Chapter 6: The Gunman and the Bullet

Weapons are actually very common in Jincheng City.

When violence becomes the rule under the sun, weapons inevitably become essential resources for protecting one’s own rights and infringing upon others’.

“Having a gun in hand” versus “I’ll call the police afterward”—clever Jincheng residents know which to choose.

Although weapons are widespread, not everyone carries them, let alone displays them so openly.

Only three kinds of people dare to do this—

Federal law enforcement officers, who have legitimate firearm permits; even if they shoot you dead, all they need to do is file a report: “...I showed my ID, then he rushed me to seize my weapon, and under Rule ... and Rule ..., I fired,” followed by a vacation and warm welcomes from colleagues upon return.

The second kind are gang members, who don’t hide their weapons—they want everyone to see them.

The fear caused by the lethal power of weapons excites them.

The third kind are the capitalists’ men.

They are more terrifying, because the first two kinds still follow some rules, but the capitalists’ men recognize only money.

Before money, no law or morality can stop them from pulling the trigger.

In the western suburbs of Jincheng City lies a place called “Angel Lake,” a tourist attraction, and among locals there’s a saying only they know.

“When capitalists get angry, the water level of Angel Lake rises!”

Outsiders might not understand this, but locals know—the lake rises because too many gasoline barrels have been thrown in!

No matter which kind, the son of a bitch drunkard is someone you dare not offend.

These low-class minor figures actually understand better than adults how to respond to such crises and make choices.

When faced with potential danger, he immediately surrendered, without a moment’s hesitation, so fast it felt... practiced!

“I’ll do it right away—I promise it won’t happen again!”

Fordis retracted his hand; his coat naturally fell back, concealing the weapon, and the son of a bitch drunkard exhaled in relief.

In just those few seconds, he felt his head heat up, sweat pouring down his body, as if he’d nearly died!

His gaze at Aierwen and Lans became uncertain and wary.

“I’d like to have a word with... this gentleman.”

Fordis stared at Lans for several seconds, then turned away. “I’m right here—if you need me, call out.”

Within the entire company, Fordis is one of the boss’s trusted men; his being sent here means the boss finds this young man interesting.

He knows exactly what to do.

Lans looked at the son of a bitch drunkard and signaled him to move aside. “Unless you want to talk to me right here at the door—your neighbors will surely wonder what we’re discussing.”

“If you want tomorrow morning to turn you into the laughingstock of this apartment building, then we can stand here and settle this.”

The son of a bitch drunkard instantly realized—he felt fear, disgust, and hatred, but still stepped aside and invited Lans inside.

Even a son of a bitch drunkard cares about face.

A typical low-class apartment: less than forty square meters, kitchen, dining area, and bathroom squeezed together, with a bedroom and a small storage room inside.

This is interesting.

Federal low-class residents may lack a private kitchen, but they cannot lack a storage room.

Most low-class people are poor, yet they always accumulate a pile of strange, useless things they refuse to throw away—these are called burdens.

Just like themselves, in the value of their own life paths.

Without a storage room, the home would be a mess.

There were no traces of a woman’s life, no traces of a child’s life, but on the table sat a photo frame with a picture of the man and a child—this son of a bitch drunkard clearly lived poorly.

The suspicious stains on the sofa and the foul odor made Lans unwilling to sit down; he stood near the door, not too far away.

“Listen, Eiseng is my friend. I’ll make him apologize for his reckless behavior, but you’re also at fault—you shouldn’t have tried to withhold his money.”

The son of a bitch drunkard was dazed, nodding instinctively, mumbling “uh-huh.”

“So after the case is dropped, I’ll have him apologize to you—but you must return the wages you withheld.”

“I can make him drop charges against you, but you must promise this is the last time.”

“Afterward, your relationship continues—he’ll keep using your work card and pay you fair wages, and you must no longer harass him or exploit the payment.”

Lans walked to the table, picked up the photo frame. “Nice little kid—is he your child?”

The son of a bitch drunkard, who had been half-dazed, snapped awake—he looked tense. “This has nothing to do with him.”

Lans put the frame down and smiled. “Whether it has to do with him depends on your choice, sir.”

“We’re all despicable smugglers, thieves from other worlds—here, there’s nothing for us to cling to.”

“But you have family here. You have a child, don’t you?”

The drunkard nodded frantically. “I know—I’ll give him all the money. But don’t do anything reckless.”

Lans rested his hand on the table edge; the sticky grease made him feel sick, but now wasn’t the time to show it.

“I’ve always believed one thing: everything operates along paths and rules.”

“When rules exist, we follow them—that’s enough.”

“The market price is fifteen yuan—that’s what you’re owed. No one can take what belongs to you. That’s the rule.”

“As long as you follow the rules, we’ll follow them too.”

Aierwen stood by the door, gazing at Lans with worshipful eyes—he never imagined so much could happen in one day!

Eiseng ran off, they got into trouble, then Lans took him to borrow money—though they didn’t get it, the problem was solved.

They even rode in a car, and saw this incredibly cool Lans right now!

Totally worth it!

So cool!

A string of surprises—even the son of a bitch drunkard, though still dazed, was now fully awake. “I know what to do.”

He hesitated. “Can I know your name?”

Lans wore a faint smile—calm, confident, almost arrogant. “Lans.”

A few minutes later, the son of a bitch drunkard changed clothes; though still smelly, it was better than before.

He sat silently in the car, then at the precinct immediately explained the situation, signing a document amid the impatient prodding of the police.

In the car, Lans watched everything unfold through the window—this feeling was strange.

Fordis couldn’t help asking, “Aren’t you afraid?”

Lans turned, looking at him through the rearview mirror. “Afraid of what?”

Fordis smirked. “This is a police station. And as far as I know, you’re an illegal, and so is the kid beside you.”

Lans couldn’t help running his hand along the car door—the fine walnut grain felt pleasant. No wonder some people love classic cars.

“Not at all.”

“Can I know why?”

“Because between me and them, there’s a distance of twenty thousand yuan—and that’s a gap they can’t cross.”

Fordis thought for a long while, then sighed. “A wise statement. Are you really only eighteen?”

Lans didn’t answer, only smiled.

Eiseng was hiding under a bridge nearby, in a disused culvert, where many vagrants lived.

The advantage is that it’s warm in winter—the wind can’t get in—and cool in summer, as shade and cold air from pipes slowly seep out.

In front of Lans and Aierwen , Eiseng apologized to the son of a bitch drunkard. “I shouldn’t have hit you so impulsively. I’m sorry, sir.”

As he spoke, the son of a bitch drunkard felt his cheekbones throb again.

Eiseng was only twenty, but looked at least twenty-seven or twenty-eight—even older.

He was strong. His father was a tanner—in the Empire, and even in the Federation, tanning was a respected trade.

Because it represented a craft and social status.

It’s hard to imagine tanners having social status, but historically, it did exist.

Originally, only nobles could afford leather goods, so tanners served nobility first, enjoying higher status than commoners.

Because tanners had stable income and better status, Eiseng’s father raised him tall and strong.

This intimidating figure, who had terrified the son of a bitch drunkard, bowed deeply—and it lifted some of the man’s gloom.

He glanced at Lans and Fordis beside him, then accepted reality. “I did wrong too. It’s not all your fault. Let’s make peace...”

Eiseng received his twenty yuan—exactly, no more. The drunkard had planned to give a few extra, but Lans refused.

Rules are rules. Don’t be a rule-breaker when you lack power—that’s survival experience.

After watching the son of a bitch drunkard leave, Lans told Fordis to wait a moment—he had something to say to Eiseng.