Chapter Eighty-Seven: An Invitation from President Song

As the demolition continued day by day, Zhao Zejun’s spirits soared. Every day, tons and tons of trash were hauled to the landfill, and each load brought in thousands, sometimes over ten thousand yuan. As for Ren Jifu, ever since he entered the small building, Zhao Zejun no longer had to worry—unless his memories from his previous life had somehow gone astray. After crossing over, countless facts had proven that the inertia of history was powerful and not easily altered.

Just yesterday, the landfill unearthed a medal from the Northern Expedition era—who knew which family ancestor had left it behind? Several bosses fought over it, and in the end, it sold for fifteen thousand, setting a new single-day record for garbage recycling: a total income of twenty-nine thousand, just shy of thirty thousand.

With renewed vigor, the prospects seemed boundless.

After sorting through the trash, it was sent to the recycling station the next day, sold by the ton. After all expenses, Zejian Company cleared nearly three hundred yuan in pure profit per ton. Every day, truck after truck headed to the recycling station; the rumble of the heavy trucks heralded a steady stream of income—each trip meant five thousand yuan.

He’d thought one truck would suffice, but once operations truly began, two trucks running back and forth still struggled to keep up. The main issue was that the recycling station was ridiculously far away—dozens of kilometers from the city center of Yijiang, nearly in another city. There was no expressway between the two, so the trucks couldn’t go fast.

Perhaps it was fortunate there was no expressway. If there were, Zhao Zejun wouldn’t be able to avoid overloading. With heavy trucks, if you don’t overload, the profit wouldn’t even cover the tolls.

For now, Zhao Zejun set a firm rule: absolutely no overloading. Not because he aspired to be a moral paragon, but simply because Zejian Company was still too small; if they were caught or got into an accident due to overloading, the company couldn’t handle the consequences.

Of course, of those three hundred yuan in profit, forty percent went to the Demolition Office.

At first, Zhao Zejun considered whether he could come up with a crafty scheme to avoid paying that forty percent. But in the end, he dismissed the idea. A company’s reputation was more important than money. That reputation was not just among the general public, but more crucially, among industry partners. If word got out that he’d skipped out on that forty percent, who would want to work with Zejian in the future? Who would trust his promises? Countless unseen opportunities could be lost for the sake of a small, short-term gain. It simply wasn’t worth it.

As usual, Junzi brought food and drink to the small building every other night.

Ren Jifu and He Dapeng, those two scoundrels—who knew what was going through their minds? Just last night, Ren Jifu actually made a request to Junzi: to call in a prostitute.

“He must be dying of frustration!” Zhao Zejun stifled a laugh. “Alright, get him a ‘chicken’.”

For once, Junzi objected, “Brother, sneaking in food is easy, but bringing in a person would cause too much commotion. What if the girl starts blabbing after she leaves?”

“Who said anything about a person? Didn’t I say? Bring him a ‘chicken’!” Zhao Zejun couldn’t hold back any longer, shaking with laughter. “Just… get a roast chicken and send it in. Whether they eat it or do whatever with it is up to them…”

Junzi stared at Zhao Zejun for a long moment, then said sincerely, “Bro, I think you need a girlfriend. Otherwise, life’s just too boring.”

“Yes, yes, it is a bit dull. As soon as life gets a little better, you start looking for trouble to spice it up.” Zhao Zejun shook his head, then turned back to business. “How’s Jiang Xuan doing with driving school?”

“He hasn’t got his license yet, but he can drive,” Junzi thought for a moment, not entirely sure. “He said he can drive.”

“All right. Here’s what you’ll do: go to the driving school and find him. The two of you go home, grab some clothes, and while you’re at it, stop by your place and bring my luggage over. Demolition’s already halfway done—after this, the three of us will live and work on site.”

“Okay.”

...

At one thirty in the morning, a blazing red motorcycle appeared in front of an old apartment building. The rider killed the engine and dismounted.

It was Jiang Xuan, and riding pillion behind him, helmetless, was Junzi.

The two of them had been busy all day and had come back to collect their things.

No sooner had they parked than two vans shot out from the nearby alley, stopping in front and behind them.

The van doors slid open, and a group of thugs filed out.

At their head was Da Hong from the gambling den, swinging an iron rod and wearing a smirk that never reached his eyes. “Little Xuan, busy with the project lately? I’ve been waiting for you all night.”

Jiang Xuan gave him a once-over, sneering, “Da Hong, are you high on aphrodisiacs or something, creeping around in the middle of the night trying to scare me?”

A burly, dark-faced man who’d come with Da Hong spoke in a low voice, “Jiang Xuan, Mr. Song wants you to come with us.”

Seeing this man, Jiang Xuan’s heart sank.

He knew the man—he was Mr. Song’s enforcer, always handling the dirtiest jobs. His background was a mystery, as was his real name or identity; he rarely appeared in public. But Jiang Xuan could sense that this man was no ordinary thug—he was likely a killer.

Jiang Xuan calmly slipped his hand into his pocket and gripped his butterfly knife.

The dark-faced man hefted a long, narrow duffel bag, aiming one end at Jiang Xuan and Junzi, his expression flat. “No matter how fast you are with that knife, are you faster than a shotgun? We all know each other—don’t make me fill you with steel pellets.”

Jiang Xuan frowned. He knew exactly what was in that duffel: a sawed-off, five-shot steel-pellet shotgun.

At this range, if the man fired, neither he nor Junzi could escape, even if they could fly.

Slowly, Jiang Xuan withdrew his hand from his pocket, grinning impudently. “Brother Black, you’re giving me too much credit. To deal with me, you brought six men and even a shotgun?”

“You’ve got a reputation, Little Xuan. Can’t be too careful.”

Brother Black jerked his chin toward the open van door. “Enough talk. Get in the van. Behave on the way, and I won’t touch you. Whatever it’s about, you can ask Mr. Song yourself.”

He gave Junzi a sidelong glance. “You’re Junzi, right? You’re coming too.”

Junzi’s shoulders tensed, ready to move, but Jiang Xuan grabbed his arm, stopping him.

“All right, Brother Black, you’re a righteous man—I’ll remember this favor!” Jiang Xuan flashed a grin of ambiguous meaning and gave Brother Black a thumbs-up.

“I’ve got enough people remembering me already. Spare me,” Brother Black replied, his tone suddenly hardening. “Damn—”

The moment Jiang Xuan stuck out his thumb, the smile vanished from his face, a cold glint flashing in his eyes. He drove his thumb hard into Brother Black’s temple, then sprang at him like a leopard, bringing his elbow down viciously on that dark face.

While everyone was frozen in shock, Jiang Xuan grabbed the duffel bag from the man’s hand and tackled him to the ground.

“Run!” Jiang Xuan roared.

Junzi gritted his teeth and, like a cannonball, slammed into the nearest thug, sending him flying, and broke into a run.

“Huangmao, Sanpao—after him!” Da Hong shouted, then swung a heavy kick at the back of Jiang Xuan’s head.

“Beat him to death!”

“Fuck you!”

Less than a minute later, the two lackeys sent to chase Junzi staggered back, gasping for breath, unable to speak, clutching the wall and shaking their heads.

Brother Black, his face covered in blood, climbed to his feet and shot them a furious glare. “Useless!”

Jiang Xuan, battered and bruised, struggled upright, leaning crookedly against the van door. Blood trickled down his cheek, but when he grinned, his white teeth flashed, and he said with a cheeky smile, “Brother Black, don’t blame them. My buddy there can run a hundred meters in under twelve seconds…”

Crack! Brother Black swung the stock of the five-shot gun, smashing it into the side of Jiang Xuan’s face.

With a sickening crunch, half of Jiang Xuan’s face seemed to collapse. His body went limp, and he slumped to the ground beside the van, unconscious.

“Take him—get him in the van.”