Chapter 20

Gu Bing asked curiously, “So why are you looking for a journalist? To have him help you beat someone up?”

“I really can’t figure out how you’d ask such a stupid question,” Zhou Andong exhaled a smoke ring. “Do you know there’s a weapon in this world that can kill without shedding blood?”

“Public opinion!” Before Gu Bing could answer, Zhou Andong continued. “Arcade halls, with no oversight, are flooded with gambling machines. Don’t even mention minors—how many adults have been ruined by them, their families shattered, wives divorced, children left homeless? Zhao Jianlong built his fortune of tens of millions from these arcades; you don’t need to guess—every penny is stained with blood.”

In this era, there was no internet, no self-media, and few people understood the terror of public opinion—it truly killed without a trace of blood.

Gu Bing pondered Zhou Andong’s words, then thought of the people hunched over the gambling machines in the arcade, including minors. He didn’t need any special investigation—just walk through the place, report what he saw, and Zhao Jianlong would be in deep trouble.

Thinking of this, Gu Bing shivered, glancing sideways at Zhou Andong: “You’re ruthless. I better keep my distance from you—don’t want to get screwed by you without even knowing how.”

“Hey!”

Zhou Andong chuckled. “You’re my superior. Even if I had two sets of balls, I wouldn’t dare screw you.”

Gu Bing rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’m heading back to Beijing tonight. Tomorrow I’ll meet him personally—shouldn’t be a problem.”

He suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for Zhao Jianlong. How had he dared to offend Zhou Andong and draw the attention of this treacherous bastard? His days ahead would be far from easy.

“Everyone says Zhao Jianlong’s a tough guy, that you can’t touch the tiger’s ass. This time, not only am I going to touch his tiger’s ass—I’m going to shave his head, polish him down, rub him raw, and give him a nice patina.”

Zhou Andong took a slow drag on his cigarette. Even if he couldn’t kill Zhao Jianlong, he’d peel off a layer of his skin, squeeze out his piss. How dare he treat my words like bullshit?

Gu Bing asked, “Where are you going?”

Zhou Andong said, “Back to Tanghezi. Give me a ride.”

Gu Bing’s face darkened. “You’re treating me like your driver now?”

Zhou Andong rolled down the window and flicked the cigarette butt out with his finger. “You’re so petty. We’re the closest of allies now—just asking you to give me a ride, is that really too much?”

Gu Bing opened his mouth to reply, but wisely shut it, letting out only a grunt.

At Tanghezi, under Zhou Andong’s direction, Gu Bing parked the car at the front gate: “Wait a moment—I’ll bring the food inside, then head back to the distillery.”

Zhou Andong stepped out, carrying the takeout bag into the house. The whole family was gathered around the kang table eating—same two dishes: braised sour cabbage and steamed buns.

“Brother, weren’t you saying you were too busy to come back these past few days?” Zhou Anqin, sitting on the edge of the kang, rose to fetch bowls and chopsticks from the outer room.

“I’ve already eaten,” Zhou Andong handed the plastic bag of takeout to Zhou Anqin. “I had dinner with my superior today—ordered too much, didn’t eat much, so I brought it back. Heat it up outside. Don’t be stingy—it’s already cooked. If it freezes too long, it won’t taste good.”

The little girl flipped over and scrambled across the kang, craning her neck to peek. “Big brother, what’s good in there?”

Zhou Andong burst out laughing, scooped her up, and kissed her cheek. “Everything delicious. Wait till your sister heats it up—you’ll get to eat.”

Yuan Liying asked, “You’re going back to the distillery?”

Zhou Andong nodded. “A colleague drove the factory car to drop me off. I’ve got things tomorrow—I’ll ride back with him.”

Zhou Xiao took a sip of liquor. “If the factory has work, why keep him here? Won’t that disrupt his duties?”

Yuan Liying snapped, “Can’t you shut up just because you’re drinking? I was just asking—when did I say I was keeping him?”

“Alright, I’m off!” Zhou Andong chuckled, winking at Zhou Anbei. “Xiao Bei, if anything comes up, call the factory.”

Zhou Anbei, mouth full of food, just nodded and mumbled “Mm-hmm.”

Gu Bing leaned against the car door, arms crossed, smoking. When Zhou Andong appeared, he said, “That was quick—you didn’t even stay long.”

Zhou Andong opened the car door and got in. “I’m not gone for long—why waste time lingering?”

Back at the distillery, a 130 light truck was parked outside the warehouse—100 cases of liquor already loaded. When Gu Bing’s 212 rolled up, the two drivers jumped out.

Gu Bing rolled down his window. “All the liquor loaded?”

“Loaded!” said the driver, around forty.

“Then let’s go!” Gu Bing rolled up his window, turned the steering wheel, and reversed the car.

The next day, Zhou Andong woke up, ate two buns and drank a bowl of soy milk at a roadside stall, then found a phone booth and called Jiang Yuyue. To his surprise, the person who answered was her former mother-in-law.

Zhou Andong altered his voice: “Auntie, right? My name is Liu Hao—I’m Jiang Yuyue’s high school classmate. Is she home?”

Zhao Yulan said, “She’s home. I’ll go call her.”

Soon, Jiang Yuyue’s voice came through the receiver: “Old classmate, what do you want?”

Zhou Andong chuckled. “Last year your brother brought home a handheld video camera—is it still at your place?”

Jiang Yuyue said, “Yes.”

“I’ll wait for you at the distillery gate,” Zhou Andong said. “Don’t forget the videotape.”

“Alright!” Jiang Yuyue didn’t ask why. “Wait for me!”

Jiang Yuyue hung up, changed clothes, stuffed the camera into her bag, and said, “Mom, a few high school friends are back for vacation—we’re meeting up. I won’t be home for lunch.”

“You haven’t even eaten breakfast,” Zhao Yulan said, stepping out of the kitchen just as the door slammed shut. “Damn girl.”

Zhao Yulan muttered, then carried the breakfast out to the living room. “Stop reading the paper—come eat.”

Jiang Zhengmin lowered the newspaper. “What’s wrong? Why so angry so early?”

Zhao Yulan snorted. “One son marries and forgets his mother—comes home once every ten days. The other, on vacation, never stays home.”

Jiang Zhengmin smiled and stayed quiet. He knew if he spoke another word, he’d catch fire.

At that moment, the sound of a key turning in the lock came. Jiang Zhengmin froze. “She just left—did she forget something?”

The door opened. It wasn’t Jiang Yuyue—it was Jiang Yuhai.

Seeing her son, Zhao Yulan’s anger vanished. She smiled. “Why so early? Didn’t bring the kid?”

Jiang Yuhai’s face was grim. “Where’s Jiang Yuyue?”

Only then did Zhao Yulan notice his expression. “What’s wrong?”

Jiang Yuhai didn’t answer. He shouted, “Jiang Yuyue! Get out here!”

Now, not just Zhao Yulan—Jiang Zhengmin too felt something was off. “What happened?”

Jiang Yuhai slumped onto the sofa, lit a cigarette from the coffee table. “Last night, Zhao Jianlong called me. He saw Jiang Yuyue with Zhou Andong—and they looked awfully close.”