Chapter 115

Wearing a black outfit, with a face chiseled like a knife and a tall, straight figure, he stood silently at the doorway; though he emitted no killing intent, his mountain‑like presence made Dongbei Hu's expression change abruptly.

Fan Wuchang, how did you end up here…?" Seeing the arrival, Dongbei Hu's expression suddenly shifted, and a strong sense of vigilance rose on his face.

The person was none other than Fan Wuchang, who sauntered in from outside the bar with a cigarette dangling from his lips. Though he looked just as lazy as usual, his languid air was tinged with a hint of chill that made one's heart skip.

Just so calm and unhurried, a single person strolling in caused the atmosphere to shift slightly; the black‑clad bodyguard who had been facing me with clenched fists immediately fell back, taking a solemn stance in front of Dongbei Hu. His burly figure leaned slightly, positioning himself to Dongbei Hu's front‑left.

This angle was clearly the best defensive posture, its purpose undoubtedly to guard against Fan Wuchang.

"Brother Wuchang…" Seeing Fan Wuchang, a flicker of joy crossed my mind; I hurriedly helped Pangzi support Wei Xiong, and we quickly ran to his rear.

After we three had run to his rear, Fan Wuchang glanced over everyone in the bar, then slowly spoke to Dongbei Hu.

"Boss Hu, it's just a few kids messing around—getting this angry, aren't you afraid of losing your position as dragon‑head?" Fan Wuchang said calmly.

Dongbei Hu snorted angrily from his nose, staring fixedly at Fan Wuchang and snarled: "These little brats smashed my head; if today I let them walk out of this bar unharmed, how will Dongbei Hu ever stand firm in Aomen?" Immediately a flash of malice crossed his soybean‑sized eyes, and he gloomily fixed Fan Wuchang with a cold voice: "Could it be that Chen Zheng sent you? East Ling, are you planning to intervene in this?"

"…" Fan Wuchang replied bluntly.

"Then let Chen Zheng come talk to me; what right does a low‑ranking Red Pole like you have to stand here and speak to me?" Dongbei Hu flew into a rage, staring at Fan Wuchang without yielding. After all, although Fan Wuchang is Chen Zheng's right‑hand man, his status is merely East Ling's top Red Pole—nowhere near Dongbei Hu's standing.

"Mixing in the underworld is all about reason; I think even if Chen Zheng stood here today, I'd still demand an explanation for Dongbei Hu's head." Dongbei Hu waved his hand, and the surrounding gangsters surged toward Fan Wuchang.

Each one puffed out his chest, defiantly glaring at Fan Wuchang.

"Slap—" Before anyone could react, with no warning, Fan Wuchang lifted his hand at lightning speed and dealt a hard slap to the gangster nearest him.

"You dare threaten me? I followed Zheng Ge into Vietnam three times, sweeping through Cambodia's three‑letter zones while you lot were still suckling at your mothers' teats—what makes you think you can stand before me and threaten me?" Fan Wuchang's outburst made the crowd step back half a pace; even Dongbei Hu's eyes flickered with a momentary loss of focus. The few gangsters near Fan Wuchang looked at him with faces full of fear.

A man's name, a tree's shadow… Perhaps before, Dongbei Hu's side had the advantage of numbers and confidence, but after Fan Wuchang's shout, these people finally recalled his identity.

Even as a Red Pole, he was a nightmare of the underworld, this dark‑night specter that no ordinary person could shake.

"Hmph, what's East Ling, what's Fan Wuchang—I'd like to see if Dongbei Hu can kill you today, what could Chen Zheng possibly do to me?" Seeing his lackeys' momentum waning, Dongbei Hu spat out a vicious remark, waved his hand, and ordered the lackeys around him to grab watermelon knives and iron pipes and charge at Fan Wuchang.

"Hold on…" Faced with the crowd's surging advance, Fan Wuchang unexpectedly showed a faint smile. He relit a cigarette, wiped his forehead, and strolled over to Dongbei Hu, saying: "Mixing in the underworld is merely about making money; Boss Hu, have you considered what consequences your move against me today might bring?"

"Haha, are you chickening out? Are you scared?" Dongbei Hu laughed loudly, looking down on Fan Wuchang from above.

"No, no, no," Fan Wuchang said, shaking his index finger back and forth. "Actually I'm just looking out for you. Think about it: East Ling and the Fierce Tiger Gang each control their own share of Aomen's underground industry. If we two gangs go to war, we'll each be stepping on the other's turf. Then every casino and bar in Aomen will be unable to do business, and every venue will lose its dividends and protection fees for both gangs. In the end, the losses won't necessarily be limited to East Ling alone."

After hearing Fan Wuchang's words, Dongbei Hu's eyes flickered for a moment; he then propped his chin on his hand, lowered his head, and lost himself in thought.

Seeing Dongbei Hu's expression finally loosen, Fan Wuchang spoke coldly again: "If you want to fight, I have no objection. Though my skills aren't great, even these few rotten tomatoes and eggs can't stop me. Worst case, I'll escape and then take revenge for my friends, dragging my subordinates into daily battles with you, nightly clashes, ideally provoking the police anti‑gang unit to step in—then nobody's business will survive, and we'll all end up losing everything, which would be great for everyone."

After saying all that, Fan Wuchang simply stood there silently smoking, not uttering another word. He casually shoved aside the gangsters blocking him, walked to a nearby table, picked up the red wine, poured a few cups, and handed one to each of us.

"Drink up, quench your thirst." His tone was ordinary, as if he weren't standing on a battlefield but welcoming guests at home.

I gulped, swallowed the red wine, and finally calmed my racing heart. I and Pangzi could never be like Fan Wuchang, remaining utterly calm before ten thousand troops.

"Heh, even if what you say makes sense, so what? Are we just supposed to let the grudge over my smashed head go?" Dongbei Hu's anger shattered the bar's quiet.

Fan Wuchang lowered the hand holding his red wine and fell into a brief silence.

Gazing at Fan Wuchang's silence and Dongbei Hu's arrogance, a bitter smile involuntarily crossed my mind.

Dongbei Hu, the leader of one of Aomen's two major underworld gangs, had his head smashed yet watched the killer walk away—if word got out, how could he still maintain his position?

The best solution was to hand over a person; that would minimize the fallout while protecting both sides' interests. Therefore, while Fan Wuchang hesitated, I had already imagined the optimal way to handle it.

I took a deep breath, ready to step forward and offer myself up. I guessed Fan Wuchang would make the same choice—faced with the bigger picture, to safeguard East Ling's interests he would surely sacrifice one of us three, Pangzi and Wei Xiong included. Rather than wait for him to hand me over and have everyone lose face, I might as well step forward first: it would defuse the embarrassment on both sides, and East Ling wouldn't give Pangzi and Wei Xiong a hard time.

Who would have known? I realized I was wrong—I'd thought the underworld was nothing but ruthless and heartless, unaware that within it, besides profit, there's also something called brotherhood…

As I was about to step forward, Fan Wuchang reached out and stopped me. He stood before me, staring directly at Dongbei Hu, and said coldly: "Everyone behind me are my friends; I, Fan Wuchang, have dared to do anything since I entered the streets, except abandon my friends." He then shifted tone, smiling lightly, and asked: "Boss Hu, tell me what you need settled—anything I can do, I'll see to it for you."

I froze, Pangzi froze too—no one expected Fan Wuchang to say such a thing. To be honest, I never imagined he would truly back us to the very end.

That Dongbei Hu, hearing Fan Wuchang's question, didn't answer directly but gave a sinister smile, gripped the hallway railing with both hands, and proclaimed loudly from the second floor: "Since I entered the streets, I've lived by one rule: if you respect me a foot, I'll respect you ten feet; if you smash a beer bottle on me, you either stab yourself once or let me stab you three times. If you want this settled privately, it's simple."

Dongbei Hu curled a sinister smile at the corner of his mouth, pointed at me and Pangzi, and said: "Let one of these two kids stab himself." He then rubbed his ring finger, sneering: "But I reckon these two little brats would faint at the sight of blood—having them stab themselves, I'd sooner believe a dog eats rats and a cat eats feces."

"Or how about you, Wuchang Ge, give yourself a stab? Let's see if you're really this righteous." Dongbei Hu shrugged, feigning surprise as he looked at Fan Wuchang—this weasel's New Year's greeting to a chicken act was spot‑on.

When Dongbei Hu's words fell, the bar erupted in loud laughter; everyone's gaze toward us was filled with contempt and mockery. Dongbei Hu's ploy successfully restored his face and dealt Fan Wuchang a harsh blow.

With a clang, a flash of silver sliced the bar's night air—Fan Wuchang drew his blade, faster than anyone inside could have imagined.

Fan Wuchang's draw instantly caught the attention of the black‑clad bodyguards; after a moment of panic, four of them formed a tight circle around Dongbei Hu, eyes watchful, guarding against Fan Wuchang.

"Fan Wuchang, are you declaring war on my Fierce Tiger Gang?" Dongbei Hu's eyes narrowed, his voice low.

The surrounding atmosphere grew ever heavier; Pangzi, Wei Xiong, and I leaned slightly toward Fan Wuchang. Though surrounded by everyone, we felt not a trace of fear—our spirits had risen to a height no ordinary person could foresee.

But unexpected things always happen in a sudden instant.

Under everyone's gaze, Fan Wuchang's blade flashed, and in the instant everyone froze, the gleaming spear plunged into his own thigh.

Blood seeped from the wound, yet Fan Wuchang's complexion didn't change a bit, as if the knife hadn't struck his thigh at all.

"Like this, Boss Hu, your anger should be gone, right?" Fan Wuchang ignored the blood on his thigh and, with a puff, pulled the blade out.

At this moment, I, caught in the tiger‑wolf encirclement, felt a strange sensation welling up inside. I couldn't tell whether to call it moving or warm.

When Fan Wuchang pulled out his blade, everyone in the hall sucked in a breath of cold air. Perhaps no one had expected him to be so decisive—say he'd stab himself, and he did.

Dongbei Hu's face had darkened to the extreme; earlier he'd lost face, but now Fan Wuchang had taken the self‑stab for us—if he continued to give us trouble, it would be morally indefensible. Word would spread that Dongbei Hu was being laughed at by the martial world for bullying the weak.

But his mood now must be deeply resentful; otherwise he wouldn't be hesitating like this.

"Go," seeing Dongbei Hu give no reply, Fan Wuchang performed a martial‑arts salute toward him, then swept a icy glance over the crowd before turning and heading out of the bar.

After we walked out of the bar, a crackling sound came from inside. Dongbei Hu was venting his resentment in anger.