sight of this car. Have your men smash it right now.”