Chapter 385

Aomen is a city that never sleeps; from the moment I arrived in Aomen, I fully realized this: night is not an end for Aomen, but a brand-new beginning.

Everyone who played all day was very tired, especially me, having followed behind these three people and been bored all day. Someone said shopping is women's nature; now I have truly experienced this. We have been running through Aomen's streets and alleys all day, yet Yao Yirong and Silijing show no sign of fatigue.

Especially Yao Yirong, this oddball, she wasn't tired at all; on the contrary, she stood full of spirit on Aomen's main street, howling loudly, declaring she would visit all nightclubs in Aomen and drink every cocktail in every bar.

I, nearly exhausted, was simply dragged in, pulled and tugged, into the bar.

That night, I, Yao Yirong, and Silijing sat at the bar's stools; the four of us casually ordered a cocktail and sat idly in the bar.

Of course, probably only I was truly idle; wherever Silijing was, Pangzi always had something to do, his spirit never waned, and wherever he went it was all spring.

Even if no one accompanied Yao Yirong to have fun, she could still get really into it just by listening to the DJ and bobbing her head; the only one who felt out of place with the whole setting was probably me.

On the bar's stage, flashing with five-coloured lights, many scantily clad, half-drunk men and women were dancing wildly in the disco area.

Looking at this scene, my first reaction wasn't to harshly spit at the scantily clad people on stage, nor to quickly finish my drink and leave this uncomfortable place.

Instead, I inexplicably recalled that poem I wrote in school, which hardly counts as a poem.

One cannot help but see, under the multicoloured neon lights, repressed people tearing off their masks and indulging themselves wildly.

One cannot help but see, the seven-coloured lights of the flowing merchandise casting out one distorted, ferocious face after another.

In the dark corners where no light reaches, maggots breed, desires sprout, and one deceitful transaction after another is concluded beneath a mask that hides true reality.

I wondered why I had said then that I couldn't see the true face.

Now it seems these faces are quite real; under social and life pressures they are forced to wear masks, putting on false, strained smiles while living exhausted in body and mind. When night deepens and people quiet, as night falls, they take off their masks and choose an alternative, most genuine way of living.

But are the faces beneath the masks truly the authentic self? Or are they merely the already twisted humanity, distorted further by the repression of the seven emotions and six desires?

Under the neon lights, the prosperous decay stages a genuine half-price drama. Staying here can be said to be another experience in my life; at least everyone here has once had a moment to open their hearts. I, however, am in the position of a spectator, observing the joys and sorrows of those caught up in the story.

Therefore, whether we are in any revelry of wine and meat or in dire straits, to us it is merely an experience. Instead, I should thank this environment for letting me see clearly many worldly disputes.

But… I never imagined that, as a spectator who had been doing fine, I would be turned completely into a story's…… protagonist by a melodramatic accident.

The cause of the incident was truly melodramatic—so melodramatic that I didn't even realize what had happened when a glass bottle blew up my head.

Speaking of which, just as I sat in the chair holding a cocktail, my eyes idly scanned the bar.

A bald, burly man with two moustache tufts suddenly came up to me; of course, his target wasn't me but Yao Yirong sitting beside me.

"Little sis, interested in roaming the vehicle river with this handsome guy?"

When I heard that, I almost threw up last night's leftover rice; look at his eyebrows and eyes, all scrunched together, his slanted mouth dripping a long string of drool, the gleam in his eyes—what is that called? Lascivious, right?

Looking at the bald man's smug, triumphant face, I couldn't help wondering, damn, who gave him the nerve to, looking like that, still dare shamelessly call himself a handsome guy to hit on a little girl.

And Yao Yirong was even more direct, sternly staring at the bald man for a moment, then her slender finger pointed to the door.

"Turn left when you go out; there's a restroom there, and inside are two large mirrors."

Yao Yirong's remark instantly made my brain burst with laughter, causing the cocktail I'd just swallowed to come out with a puff. Her talent for cutting remarks is truly rich—not bluntly calling someone ugly, but making them go to the restroom to look in the mirror.

I think no one else would consider Yao Yirong's words a compliment.

At least, this bald man who looks "alternative" wouldn't think so; after Yao Yirong's cutting, frank sarcasm, he flew into a rage—anger made his hair stand up like a red crown, he flew up, angry… for no reason.

Before I could react, I suddenly heard a clang, then a sharp pain in my head, and fiery alcohol streamed from the top of my head into my eyes.

"Little sis, these pretty boys nowadays aren't reliable—look, they can't even withstand a beer bottle."

After the bald man pointed at me and said that mocking remark, I, dazed, finally realized what was happening.

Barring any mishap, I should have been blown in the head…… gloriously sacrificing myself, becoming this man's accessory for picking up women and showing off his skills. Understanding the truth, I immediately felt a surge of anger rise from my chest to my forehead.

I was just having a drink; I didn't provoke anyone…… could it be wrong to sit beside a beautiful woman?

Besides anger, I also felt a helpless, laugh‑or‑cry sensation welling up inside.

What happened next dealt another heavy blow to my spirit.

I saw Yao Yirong pick up a glass bottle with one hand; with two clangs, she rhythmically struck the bald man's head with it, and with a crack the bottle shattered, pale yellow beer flowing down his bald head, which was also covered in many glass shards.

I admit I misjudged her. I had always thought Yao Yirong was merely violent; I didn't expect her violence to come so cleanly and efficiently.

After Yao Yirong finished beating him, Pangzi rushed after her and kicked the bald man squarely; in an instant the bald man flew off like a broken‑kite, landing with a thud and blasting a big hole in the bar counter one meter away.

Since the brother was beaten, Pangzi naturally wouldn't hold back.

All this happened in the blink of an eye—from my being blown in the head, to rage, to helpless laughter, to the bald man being beaten away—the whole process took only the time it takes to smoke a cigarette.

Only after it was over did I realize what had happened, then I felt waves of stinging pain on my forehead; I hastily grabbed a napkin to press on the bleeding wound to staunch the blood loss.

At that moment I fell completely from being the story's protagonist to…… a wounded supporting character; the Protagonist halo lingered stingily above my forehead for just a minute, then my pale‑yellow Protagonist halo turned into the Blood‑colored halo of a supporting character.

I thought the act was over, this play should have wrapped up, but who knew that the end of one story is merely the beginning of another.

Just as we were getting ready to pay and leave, the bald man, helped up by a yellow‑haired youth, staggered to his feet. Upon standing, he bellowed, "Surround them for me!", then waved his hand all around.

After the bald man's angry shout and wave, a dozen or so dyed‑haired gangsters came from all directions to surround us.

That's right, they came from the four directions—northeast, southeast, southwest, northwest—starting with a dozen or so, then later… too many to count.

"Malle Gobi, you dare blast my head, Tiger Lord… you've got guts, you really have guts," the bald man snarled, thrusting a thumb up at Yao Yirong.

His greedy eyes roved lustfully over Yao Yirong and Silijing, then he gave a lecherous smile and loudly ordered his lackeys: "Keep the women for me, chop the men up for Tiger Lord and throw them to the dogs."

Having said that, he sat on a nearby sofa, poured a glass of red wine, lit a cigar, and, under the guard of five black‑clad bodyguards, looked down on us with eyes radiating cruelty and lust. That gaze brimmed with desire and impatience, just like the so‑called nobles of ancient Egyptian arenas who, gazing at beasts trapped in cages, felt no pity at all, only eager anticipation for the beasts to tear each other apart.

"Hold on, throw away all the knives and forks, switch to beer bottles, grab these two guys and let me beat them with beer bottles." The bald man, touching the spot where Yao Yirong had blown his head, wore a cruel smile and intensified the scene.

"Damn, this dead bald guy is nothing short of a level‑three pervert!" Hearing his order, besides anger I involuntarily clenched my anal sphincter; though his meaning is clearly to have his underlings beat our heads with empty beer bottles, anyone hearing that… being beaten with beer bottles would inevitably provoke some unnatural reaction somewhere on the body.

As for where exactly it would be unnatural, I no longer have the leisure to study this complex and profound issue.

Because, gangsters from all directions were forming a encircling surge toward us, each swinging an empty beer bottle in hand, each gaze toward us filled with a cruel grin.

We, trapped in the circle, were so nervous that sweat pooled in our palms; looking at the bustling crowd, the wolves‑like encirclement tightened around us, and as prey our mood was naturally awful.

Although Pangzi and Yao Yirong know some martial arts, the bar offers too little space; besides, they're human, not machines—how could they withstand so many beer bottles? Moreover… there's also me and Silijing, these two burdens.

"Brother Weiqiang, when you see the chance, take them and leave first."

"Yao Yirong, seize the opportunity and take Silijing and Hai Sheng away first."

When everyone was suffocated by the tense atmosphere, Yao Yirong and Pangzi spoke in unison, then simultaneously froze, perfectly in sync.

"Yao Yirong, stop messing around, listen to me, later when you see the chance, take Hai Sheng and Silijing and leave first." Pangzi made a Form-Intent Fist starting stance, carefully guarding against the approaching gangsters.

"No, the trouble is my fault. You go first, I'll cover the rear."

"Stop arguing, it's no big deal, just fight them head-on—if we leave, we leave together; if we stay, we stay together." I shouted angrily, cutting them off. I've never been someone who dwells on problems. Since trouble has already closed in, I can only adopt the most direct way to face it, using violence to counter violence… and leave it to fate.

Just as I forcibly bolstered my courage and interrupted Pangzi and Yao Yirong, the gangsters around us drew ever closer; one of them, taking advantage of our distraction, lunged at Pangzi fiercely with a beer bottle.

After all, this is a battlefield; although the cause seems like a melodramatic movie, in reality, a fight is a fight—enemies won't give you all that drawn-out romantic time.

"Uh-oh… be careful," I and Silijing exclaimed in alarm. Pangzi, highly alert, swiftly turned, seized the gangster's wrist with a fierce eagle-claw grab, then followed with a straight kick, sending him flying.

However, subduing one doesn't mean the war is won; just as Pangzi kicked the first gangster away, the remaining gangsters imitated him, grabbing empty beer bottles and lunging at us fiercely.

Amidst an endless sea of people and a sky-filling barrage of empty beer bottles, even Pangzi, versed in martial arts, lost his composure. Meanwhile, Silijing was so frightened her face turned deathly pale; she clutched her head with both hands and shut her eyes tightly.

I could almost foresee our fate—being smashed to death by countless empty beer bottles.

"Don't move—whoever dares to touch my brother, I'll behead your boss." When the beer bottles around me were only a ruler's distance away, a loud shout suddenly rang out in the dance hall; everyone froze, all the beer bottles hanging in midair, none striking my head.

When everyone turned to look, all they saw was a young man in black casual wear pressing a shard of glass hard against the throat of a bald, burly man.

Although this young man wore black, he was definitely not Fan Wuchang, yet why did his back look so familiar to me?

The young man holding the bald, burly man hostage slowly turned around, finally letting me and Pangzi see his appearance clearly.

The moment we saw his appearance clearly, I and Pangzi also froze.

How could it be him…?