Chapter 102: Give Me a Face

In a civilian residence, Wang Yan looked down at Zhao Jiaqing and the others groaning on the ground and said coolly, “I don’t want your wives. Give you a week to raise the money; if you can’t pay, vacate your house.”

Without caring about the grim-faced men on the ground, Wang Yan turned and walked away.

Seeing Wang Yan leave, one man struggled to sit up, gasping: “Ow… ow… didn’t think this skinny little bastard had it in him—my bones are broken…”

Zhang Jun winced in pain: “Enough. Stop talking nonsense. We’ve already lost all our cash and our houses to him—think about what to do next.”

“You started this. So tell us what to do,” he said, addressing Zhao Jiaqing, who was grimacing.

As soon as he spoke, the others snapped to attention. Right—this bastard had set it all up. If not for him, would they be in this mess?

“That’s right, Zhao Jiaqing, you came up with this. What’s the plan?”

“Exactly! If not for you, would we be like this?”

Zhao Jiaqing’s face turned purple with rage. Was it my idea? You bastards probably planned how to spend the money already. Of course he dared not say that. After a moment’s thought, he said, “Hmm… I’ve got it. He’s strong, right? Let’s get Brother Hu…”

………

Clouds obscured the moon, plunging the night into deeper darkness; fine rain drifted down with yellow leaves, autumn deepening.

Wang Yan walked along, hands behind his back, humming a tune, relaxed.

He’d only meant to win a little money to teach them a lesson. He didn’t care much about the three of them teaming up to cheat him, or the onlooker winking from the side. He knew a few tricks—even with his gambling skill at only LV2, dealing with these petty players was absolute child’s play.

But Zhao Jiaqing and the others were real gamblers, blinded by loss and willing to risk everything—houses, wives. Wang Yan had no patience for such trash. These men either had no parents or had multiple siblings who wouldn’t help them. They were worthless, unwanted scum—better off scavenging for scraps.

Not thinking about Zhao Jiaqing and the rest, Wang Yan glanced around. He’d been to Jiangxi before—during the war in “The Grand Master,” he’d been chased here, and during the Nanjing Campaign, though he couldn’t fight on the front lines, he’d sabotaged enemy logistics. But that was the 1930s; now it was the late 1980s—everything had changed beyond recognition. When he had free time, he’d have to wander around and take a good look.

His home wasn’t far; he arrived soon. Ahead stood an old two-story building, his own house right in the middle.

Taking out his key from his space, Wang Yan opened the door and stepped inside.

He turned on the light. Hmm… very clean. Only a large table stood in the center, with a few scattered chairs. To the right was a kitchen, fully stocked with pots, pans, and utensils. There was also a separate room—could be called a bathroom. Nothing else. The place felt spacious and empty.

Wang Yan had experienced everything; he didn’t care much for luxuries. He glanced around idly, lit a fire under the stove to boil water, then went upstairs to his bedroom.

The upstairs layout was familiar: a large bed, walls lined with shelves, and by the window, a long desk complete with inkstone, brush, paper, and ink, plus a big chair.

Without delay, Wang Yan changed into a tank top and shorts, pulled out a book, and read for a while. When the water downstairs boiled, he washed his face and brushed his teeth, wiped his body, then lay down and fell asleep.

The next day, Wang Yan woke up punctually, refreshed. He dressed, went downstairs, stretched his arms and legs, then began his daily morning exercise.

After moving, he felt invigorated. He found a breakfast stall, ate something simple, returned home, boiled water again, and washed up.

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It wasn’t that he couldn’t stand cold water—he just didn’t like it, and didn’t need to toughen himself up with it. Warm water was more comfortable. He had plenty of time; what difference did a few minutes make? He wasn’t lazy—he’d just boil hot water. What’s wrong with that?

After tidying up, Wang Yan set off for work, becoming a proud railway worker.

His home was still a fair distance from work—he’d have to walk a long time. As he walked, he thought: when he had time off, he’d get a bicycle. It’d be more convenient.

These days, a person’s monthly salary averaged just over a hundred yuan—some had a few hundred, others only dozens. A bicycle cost about two hundred yuan. Wang Yan’s salary was 120 yuan a month—not bad, but he’d still have to save for a month and a half without eating or drinking to afford one. Others had families to support, daily expenses to cover—they’d need to save for months just to buy a bicycle.

But that had nothing to do with him. He’d just won a good sum yesterday—did he care about a few hundred?

He arrived just on time. Amid the sea of heads, Wang Yan spotted Wang Dashan. He’d barely stepped beside him when the foreman walked in.

After the usual chatter and assignment of tasks, the foreman left.

Then each team leader distributed the day’s duties. The workday began.

Ignoring Zhao Jiaqing and the others, bruised and glaring at him with ill intent, and the confused Wang Dashan, Wang Yan went out to work. They were partners—old teammates.

Walking along the railway’s gravel, Wang Dashan asked worriedly, “You okay? Didn’t they team up and clean you out? What happened to their faces? Did you have a fight?”

“Don’t worry, nothing happened. I actually won a lot. They just fell down drunk—don’t worry. By the way, after lunch, let’s buy some groceries and have a good meal.”

Wang Dashan waved his hands quickly: “No, no need. Don’t spend on me. Save your money for a wife—I’m already worried for you.”

Wang Yan dismissed his clueless advice: “Enough. It’s settled. We’ve eaten together before. Come on, let’s go. Today we don’t have to wait for track switching—we’re doing maintenance. Finish early, get done early.”

“Wait, I’m saying—” Seeing Wang Yan already several steps ahead, ignoring him, Wang Dashan shook his head, quickened his pace, and followed without another word.

………

Chatting half-heartedly with Wang Dashan, Wang Yan worked swiftly. It was already noon.

The two carried their lunchboxes a fair distance to the canteen. The iron rice bowl wasn’t a joke—it actually fed you. Of course, the cooks were also on the iron rice bowl, so their big-pot meals were just… okay. But at least you got full.

After eating, Wang Yan dragged the reluctant Wang Dashan to a nearby shop and bought cooked meats, fish, vegetables, candy, and fruit. He brought them to Luo Yuzhu, who sold goods near the station with her child, said nothing more, just told her to cook a few hearty dishes for dinner, then left.

Luo Yuzhu understood at once—clearly, he’d won big yesterday. Her family was benefiting.

Wang Yan and Wang Dashan headed back to work. Passing a secluded, overgrown patch of weeds, they stopped as Zhao Jiaqing led a group of men.

Wang Yan had expected this. Yesterday they’d refused to pay, tried to beat him and destroy the IOU. Today, bringing in a big brother was normal. When other methods fail, violence is the most effective solution.

“Stay here. I’ll see what’s going on.” He tossed off the words, ignoring Wang Dashan’s panic, picked up a stick from the roadside, and walked toward the group pointing and shouting at him.

Seeing Wang Yan approach, Zhao Jiaqing, bruised and swollen, looked smug: “Wang Yan, you’ve got a stick against all of us? We’re coworkers—we see each other every day. We don’t want to make things hard for you. Just hand over the IOU, pay us a little for drinks, and we’ll let it go. What do you say?”

A burly man with a cruel face stepped forward beside Zhao Jiaqing, smiling: “Brother, I’m Liu Jinhu from the south city. Better to resolve grudges than hold them. Give me a face, okay?”

Give you a face? You got a damn feather for a face?

Wang Yan had no patience for these scum. With one-third strength, he swung the stick and knocked Liu Jinhu flat. Then he charged in like a wolf among sheep, swinging wildly.

Seeing Wang Yan move, Wang Dashan—who hadn’t listened—grabbed his wrench and joined in.

Soon, not one of them could stand—all lay on the ground groaning.

The adrenaline faded. Wang Dashan trembled, standing aside, staring at the pile of fallen men, his mind racing with possible consequences.

“W… what do we do now?”

Wang Yan glanced at him strangely: “No one’s dead. What’s the problem? Pay up.”

“Pay up? They attacked you—why should they pay?”

Wang Yan ignored him, walked to Liu Jinhu, crouched down, tapped his head with the stick, and lifted his chin: “You surrender?”

Liu Jinhu glared, gritted his teeth, said nothing.

“Good.” Wang Yan stood, circled behind him, and smashed the stick down on his leg.

“Aaah… sss… sss…” Liu Jinhu screamed, eyes bulging, gasping, teeth clenched, trembling but holding on.

Seeing his resolve, Wang Yan didn’t waste words—another blow landed.

Liu Jinhu really had grit—he rolled in agony, teeth clenched, enduring.

“This blow will ruin your leg. I’m patient, but not endless. Last chance: do you surrender?”

Liu Jinhu lay on the ground, glaring fiercely at Wang Yan, silent.

The others had stopped crying out—all watched Wang Yan in tense silence.

Ignoring Wang Dashan’s protests, Wang Yan raised the stick high and brought it down hard on Liu Jinhu’s leg.

“I surrender… I surrender… aah…”

“Should’ve said so sooner. Lucky I held back—if I hadn’t, your leg would’ve been broken.”

Wang Yan could’ve held back—but he wouldn’t indulge them. This blow would definitely crack a bone.

When Liu Jinhu’s screams subsided, Wang Yan said coolly: “Five thousand. Any problem?”

With just a few blows, Liu Jinhu understood: no room for negotiation. “N… no… no problem.”

“Good. Here, write an IOU.” Wang Yan pulled out pen and paper from his pocket and wrote.

After Liu Jinhu signed and pressed his bloody fingerprint, Wang Yan walked to Zhao Jiaqing and the others, held up three fingers: “Three days. Get the money.”

“W… we really can’t get that much! If we lose our house, how will we live? Have mercy! We know we’re wrong, really!” Zhao Jiaqing trembled, playing the victim, begging emotionally.

“Yes, have mercy! We know we’re wrong…”

“That’s your problem. Three days.” Wang Yan dropped the stick, clapped his hands, and called to the stunned Wang Dashan: “Don’t stand there gawking. Let’s go. Shift’s about to start.”

“A… oh… yeah, let’s go…” Wang Dashan, stunned by Wang Yan’s actions, snapped out of it, hurried past the sprawled men, and followed.