Chapter 387

Clad in black, with a face carved like a blade, a tall and straight figure, he stood silently at the door. Though he had no trace of killing intent, his mountain‑like stature caused Northeastern Tiger's face to shift suddenly.

"Fan Wuchang, how are you here...?" Seeing the arrival, Northeastern Tiger's expression suddenly changed, a strong sense of vigilance rising on his face.

The comer was none other than Fan Wuchang, who now sauntered in from outside the bar with a cigarette dangling from his lips. Although he seemed just as lazy as ever, his whole body exuded a languid air, yet within that laziness lay a hint of chill that made one's heart palpitate.

Just so, this person strolled in with an airy ease, yet the atmosphere in the venue shifted slightly in an instant. The black‑clad bodyguard facing me with clenched fists immediately fell back, assuming a solemn stance in front of Northeastern Tiger. That stalwart figure leaned slightly, taking position to Northeastern Tiger's front‑left.

This angle is the optimal 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 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 Northeastern Tiger.

"Boss Tiger, it's just a few kids horsing around; getting this worked up, aren't you afraid of losing your Dragon‑Head status?" Fan Wuchang said in a calm tone.

Northeastern Tiger snorted harshly from his nose, stared at Fan Wuchang and snarled: "These brat bastards blew up my head; if today I let them walk out of this bar unharmed, how can Northeastern Tiger stand in Macau thereafter?" Immediately a flash of malice crossed his soybean‑sized eyes; he looked gloomily at Fan Wuchang and said coldly: "Could this be Chen Zheng's intention? East Mausoleum, are you planning to intervene in this matter?"

"Yes..." Fan Wuchang replied succinctly.

"Then let Chen Zheng come talk to me; what right does a mere minor Red Pole have to stand here and speak to me?" Northeastern Tiger flew into a rage, staring at Fan Wuchang without yielding. In the end, although Fan Wuchang is Chen Zheng's confidant, his position is nothing more than East Mausoleum's chief Red Pole—nowhere near Northeastern Tiger's stature.

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

One by one, they puffed out their chests, unruly and defiant, staring at Fan Wuchang.

"Pa," before the words could finish, it happened in an instant with no warning—Fan Wuchang lifted his hand at lightning speed and slapped the thug nearest him hard.

"You dare threaten me… I followed Brother Zheng into Vietnam three times, sweeping through the three‑letter headquarters of Cambodia; you lot were still sucking milk in your mothers' beds—what gives you the right to stand before me and threaten me?" With this outburst, Fan Wuchang's anger made the people around him retreat half a step; even Northeastern Tiger's eyes flickered with a momentary loss. The few thugs near Fan Wuchang, looking at him, were filled with a hint of fear.

A man's name, a tree's shadow… Perhaps Northeastern Tiger's side had relied on superior numbers and confidence before, but after Fan Wuchang's roar, these people finally recalled his identity.

Even as a Red Pole, he is a nightmare of the underworld, this dark‑night specter—not something an ordinary person can shake.

"Hmph, what East Mausoleum, what Fan Wuchang—I'd like to see, if Northeastern Tiger kills you today, what can Chen Zheng do to me!" Seeing his underlings' momentum waning, Northeastern Tiger spat out a harsh remark, waved his hand, and ordered the nearby lackeys armed with watermelon knives and iron pipes to rush 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 Northeastern Tiger, saying: "Being in the underworld is nothing but chasing profit; Tiger Brother, have you considered what consequences your move against me today might bring?"

"Haha, are you chickening out? Are you scared?" Northeastern Tiger burst out laughing, looking down at Fan Wuchang from above.

"No no no," Fan Wuchang waved his index finger back and forth, rejecting the idea: "Actually I'm thinking of you. Consider this: East Mausoleum and the Fierce Tiger Gang each control their own share of Macau's underground industry. If we two gangs go to war, we'll each be trampling the other's turf; then all of Macau's casinos and bars would be unable to do business, every venue would lack dividends and protection fees for us both, and the losses wouldn't necessarily be limited to East Mausoleum alone."

After hearing Fan Wuchang's words, Northeastern Tiger's eyes flickered for a moment; then he propped his chin on his hand, lowered his head, wondering what else to think.

Seeing Northeastern Tiger's expression finally loosen, Fan Wuchang again spoke coldly: "If you want to fight, I have no objection. Though my skills aren't great, even these few rotten tomatoes and stinky eggs can't stop me. Worst case, I'll escape and later take revenge for my friends, dragging my underlings into daily battles with you, nightly wars—ideally until the police anti‑gang unit shows up, at which point nobody's business will work, giving everyone a 'scrape‑together‑riches' outcome, all happy."

After saying all that, Fan Wuchang merely stood there silently smoking, uttering not a word. He shoved aside the few thugs blocking him without a care, walked to a nearby table, picked up the red wine, poured several cups, and handed one to each of us.

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

I gulped, swallowing the red wine, and finally calmed the agitation in my heart. I and Pangzi could never be like Fan Wuchang, unable to remain as tranquil as before amid ten thousand troops.

"Heh, even if what you say makes sense, so what! Are we just supposed to let the grudge of having my head blown up go?" Northeastern Tiger's anger shattered the bar's tranquility.

Fan Wuchang lowered the hand holding his wine, sinking into a moment of silence.

Gazing at Fan Wuchang's silence and Northeastern Tiger's arrogance, a bitter smile involuntarily crossed my heart.

Northeastern Tiger—one of Macau's two major underworld bosses, the Dragon Head—had his head smashed yet watched the killer slip away; if this got out, how could he still maintain his position?

The best solution is to hand over a person; that would minimize the impact while safeguarding both sides' interests. Thus, while Fan Wuchang hesitated, I had already imagined the optimal approach…

I took a deep breath, preparing to step forward and offer myself up. I guessed Fan Wuchang would make the same choice; facing the bigger picture, to protect East Mausoleum's interests he would surely sacrifice one of us three—Pangzi, Wei Xiong, and me. Rather than wait for him to hand me over and have everyone lose face, it's better I step forward first: this would ease the mutual embarrassment, and East Mausoleum wouldn't give Pangzi and Wei Xiong a hard time.

Who would have known—I discovered I was wrong, thinking the underworld was utterly ruthless, unaware that besides profit, there is also something called brotherhood…

As I was about to step forward, Fan Wuchang reached out and stopped me. He stood before me, staring at Northeastern Tiger, and said coldly: "Those behind me are all my friends; I, Fan Wuchang, have dared to do anything since my debut, except abandon my friends." Then he shifted tone, smiling lightly, and asked: "Boss Tiger, tell me whatever you need settled; if I, Fan Wuchang, can do it, I will certainly take care of it for you."

I was stunned; Pangzi was stunned too—no one expected Fan Wuchang to say such a thing. To be frank, I never imagined he would truly back us to the end.

Dongbei Hu, hearing Fan Wuchang's question, did not answer directly but gave a sinister smile, holding the railing of the corridor with both hands, and, circling the second floor, said loudly: "Since I, Dongbei Hu, entered the world, I have had a rule: if you respect me one foot, I will respect you ten feet; if you smash a wine bottle against me, you must either stab yourself once, or let me stab you three times. If you want to settle this privately, that's simple."

Dongbei Hu's mouth curled with a sinister smile, pointing at me and Pangzi, he said: "Let one of these two brats stab himself." Immediately he rubbed his ring, sneering contemptuously: "However, I estimate these two little brats would faint at the sight of blood; telling them to stab themselves, I'd rather believe dogs eat rats and cats eat feces."

"Or how about you, Brother Wuchang, give yourself a stab? Let's see if you're really this righteous." Dongbei Hu shrugged his shoulders, feigning an astonished tone as he looked at Fan Wuchang; this weasel's New Year greeting to the chicken act was spot-on.

After 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 move successfully restored his face and harshly ridiculed Fan Wuchang.

With a clang, a flash of silver sliced across the bar's night sky; Fan Wuchang drew his blade, faster than anyone inside the bar expected.

Fan Wuchang's draw instantly caught the attention of the black-clad bodyguards; after a moment of panic, four bodyguards formed a encirclement around Dongbei Hu, vigilantly guarding against Fan Wuchang.

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

I, Pangzi Weixiong, and a third companion slightly leaned toward Fan Wuchang; even though surrounded by everyone, we felt no fear, and at this moment our spirit had risen to a height beyond what an ordinary person could anticipate.

But unexpected things always happen at sudden moments.

Under everyone's gaze, Fan Wuchang's blade flashed, and in the instant everyone was stunned, the gleaming bayonet stabbed into his own thigh.

Fresh blood trickled from the wound, yet Fan Wuchang's complexion showed no change, as if the knife had not been driven into his own thigh.

"This should have calmed your anger, Hu Lao Da!" Fan Wuchang, ignoring the blood on his thigh, pulled out his blade with a puff.

At this moment, I, caught in the tiger-and-wolf encirclement, felt an inexplicable sensation wash over me. I don't know how to describe this feeling lingering in my heart… is it moved, or is it warmth?

After Fan Wuchang drew his blade, everyone in the hall sucked in a breath of cold air. Perhaps none of them expected Fan Wuchang to be so decisive, saying he'd stab himself and then doing it.

Dongbei Hu's face had darkened to the extreme; earlier he had lost face, but now Fan Wuchang had stabbed himself in our place—if he continued to make things difficult for us, it would be indefensible morally. If word got out, Dongbei Hu would only be laughed at by the martial world for bullying the weak with his strength.

But he must be feeling extremely unwilling right now, otherwise he wouldn't hesitate so much.

"Go," seeing Dongbei Hu give no answer, Fan Wuchang performed a martial-arts salute toward Dongbei Hu, then gave everyone a cold, icy glance 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 unwillingness in an angry manner.

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