Chapter 17

Fuck.

The two guys cursed as they shuffled forward with half-paralyzed steps, swaying unsteadily; before they even reached him, Zhou Andong smelled the sharp stench of alcohol.

Did Zhao Jianlong send you?

Since getting married, he hadn’t fought anyone again; Zhou Andong felt his bones had rusted. He shook his neck, swung his arms, and heard a series of cracking sounds from his joints.

Who the hell is Zhao Jianlong or Zhao Jianhu? I don’t know them—I just don’t like the look of you, and I’m taking both your legs. The short guy swung his hammer.

Why waste words with him? Take him down. The tall guy sneered, raising the steel pipe and swinging it hard at Zhou Andong’s head.

The short guy held his hammer, grinning, waiting for the tall guy to knock Zhou Andong out so he could smash his knees with the hammer.

Zhou Andong tilted his head; the steel pipe whistled through the cold air, grazing his scalp. Then he kicked out hard.

Thud!

The tall guy felt as if a speeding car had slammed into his stomach—he flew backward uncontrollably and crashed heavily to the ground.

This happened too suddenly; before the short guy could react, Zhou Andong grabbed his head, yanked it down hard, and drove his knee up into it.

Another thud—the short guy’s upper body jerked violently upward, his hammer flew from his grip, blood sprayed from his nose and mouth into the air, then he collapsed motionless onto the ground.

Is that it? Zhou Andong bit down on his cigarette, looking at the two unconscious men. Fucking trash. Thought you were so tough, so badass? Scared the hell out of me—I stood here freezing for ages, afraid to come near.

Zhou Andong dragged the short guy to the van, placed his legs under the wheels, then did the same with the tall guy. He got in, turned the key, and the engine roared to life. He pressed the gas lightly—the car lurched forward, clearly crushing something beneath it.

Zhou Andong pressed the gas pedal harder—the car shot forward, and two piercing screams echoed from outside.

Zhou Andong grinned, pulled the handbrake, and was about to get out when he spotted a black brick on the passenger seat—it was a brick phone.

In his past life, he’d seen these things but never touched one. He picked it up, weighed it in his hand—it was heavy. If you used it as a brick to smash someone’s head, they’d either die or turn into an idiot.

Zhou Andong opened the door, stepped out, and looked at the two men’s crushed legs—he winced. Oh my God, Mother Mary, are you in pain? Tell me Zhao Jianlong’s number—I’ll call him to come pick you up and take you to the hospital.

The short guy glared at Zhou Andong with venomous eyes, gritted his teeth, and spat out each word through clenched jaws: Kid, if you don’t kill me today, I’ll kill you later.

Zhou Andong slapped the short guy’s face twice, smiling. We’ll talk about later later—first, tell me Zhao Jianlong’s phone number.

The short guy sneered. Zhao Jianlong? I don’t know who that is.

Oh, you don’t know? Zhou Andong nodded, spat his extinguished cigarette butt onto the ground, then grabbed the short guy’s injured leg—blood hissed out.

Aaagh! The short guy’s body arched violently, his eyeballs bulged, beads of sweat instantly formed on his forehead, and his body trembled with a peculiar rhythm.

Know him now? Zhou Andong said coldly.

I… I know! the short guy couldn’t hold out anymore, nearly begging. Let go! Let go!

Zhou Andong released his grip, looked at the blood on his hand, then rubbed it in the snow. Why make it hard on yourself? Just say it sooner.

The short guy gasped for air, but when he saw Zhou Andong’s smiling face, he shuddered and hurriedly said: 900888.

Now that’s better! Zhou Andong quickly dialed the number. The call connected immediately. How’s it going?

Zhou Andong said: Smooth. Both their legs are broken.

The other end fell silent. Zhou Andong added: Zhao Jianlong, didn’t Jiang Yuyue tell you? I’m really good at fighting.

The other end stayed silent. Zhou Andong chuckled: They’re in the alley behind the distillery’s grain warehouse. Send someone quickly to take them to the hospital. If you wait too long, they’ll be heading to the crematorium instead.

Beep-beep-beep… The dial tone buzzed.

On the southern bank of the Jiang River, at the foot of Xishan Mountain, stood a luxurious three-story villa. Zhao Jianlong hurled his brick phone across the room—it smashed into the TV, sending thick smoke billowing from the big-screen projector as sparks crackled wildly.

What happened? A woman in a towel, drying her hair, came down the stairs.

With rage, Zhao Jianlong’s face twisted grotesquely, terrifying even the woman, who froze at the foot of the stairs.

Huh! Zhao Jianlong exhaled sharply, grabbed the landline on the coffee table, and dialed quickly: Hammer and Big Chong are down—in the alley behind the distillery’s grain warehouse. Send people right away to take them to the hospital.

Click! Zhao Jianlong hung up, walked to the window, stared at the dark night outside, and his aura grew colder. He had to admit—he’d underestimated Zhou Andong.

Brother Long, what’s wrong? A hot body wrapped around Zhao Jianlong.

Zhou Andong got home—a half-house, given to him by the distillery when he married, with a small yard piled with clutter.

He hadn’t been back in days. The moment he stepped inside, it was icy—colder than outside. Though too lazy to move, he went to the coal shed, lit the stove, and only after over half an hour did the room finally warm up.

The next day, Zhou Andong woke up past ten. Last night he’d picked photos—he thought all of them were good—didn’t decide until dawn, when he was too tired to keep his eyes open.

He dragged himself into clothes, grabbed the selected photos, stepped outside, found a roadside stall to eat, then headed to the factory.

He just wanted to show his face at the broadcast station. He’d barely stepped through the gate when he ran into Gu Bing—surprising him: Back so soon?

I got back this morning. I’ve already looked for you twice. Gu Bing didn’t seem to know what he wanted—he turned back around upon seeing Zhou Andong, looking excited.

Come quick to the workshop—the two hundred sample cases are all packed.

In the workshop, two hundred cases of liquor stood neatly on the floor, surrounded by hundreds of workers murmuring.

Didn’t expect that Da GaoLiang, once packaged, actually looks quite upscale.

Looks nice, but 08, factory price 36—no one’s gonna buy it.

Exactly. Same wine, new bottle—who’d be stupid enough to buy it?

Rumor has it the factory invested a hundred thousand in reforms—guess that money’s gone down the drain.

Sigh, just keep messing around—eventually you’ll ruin the whole factory.

Clearly, no one believed this liquor could sell.

Stop talking—the secretary’s back. Someone said it, and the murmurs instantly died.