Chapter 997: Hate That My Parents Didn

Zhou Changli is back.

Yu Li placed a teacup beside Li Xuewu’s hand and reminded him, “Did you see him?”

“Mm, at the gate.”

Li Xuewu replied absently; after finishing the document in his hand, he looked up at Yu Li and said, “Zhou Yamei is coming tomorrow.”

“Understood.”

Yu Li had really wanted to ask about Zhou Yamei but dared not ask directly, so she mentioned Zhou Changli instead.

Li Xuewu paid no mind to her caution, continued reading the document, and said, “Tell the lower levels: year-end is approaching, morale is shifting—watch for security.”

“Yes.”

Yu Li sat across from him, studying Li Xuewu, hesitated for a long while, then said, “This time Zhou Changli came back, he wants to reconnect with his old contacts…”

“Hmm?”

Li Xuewu frowned slightly, looked up at Yu Li, and waited for her to continue.

“This morning.”

Yu Li explained, “After returning, Zhou Changli spoke with me about it—he wants to use his old connections to recruit sailors.”

“What connections does he have? Do you know?”

Li Xuewu glanced at Yu Li, then picked up his pen and began annotating the document, continuing, “Once only. Next time someone bypasses the chain of command to report, they’re out.”

“...Yes.”

Yu Li knew she’d made another mistake; she bit her lip, feeling down.

Only after finishing his annotations did Li Xuewu add, “Don’t give them any face. Don’t cater to anyone’s feelings. If there’s a problem, send them to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Yu Li spoke with deep regret: “I… I didn’t know he…”

“Mm. Be more careful next time.”

Li Xuewu nodded slowly, not even looking at her, continuing to lecture: “Issues are reported up the chain of command. Even if Zhou Yamei and Biaozi know, it’s not his place to speak.”

“And one more thing!”

Flipping through the document, Li Xuewu looked up at Yu Li: “You have no authority or responsibility to permit anyone to do anything—except for the club.”

“Yes.”

This time, Yu Li’s reply was swift and firm; she had heard the warning in his tone and realized she’d unknowingly crossed his line.

This office, located in the club, has only service functions—no administrative authority.

The neck can’t do the head’s job—otherwise, what’s the head for?

Li Xuewu didn’t harshly reprimand her; she’d once been a housewife, later trained in the storefront.

Her only real experience in management and coordination came from these past few months at the club.

Assigning her office work was purely because she was more trustworthy.

Since everyone knew her capabilities were this limited, how could Li Xuewu expect more from her?

But there must be a bottom line: what must be managed, manage; what must not be touched, never give her—or anyone—any illusion.

Building a corporate group starts from the ground up; if the foundation is unstable, even the tallest tower will sway.

Once an office system is established, procedures must be followed—this isn’t the old days of a makeshift crew where anyone could blurt out orders.

For personnel like Zhou Changli, Li Xuewu wouldn’t grant them the right to think independently.

Unless they reached Li Wenbiao’s level, they simply followed superior orders.

Organizational work most despises disobedience; those TV dramas with heroes acting on their own? Only screenwriters with no brains could dream them up.

Back then, underground workers who altered execution plans faced punishment at best, execution at worst.

Here too, Li Xuewu wouldn’t punish them outright—but if he lost trust, he’d never use them again.

Zhou Changli was young, naive, and believed brute force alone could get things done.

After years of training in Gangcheng and experiencing several incidents, he’d finally learned to report problems.

But he never realized reporting to Yu Li was itself wrong.

Either report to Zhou Yamei, or report to me—Yu Li is in Beijing, at the club, but she’s not in charge. What good is telling her?

Of course, from Zhou Changli’s perspective, he returned to work, using the club as his base—so naturally, he should inform Yu Li.

He probably thought: since it’s all for the unit, helping out old friends by offering connections was his own contribution.

But in Li Xuewu’s view, this “contribution” wasn’t admirable; the people introduced by those friends carried inherent risks.

Right now, Beijing only has Li Xuewu paying attention to image—otherwise, there’d be endless people lining up.

When you can’t even eat, you’ll do anything asked.

“Since you’ve already approved him, go ahead.”

Seeing Yu Li’s guilt and remorse, Li Xuewu finally nodded, letting the matter drop.

Yu Li stood, walked behind Li Xuewu, and began massaging his shoulders, her voice plaintive: “I really didn’t think much then—I only realized later… I won’t do it again.”

“Mm.”

Li Xuewu acknowledged it; after all, he was recruiting people anyway. Zhou Changli wanted to promote his old acquaintances—perhaps he meant to build his own power base in Gangcheng.

The recycling station will expand eventually—who doesn’t want to stand on their own feet and carve out a future?

Opportunity always favors the prepared.

But if opportunity arrives and he has no supporters, what then?

So building his own network early is wise; some of these people recruited from Beijing will gradually rise into management roles.

And he, already working at the recycling station, handling administrative duties, has even greater future prospects.

In personnel departments, if you don’t seize chances to create advantages for yourself, which department could?

But Li Xuewu didn’t care—whether it was Li Wenbiao, Wen San’er, or Ding Wanqiu, Zhou Changli.

If you’re building a business, don’t hoard talent or suppress others’ advancement.

Li Wenbiao and Wen San’er have natural advantages—but if they don’t strive, he won’t coddle them.

Zhou Changli wants to advance, to rise—he won’t be denied opportunity, nor will Li Xuewu look down on his background.

But to succeed, you must prove real ability—even among the street toughs, some rise to the world stage.

Of course, whether Zhou Changli climbs the ladder to success depends entirely on himself.

After all, Li Xuewu isn’t running a charity, nor does he intend to be a godfather.

In fact, Zhou Changli’s return wasn’t just about returning in glory.

After seeing the outside world—especially gaining unique perspectives on money and society—he wanted to do something.

Youth always carries its own drive and boldness, especially with such a platform—he truly believed if he didn’t fight now, he’d regret it later.

Look at the grand mansion before him, the row of luxury cars in the garage, the girls and young men moving among pavilions and terraces.

Conversations with scholars, no commoners—Zhou Changli had never met truly powerful people; to him, Li Xuewu was already the ultimate boss.

Ancient wealthy magnates and high officials couldn’t compare—let alone Li Xuewu’s behind-the-scenes connections and vast network.

Zhou Changli and Zhao Laosi entered this world together; both felt it was a great platform with room for their talents.

But neither had considered whether what they saw and thought was deliberately shown to them by Li Xuewu.

Yu Li stepped out of the office, glanced toward the gate, and recalled Li Xuewu’s past advice: To take something, you must first allow it.

Zhou Changli stood at the gate, smoking with Zhao Laosi; street toughs who’d heard the news came over, smiling to greet him.

Especially when they saw the grand, opulent gate behind him—they knew he’d truly found the right door.

Forget other things: just the guards at the gate, in their military-style overcoats, with holstered pistols at their waists—this wasn’t an ordinary unit.

Zhou Changli could enter and leave freely; rumors said he wouldn’t even go home—he’d stay here. That raised their estimation of him further.

Don’t care where he lives—even if he slept with the gatekeeper, it still signaled status.

Try sleeping in this mansion for one night and see if you’ve got the nerve!

Of course, now living here means status—but last year, when Li Xuewu first took this mansion, he was the only one guarding it.

Empty, eerie, nearly scared him to death.

But now? He’s riding on Li Xuewu’s prestige—Zhou Changli has become a big shot in this part of Beijing.

Today, Zhang Jianguo, the new leader of the Xinjiekou toughs, came to pay his respects.

The young men he brought—Zhou Changli had heard of them: Li Heping, Yan Shengli, Li Kuiyong—all kids from the hutongs.

Zhang Jianguo came to visit Zhou Changli partly out of respect—he was once the big brother of Xinjiekou’s toughs.

If Zhou Changli recognized him and offered friendship, his position in Xinjiekou would be fully legitimized.

On the other hand, he wanted to see what path Zhou Changli was on—if it had real potential, he wouldn’t mind befriending him, even calling him elder brother.

After all, he was no longer a child; he had to think about his future.

Even if Zhou Changli’s path wasn’t right for him, there was still something to learn.

Besides, toughs are toughs—but every tough has younger siblings, right? They don’t roam the streets—they must make a living.

The current situation in Beijing is clear to anyone with even a bit of ability or sense.

The authorities probably have no way to place these youths who are neither fully employed nor fully unemployed.

High school and junior high graduates still idle; those who barely scraped through junior high—or didn’t even finish—along with elementary school dropouts—have all been cast out by society.

What to do?

What to eat?

Parents earn hard-earned money; every family has four or five kids—teenage boys eat their fathers alive, and no one can afford them anymore.

Think again: when children grow up, won’t you need to arrange marriages for them?

The harder the times, the less dowry remains, and the more demands are made.

So Zhou Changli didn’t need to raise his arm and call out, nor did he need to waste breath on these people—those he took with him were the best advertisement.

Do you think when Zhou Changli fled from Maicheng, unable to make a living in the northeast, he lost his status when he returned?

No, now those with money and power speak with authority, and their words carry weight.

Zhang Jianguo, in a way, threw out a brick to attract jade, tested the waters—not only describing the situation at Xinjiekou, but also laying out all the local tough-guy factions in Jingcheng.

Xiao Yaozi of Donghuamen, the Brick Club and Stick Team of Jingcheng Station, the Iron Shards and Hunting Dogs of Dongsi, the Cleaver Team at Dazhi Bridge…

Some people said, what the hell are these—Brick Club, Stick Team? What even are these?

But from Li Xuewu’s perspective, they were all paper tigers, just scaring people—he didn’t believe bricks and sticks could be better than pistols.

Of course, he could say that—ordinary people, ordinary youths simply didn’t have such firepower.

The Brick Club, lurking around Jingcheng Station, wrapped bricks in tea bags and used them as weapons in fights.

The Stick Team didn’t use spiked clubs—they wrapped rolling pins in newspapers.

You might find this funny, but in real fights, the weapons people held were this plain and unadorned.

If you mention forks, yes, they existed—and in considerable numbers; every local tough guy would keep one for himself.

But forks were tubular or triangular in shape; holding one to scare someone didn’t guarantee they’d believe you’d actually stab.

Once you lost control and stabbed someone, the wound wouldn’t even close without hospital stitches—blood would gush out.

Even with today’s medical conditions, dying from a stabbing was common—every year saw people stabbed to death.

You say tough guys fight brutally, willing to use knives and stab people.

But from a survivorship bias perspective, those you encountered holding forks were mostly those who’d never actually stabbed anyone.

At this time, when kids were causing trouble, the authorities had tightened their grip, but intentional injuries were not tolerated.

Especially stabbing with a fork—you’d definitely be arrested, even wanted.

Think about it—someone who committed such a crime would be hiding everywhere, never daring to parade through the streets.

Tough guys were still people; they just wanted to get by, not to risk their lives. Guys like Xiao Huaidan were rare—otherwise, how could he rise to power?

Since forks were off-limits, they could only use bricks, rolling pins, and the like—even if they broke skulls, these weren’t classified as weapons.

Of course, some were fiercer—like the Iron Shards of Dongsi, which looked like cleavers but were just iron scraps, though a few might carry real knives.

Even fiercer were the crew at Dazhi Bridge—they were more willing to risk their lives, more reckless.

These tough-guy gangs were generally small—three or five people was about right.

More than that, even the toughest boss couldn’t afford to feed them; even landlords had no surplus grain—they all depended on the Buddha’s charity.

Another reason numbers couldn’t be too high was the authorities’ assessment of incident impact.

If the number exceeded a certain threshold, the meaning changed entirely—then even Huang Gan couldn’t be summoned; only the King of Hell could intervene.

So don’t imagine tough guys are that powerful—last year in August and September, those kids chased them down the streets, whipping them—did you see them dare to fight back?

Of course, that doesn’t mean these people were weak—they were local forces rooted in the hutongs, and when things got serious, there were always tough guys.

Especially now, with more idle people on the streets, they had fertile ground to operate.

“I told you to hurry up, hurry up, and you dawdle~”

Zhou Xiaobai pedaled hard, but now she was nearly out of strength.

Behind her, Luo Yun panted as she pedaled and shouted: “It’s just being late—worst case, I’ll apologize to Sister Yu.”

Then she realized something was off, thought it over, and angrily asked: “Today’s Sunday! No wonder you’re so eager!”

“And!”

Luo Yun pedaled hard, caught up with Zhou Xiaobai, and asked sideways: “You still haven’t told me why you cried last week—did you two… do it?”

“Get lost~!”

Zhou Xiaobai scowled at her, then pedaled ahead to put distance between them, adding: “Mind your own business—I’ll tell Zuo Jie you’re a chatterbox!”

“Pfft~”

Luo Yun sneered, but didn’t slow down—coming out late meant getting scolded.

She wasn’t afraid Zuo Jie would dislike her—she should be the one disliking him!

No, why should she?

They were getting along fine—why should anyone dislike each other?

It was all because of Zhou Xiaobai—she couldn’t have it, so she’d ruin mine!

Damn! That wicked woman!

Luo Yun smirked and chased after Zhou Xiaobai, wanting to keep teasing her—but then, around the corner, she saw several boys parking haphazardly, nearly colliding.

At the intersection, Zhong Yuemin and others were watching the courtyard of Dongcheng No. 1 Club from a distance.

Everyone had heard: the old tough guy had returned, and all the big names in the Four-Nine City had come to see the spectacle.

What did these young people care about? Just the spectacle—tough guys set up the stage, veterans came to tear it down.

Veterans climbed ladders; tough guys would sabotage them—pure mutual destruction.

Today everyone knew the tough guys were gathering here—so of course there’d be a show.

You ask about Zhong Yuemin?

He wasn’t here to cause trouble; his crew were all young, just here for the spectacle, no grudges against anyone.

Unless they ran into a villain universally hated by veterans—someone everyone wanted to kill—they wouldn’t bother getting involved.

But coincidentally, Yuan Jun said this spot was sheltered from wind and rarely visited, so they parked here.

But today, Zhou Xiaobai and Luo Yun, rushing for time, took this back road—and didn’t see the cars until they collided head-on.

“Ouch!”

Luo Yun spotted it in time and slammed the brake, but inertia still sent her bike crashing into Zhou Xiaobai’s—they both fell.

In the dead of winter, on a brick road—even with thick cotton coats, landing on her butt still hurt like hell.

Zhong Yuemin and the others had come to watch the show, but seeing someone fall, they rushed over to help.

Luo Yun, with her short temper, got up with Yuan Jun’s help and immediately swung to slap them.

Luckily the young guys dodged fast—otherwise they’d have gotten a loud slap.

“Hey!”

Yuan Jun’s face darkened, pointing at her: “I was doing you a favor—don’t be ungrateful!”

“Who’s ungrateful?!”

Luo Yun, held back by Zhou Xiaobai, still yelled: “If you hadn’t parked your bikes blocking the road, would we have fallen?!”

“Yes~ yes~ yes~ it’s all our fault!”

Zhong Yuemin had already taken interest in the girl; he wouldn’t let Yuan Jun escalate things.

He apologized, explained his carelessness, and kindly asked if they were hurt, if they needed to go to the hospital.

Zhou Xiaobai was more honest and didn’t want to associate with these shady types—she took her bike, shook her head, and refused their help.

Luo Yun glared at them, wanting to curse more—but Zhou Xiaobai, worried about being late for work, pulled her away; she could only glare fiercely at the group.

“Hey! Where are you going? Let us see you off!”

Zhong Yuemin called out with a smile, moving to push their bikes—but saw the two girls walking faster, refusing to get back on.

He grinned, watching their backs—especially the quiet girl: pale, soft, with a uniquely pitiable aura—exactly his type.

If you like someone, chase them—don’t let them slip away!

Zhong Yuemin and the others were all reckless kids, bad boys—they weren’t afraid of rejection; they pushed their bikes after them.

Before they caught up, they saw the two girls heading straight for the big mansion.

Maybe because they’d reached the street, or arrived at the workplace gate, the two girls no longer looked tense—they laughed and pushed their bikes through the gate.

And coincidentally, Zhong Yuemin saw the guard with the small pistol helping them push their bikes, chatting and laughing.

He froze, staring at the mansion—hadn’t heard this was any important department or military office.

His father’s position wasn’t low; Yuan Jun’s father was the same—they all knew the major courtyards in the Four-Nine City.

This one here truly stumped them—logically, with their status and connections, they could’ve slipped in for a look.

But only if the place recognized them, recognized their background.

Or they could lie about who they were looking for—easy enough with their smooth tongues.

While Zhong Yuemin hesitated, the vehicle entrance to the mansion closed, and the guard returned to his booth.

Yuan Jun, seeing his hesitation, kicked his bike and nodded toward the gate, urging him to go.

Nothing bad would happen—let them in, fine; if not, walk away—what, they’d get beaten?

Zhong Yuemin glanced at his crew, regained confidence, and pushed his bike toward the gate.

The guard had noticed them, watching coldly as the kids approached, hand already on the alarm.

“Hello, we’d like to come in to find someone.”

Zhong Yuemin noticed the guard’s wary gaze and put on the most harmless expression to chat him up.

But the guard was a fool—he ignored him entirely, just stared, especially at the front wheel of the bike—right before it was a yellow warning line.

Zhong Yuemin, seeing his gaze, looked down and saw the yellow line.

Maybe he didn’t understand, but he didn’t dare push—he pulled back slightly, leaving plenty of space.

Only then did the guard’s eyes shift to him, then forward—still ignoring them entirely.

Yuan Jun, seeing the guard’s arrogance, frowned and moved to argue—but Zhong Yuemin held him back.

Arguing wouldn’t solve anything—he didn’t want to leave a bad impression on those two girls.

“Bro, we don’t mean anything—just want to take a look inside.”

Zhong Yuemin spoke frankly, as if to say, “I’m not lying to you, so don’t ignore me.”

The gate guard glanced at the cigarette he offered, sneered, and pulled out a Huazhi, slipping it behind his ear.

It had been thrown to him this morning by Director Li Chu—today, this fake show of status came just in time.

The gate guard wasn’t anyone else—it was Zhang Dawei, the eldest son of Zhang Wanhe from the Northeast.

This kid had a thick waist and broad frame, nearly two meters tall, and standing there in his military overcoat with a weapon belt cinched tight, no ordinary man would dare provoke him.

Just look at those massive hands—he could slap a man senseless with one swing.

Zhong Yuemin didn’t dare force his way in; he feared this kind of simple-minded soldier.

He’d just offered the guard Hongmei cigarettes, which were among the most prestigious in the ordinary category—he usually wouldn’t even spare them for others.

But he never expected the guard here smoked Huazhi?!

Damn it!

Are you kidding me?!

If you’re gonna act tough, don’t be this obvious—his own father couldn’t even afford these at work!

It was clear the guard truly looked down on his courtesy and had no interest in forming any connection.

“Comrade, I’m not going in—but can you at least tell me what this place is?”

Zhong Yuemin shook his head seriously: “We’re all from Xicheng Courtyard. If you really want to check our credentials, it’s not hard—just a few extra steps.”

“Of course!”

He gestured toward the dark gate and sized up the guard: “If this is a classified department, then forget it—we’ll pretend we never came.”

“This is the unit’s club.”

Seeing these kids still wouldn’t leave, Zhang Dawei knew Zhao Lao would scold him later—he urged: “This place isn’t open to outsiders.”

“That’s not right?!”

Yuan Jun pointed at the gate, eyes wide: “We just saw two girls go in!”

“Those are internal staff.”

Zhang Dawei walked out of the guard booth with a blank expression, standing right in front of their car like a bear.

Yuan Jun carried a kitchen knife in his bag—he could kill someone—but even he felt a chill facing this giant.

Who wouldn’t be scared? Partly because of the big 54 pistol on his hip, but also because he’d stepped out holding a rubber baton over a meter long.

They’d seen little violence—they’d never been beaten, never seen others beaten—but they weren’t fools.

A baton as thick as a child’s arm—any material would knock you flat if it hit.

Especially in the hands of this brute, it looked like he was holding a rolling pin.

Zhong Yuemin figured if that baton swung at him, he’d be dead—his family could be eating funeral rice tomorrow.

So every time the guard took a step forward, they involuntarily stepped back—until they were beyond the yellow warning line.

Zhong Yuemin and the others stood outside the yellow line, watching the guard return to his booth, their faces shifting between pale and flushed.

Today was a total humiliation—they hadn’t even gotten close to the girl, their polite greeting was ignored, and even their cigarettes were rejected. How much contempt was this?

Looking at the dark gate before him, Zhong Yuemin was deeply dissatisfied—but he dared not force entry.

Just the fact that they could afford a guard like that meant this club wasn’t some ordinary unit.

Ah! How strange—fate always works in mysterious ways.

Just as Zhong Yuemin and the others stood helplessly outside the yellow line, Li Yuanchao and his group happened to walk by, drawn by the commotion.

“Fuck! We were just looking for you!”

Li Yuanchao laughed as he rode over, slammed on the brakes, and teased: “Last time you tricked us into labor duty—I really wanted to beat you!”

“Go ahead—I won’t fight back~”

Zhong Yuemin hung his head, utterly defeated, his face full of existential despair—as if he wanted to die right then.

Li Yuanchao was taken aback, following Zhong Yuemin’s gaze forward—he saw only a large iron gate.

“Fuck! What are you staring at? I thought you were checking out girls!”

“Ah~ you wouldn’t understand~”

Zhong Yuemin could always pull off this act—he had the swagger of a street tough and could act like a pro.

Li Yuanchao leaned on his bike, grinning: “Did you fall in love with the iron gate? Or the guard?”

“…”

Zhong Yuemin stared at him, wanting to scream: I’d love to tear your mouth off!

Yuan Jun sneered, feeling today was utterly dull, and gestured toward the mansion: “We got dazzled—our girl went inside, and now we can’t reach her. We’ve got lovesickness.”

He added with a chuckle: “You guys arrived early and spotted it in time—if you’d waited longer, you’d have gone crazy.”

“Hahaha~”

Li Yuanchao and the others burst out laughing, got off their bikes, and pointed at the black iron gate: “What kind of unit is this? So powerful it can block us?”

“Don’t know.”

Zhong Yuemin observed: “They say it’s a unit club, but I’ve never heard of such a place.”

“Hey! If you say that—”

Li Yuanchao glanced around, then said: “I’ve never heard of it either. What unit even has a club like this?”

He turned to his companions behind him—they all shook their heads, equally clueless.

“That guard looks intimidating.”

Zhong Yuemin muttered, then added: “Forget it—I’ll just wait for her to come out.”

“In this weather? You’re going to wait outside?”

Li Yuanchao gave Zhong Yuemin a look like he was an idiot, then studied the place: “This courtyard seems to be the same place where the troublemakers gather.”

He glanced at the gate number, raised his eyebrows, and told Zhong Yuemin: “Don’t worry—any club that connects with troublemakers can’t be that elite.”

“Let’s go!”

Li Yuanchao was truly bold—he waved his hand and said to Zhong Yuemin: “This is the side entrance. Ignore it—we’ll go to the main gate. I’ll get you in.”

That was exactly the kind of boldness that had earned him his reputation—he was a major figure in the veteran circles.

Especially today, with so many troublemakers gathered here—if he could knock down their arrogance, his name would ring even louder.

He didn’t care whether this was some government office or club—if it was an office club, he had even more right to enjoy it.

Today, he’d bring his brothers inside to have some fun.

In later times, people said: with so many young bachelors, no jobs, no money—couldn’t they just band together when they got old, live as a group, even support each other in retirement?

Too scientific, too serious a theory—no one knew how to even begin discussing it.

Ethics? Society? Economics?

But in the underworld, there was a widely accepted reason: two men together were fine—but once more than three idle men gathered, a mastermind would inevitably emerge.

What if a whole crowd of idle men gathered?

One year, one month, one day—in Pei County.

Liu Ji, Lu Wan, Fan Kuai, Xiahou Ying, Zhou Bo, Ren Ao—all sat around drinking and chatting idly.

Suddenly, Liu Bang stood up, waving his hand excitedly: “I’ve got an idea…”

Damn—it was bound to throw the world into chaos.

So the underworld rule was clear: whenever idle men gathered beyond a certain number, trouble was guaranteed.

At the entrance of Dongcheng No. 1 Club, Zhou Changli stood on the steps, greeting the troublemakers who’d come to see him, exchanging pleasantries, and explaining what he’d been doing lately.

Wealth without returning home is like walking in silk robes at night.

Zhou Changli was still fairly restrained—he didn’t reveal his workplace or exact unit, only hinted at the nature of his work.

But wasn’t sailing the vast ocean exactly what these youths dreamed of? Didn’t that song still echo in their ears: “A ship sails by the helmsman’s hand”?

As he spoke, a group of veterans marched toward them with clear hostility.

All the troublemaker bosses fell silent and moved closer to Zhou Changli.

Today, Zhou Changli had set up the banquet to host the local bosses—someone coming to crash it was a direct insult to everyone’s face.

Seeing their bosses step forward, the troublemakers tossed their cigarette butts and gathered around, adrenaline surging.

But Li Yuanchao and his group paid them no mind.

The chaos from last August still rang in their ears—they’d crushed the troublemakers then, and now they were still swaggering, looking down on these ragtag mobs.

Zhang Haiyang and his group naturally faced off against the troublemakers, blocking both sides of the club’s main gate.

But Li Yuanchao ignored them entirely—he slung an arm around Zhong Yuemin’s shoulder and marched up the steps.

Zhong Yuemin felt uneasy—he suspected Li Yuanchao was using him as a pawn.

But he was already trapped here—if he backed down now, it wouldn’t just be losing face—he’d offend Li Yuanchao and be blacklisted from the circle forever.

He glanced back at Yuan Jun and Zheng Tong, signaling them not to follow.

But it was too late—Yuan Jun and Zheng Tong dared not let him enter alone with Li Yuanchao. If something happened, no one could save him.

Especially now, the scene below had grown tenser—the troublemakers had surrounded the veterans.

The troublemakers outnumbered them—today was the gathering of the Forty-Nine City troublemakers, and the veterans hadn’t organized beforehand.

Zheng Tong nervously glanced down, then pushed Yuan Jun to hurry after Zhong Yuemin up the steps.

The entire scene was watched by the gate guard, who had already pressed the alarm—the entire club’s security team, except the gatekeeper, was rushing toward them.

Zhao Lao was in the guardhouse. Seeing the situation turn bad, he directly dialed Yu Li’s office.

Yu Li had just returned from work and didn’t want to disturb Li Xuewu—she answered quickly.

But Zhao Lao’s report nearly made her curse—after he explained, and asked how to handle it, she was ready to give a direct order.

But he remembered what had just happened and couldn’t help glancing at Li Xuewu’s expression.

At this time, the telephone couldn’t even be said to have any privacy—it was barely better than a loudspeaker.

So Zhao Lao’s report, Li Xuewu must have heard.

Yu Li saw Li Xuewu say nothing, but his brows had already furrowed; she knew how to answer.

She had only one sentence: If anyone can come and cause trouble, do we still need to open our doors? Is your Security Department even necessary?

Zhao Lao’s reply was equally brief: Three words—Understood.

As soon as they hung up, the security team that had rushed over each held a riot baton, and a few carried riot shields.

It was truly Zhong Yuemin’s bad luck today—the gate guard still ignored their greetings and gave Li Yuanchao no chance to state his identity.

Zhao Lao stepped out, face cold, ignoring Zhou Changli’s expression and refusing to listen to Li Yuanchao’s attempts to explain himself.

He merely waved his hand, then stood straight before the main gate, arms behind his back, looking down with pride at Li Yuanchao and the others approaching the steps, and at the veterans and hooligans below.

“Kill!”

In military overcoats, winter caps, armed belts, black military boots, wielding riot rubber batons, they were mostly large, broad-shouldered Northeastern men, charging down like tigers descending the mountain, shouting battle cries.

They poured out the gate in a sprint, three per team; regardless of who stood before them, the shield bearers charged forward while the two behind swung their batons down, striking heads and faces.

There weren’t many security personnel—only eighteen or nineteen—forming six squads—but their presence completely overwhelmed those below.

“My father is…”

“Your mother!”

Someone, seeing the situation spiraling out of control, tried to name their family background—but the security men didn’t care who their fathers were; go ask your mother.

So the scene wasn’t chaotic—the chaos was only on the lower side of the steps.

Zhao Lao stood there with arms behind his back, watching calmly as the security team cleared people according to training drills, striking just the right blows.

They didn’t fall, but screamed in pain, hunched over, scrambling away in disgrace.

At this moment, the hooligans below were stunned—they’d never seen professional fighting in action; today they’d gained a new perspective.

Not only were they frozen in place, but even Zhou Changli couldn’t believe Zhao Lao would send security to clash with these veterans, and now they were even clearing the hooligans standing too close to the front.

No choice—the hooligans quickly stepped aside, giving the veterans a path to flee; if they didn’t open a gap, these men might pull out knives.

The blows were simply too painful; no matter how tough or boastful these veterans were, they couldn’t endure the rubber batons.

In an instant, they wailed and screamed, their cries piercing the ears like pigs being slaughtered.

With an escape route open, they ran faster than ever, cursing their parents for not giving them two extra legs.

That little brat Li Yuanchao was too cunning—he’d spotted the security team emerging and had already darted aside, leaping over the stone lions and jumping off the flowerbed edge.

Zhong Yuemin and the others weren’t slow either, though Zheng Tong had his glasses knocked off, and Yuan Hua took a blow to the shoulder that nearly knocked him to his knees.

As these people fled and the hooligans stepped aside, the area before the gate fell into solemn silence.

Zhou Changli stared up at the steps, at Zhao Lao standing with arms behind his back before the gate, his eyes filled with shock and bitterness.

He finally understood the meaning behind Zhao Lao’s insistence on staying here.