Chapter 102: Give Me a Face

In a civilian home, Wang Yan looked 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 with a hiss… hiss…: "Ouch, didn't think this skinny little bastard had it in him—my bones are broken…"

Zhang Jun winced in pain: "Enough with the whining. We've 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 to Zhao Jiaqing, who was grimacing beside him.

As soon as he spoke, the others snapped to attention. Right—wasn't it this bastard's scheme? 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 livid. Was it my idea? You bastards probably already planned how to spend the money. Of course he dared not say that aloud; after a moment's thought, he said: "Hmm… I've got it. He's strong, right? Let's get Brother Hu…"

………

Dark clouds obscured the moon, plunging the night into deeper gloom; fine rain drifted down with yellow leaves, autumn deepening.

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

He'd only intended 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 at him. He knew a few tricks—even with his gambling skill at only LV2, handling these minor players was absolute child's play.

He hadn't expected Zhao Jiaqing and the others were real gamblers, blinded by loss and willing to stake everything—houses, wives. Wang Yan had no patience for such trash. These men either had no parents, or had multiple parents and siblings who wouldn't help them. They were unwanted scum, no good at all—they were better off scavenging for trash.

Not thinking about Zhao Jiaqing and the others, Wang Yan looked around. He'd been to Jiangxi before—during the war in "The Grand Master," he'd been chased here, and during the Nan Du Campaign, though useless on the front lines, he'd sabotaged enemy logistics from behind. But that was the 1930s; now it was the late 1980s—changes were utterly earth-shattering. When he had free time later, he'd have to wander around and take a good look.

His home wasn't far; soon he arrived. Ahead lay an old two-story building; his house was the one right in the middle.

Taking the 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 chairs scattered around. To the right was a kitchen, fully stocked with pots, pans, bowls, and chopsticks. There was also a separate room, which could pass as a bathroom. Nothing else— the house felt spacious and empty.

Wang Yan had experienced everything; he didn't care much for luxuries. He glanced around idly, lit 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 kicked his legs, then began his daily morning exercise.

After exercising, 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 didn't mind the trouble—what's wrong with boiling hot water?

After tidying up, Wang Yan set out for work—to be a glorious railway worker.

His home was still some distance from his workplace; the walk took 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 about a hundred yuan—some had a few hundred, others just dozens. A bicycle cost roughly two hundred yuan. Wang Yan's salary was 120 yuan a month—not bad—but he'd have to save for a month and a half without eating or drinking to afford one. Others had families to support, daily needs to cover—they'd have to save for months just to buy a bicycle.

Of course, none of that concerned him—he'd won a good sum yesterday. Did he care about a little more?

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

After the usual banter 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 swollen, glaring at him with ill intent, and the bewildered Wang Dashan, Wang Yan went out to work. The two were partners—old teammates.

Walking on the gravel beside the railway, Wang Dashan asked worriedly: "You okay? Didn't they team up and clean you out? What happened to their faces? Did you clash with them?"

"Don't worry—nothing happened. Actually, I 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 quickly waved his hands: "No, no need. I don't need your food. Save your money for a wife—I'm already worried for you."

Wang Yan, uninterested in his clueless advice, said: "Enough. It's decided. We've eaten together before—let's go. Today we don't have to wait for switching tracks—we're doing maintenance. Finish early, get done early."

"Wait, I'm saying—" Seeing Wang Yan already several steps ahead, ignoring him completely, Wang Dashan shook his head, quickened his pace, and caught up—said nothing more.

………

Chatting half-heartedly with Wang Dashan, Wang Yan worked swiftly—time reached noon.

The two carried their lunchboxes and walked a fair distance to the canteen. The iron rice bowl wasn't a joke—it actually fed you. Of course, the cooks were also iron rice bowl workers; their big-pot meals were just… okay. 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 at the station entrance with her child, said nothing more, and told her to prepare a few hearty dishes for dinner—then they left.

Luo Yuzhu understood at once—clearly, he'd won big yesterday; her family was benefiting.

Wang Yan and Wang Dashan walked back toward their worksite. When they passed 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 destroy the IOU and beat him up—today finding a big brother to lead them was normal. When no other options existed, force was the most effective solution.

"Stay here. I'll see what's going on." He dropped the words, ignored 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, give us some cash for drinks, and we'll let it go. What do you say?"

A broad-shouldered, muscular man with a cruel face stepped forward, smiling: "Brother, I'm Liu Jinhu from Chengnan. Better to make peace than hold grudges. 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 like a wolf among sheep—crashing, thudding, swinging wildly.

Seeing Wang Yan move, Wang Dashan—who hadn't obeyed and followed behind—grabbed his wrench and joined in.

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

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?"

Wang Yan glanced at him strangely: "No one's dead—what else can we do? Pay them."

"Pay them? They attacked you—why should we pay?"

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

Liu Jinhu gritted his teeth, glared at Wang Yan—said nothing.

"Good." Wang Yan rose, circled behind him, and smashed the stick into his leg.

"Aaah… sss… sss…" Liu Jinhu screamed, eyes bulging, gasping for air, teeth clenched, trembling but holding on.

Seeing this, Wang Yan didn't waste words—he brought down another club swing.

Liu Jinhu indeed had a streak of ruthlessness; writhing in pain on the ground, he gritted his teeth and held on.

"With this swing, your leg's done for. I've got limited patience—last time I ask: do you submit?"

Lying on the ground, Liu Jinhu glared fiercely at Wang Yan, saying nothing.

The others had long stopped screaming; they all watched Wang Yan with tense eyes.

Ignoring Wang Dashan's attempts to stop him, Wang Yan raised the club high and smashed it down hard on Liu Jinhu's leg.

"I submit… I submit… ah…"

"You should've said so sooner. Lucky I held back—if I hadn't, your leg would've been broken for real."

Wang Yan could've held back, but he refused to coddle weakness—what game was he playing here? This swing would leave at least one bone cracked.

When Liu Jinhu's cries had mostly subsided, Wang Yan said coolly: "Five thousand. Any problem?"

After those few swings, Liu Jinhu understood clearly—there was no room for negotiation: "No… sss… no problem."

"Good. Come on, sign a receipt." As he spoke, Wang Yan pulled out paper and pen and began writing.

After Liu Jinhu signed his name and pressed his bloody fingerprint, Wang Yan walked over to Zhao Jiaqing and the others, holding up three fingers: "Three days. You have three days to gather the money."

"W-we really can't come up with that much… if we lose our house, how will we survive? Have mercy on us—we know we're wrong, really we do," Zhao Jiaqing stammered, playing the pity card.

"Yes, have mercy on us—we know we're wrong…"

"That's your problem. Three days." Wang Yan tossed the club aside, clapped his hands, and called to Wang Dashan, who stood frozen in shock: "Stop staring—let's go. We're due at work soon."

"Ah… oh… yeah, let's go…" Wang Dashan, stunned by Wang Yan's actions, snapped out of it and hurried past the sprawled bodies to follow him.