128 is simply too time-consuming.

Because he was lost in thought, he didn't head straight home, but just kept riding in the direction he was headed.

It takes less than five minutes to ride from the police station to his home, but Zhang Pa accidentally rode for over twenty minutes. When he finally realized it and looked around, he thought, "Damn, where am I?"

He turned his bike around to head back and saw a very familiar convertible sports car at a traffic light. He glanced at the license plate—it was definitely Long Xiaole’s car. He pedaled hard to catch up, only to find the driver was not Long Xiaole.

Not only was it not Long Xiaole, but the driver was a man wearing sunglasses, a hoodie with the hood pulled up, and a baseball cap pulled down over the sunglasses.

Who was this? Zhang Pa shouted, "Xiaole!"

The driver turned to look at him, then turned back. When the light changed to green, he followed the car in front through the intersection.

From that brief glance, Zhang Pa was certain: that was absolutely not Long Xiaole!

Seeing the sports car cross the intersection, and feeling a bit restless and needing something to do to shake off his streak of bad luck, Zhang Pa pedaled hard to follow.

Fortunately, there were many intersections in the city, and cars couldn't move faster than a bicycle. Soon, the sports car stopped at the next red light.

Zhang Pa caught up and pretended to be curious, staring at the sports car. This was normal; he wasn't the only one looking—many people on the nearby public bus were also eyeing the luxury car. The driver, however, kept his head down, determined not to look around.

Since both the car and the license plate belonged to Long Xiaole, why was someone else driving it? Zhang Pa called him on his phone, but no one answered. At that moment, he didn't think too much of it, assuming Long Xiaole was in the bathroom or busy with something. Bored, he just kept calling.

But then, the unexpected happened. He vaguely heard a ringtone in front of him—and it was the sound of an iPhone. Although the streets were full of iPhones, could it really be such a coincidence?

He looked ahead. In front of the sports car was a large Jeep. Was the sound coming from there?

They were less than two meters apart. Zhang Pa pedaled forward slightly, moving his bicycle closer. The ringtone grew louder. Just as he was about to peer into the car, the ringing suddenly stopped, and his phone signaled: "The number you dialed is currently in a call."

He called again immediately. The ringtone echoed from the car once more, only to be hung up again. On the third attempt, the phone was turned off.

Was something wrong?

Zhang Pa pushed off with his feet, wobbling forward. He scanned the scene with his large head. With a quick glance, he saw Long Xiaole sitting in the rear left seat of the Jeep, leaning over as if asleep... or perhaps not asleep at all?

Beside him sat a man in a hat, looking down at something and muttering to himself.

Zhang Pa looked ahead. He had the city's long traffic lights to thank—there were still over thirty seconds until the light turned green.

For some reason, Zhang Pa felt something was wrong. On a whim, he jumped off his bicycle, lunged toward the Jeep, and tried to pull the driver's door handle. It was locked. He tried the back door; it was locked too.

As he yanked on the handle, the driver rolled down the window and cursed, "Are you looking to die?"

He shouldn't have rolled down the window. The moment he did, Zhang Pa grabbed his clothes and hauled him out.

A fight broke out. The driver screamed for him to let go and called for help. The guy in the back seat scrambled out of the car, circling around the trunk.

Zhang Pa had been holding in a belly full of frustration from his earlier encounter with Miao Zili, and now, acting on impulse, he didn't care about the consequences. He smashed his right fist into the driver's head, then turned to face the guy circling the car, and just started swinging.

As far as Zhang Pa was concerned, his fighting style had no technique or finesse—none at all. It relied on two things: speed and brute force.

He charged at the man, ready to throw a punch, when he suddenly noticed the guy was holding a machete in his right hand.

He didn't even need to think—this was definitely suspicious! Even more suspicious was the sports car driver, who also stepped out of his vehicle brandishing a machete and charged over.

Zhang Pa felt a wave of gloom. "My luck is truly divine; I can even run into movie plots while riding a bike."

Although both opponents were swinging blades, they came at him one by one because the space between the traffic lanes wasn't wide enough for them to attack together. That was their misfortune.

Zhang Pa stepped back to dodge the blade. The cars in the lanes were too close together to move side-to-side, so he had no choice but to retreat. As he backed up, he whipped his right leg out, his sneaker slamming into the first guy's face and sending him reeling.

Seizing the chance, Zhang Pa lunged forward, delivering a high knee strike like a Muay Thai fighter to knock the man over, then stepped on him to rush toward the second guy.

Using the same flying-shoe tactic to momentarily distract the second man, Zhang Pa snatched the first guy’s machete and charged like a tiger descending a mountain.

In a one-on-one fight, Zhang Pa feared no one. Within two exchanges, the opponent’s right arm was struck, and his machete fell to the ground. By then, his sunglasses and hat had fallen off; he clutched his wounded arm, eyes blazing with fury at Zhang Pa.

"Still acting tough without a knife?" Zhang Pa lunged with a flying kick, slamming the guy’s head into a car idling on the road. With a thud, he slumped over.

At that moment, the light finally turned green.

Zhang Pa didn't have time to look at the traffic lights. He had acted on a reckless impulse, and there was a high chance he had made a fool of himself by beating up the wrong people.

Then again, maybe he was right. Had Long Xiaole started hiring bodyguards? And did they dress like bandits?

He rushed to open the door and shook Long Xiaole, but he wouldn't wake up!

There was no need to ask; something had definitely gone wrong.

While he was fighting, the light had turned green, and the cars behind were honking wildly. Zhang Pa had to leave Long Xiaole for a moment to act as a makeshift traffic cop. He shoved the two guys onto the ground between the sports car and the Jeep, then signaled for the cars behind to drive around them.

The drivers behind weren't stupid; they found a gap, steered around, and the others followed suit.

Zhang Pa returned to the Jeep to check on Long Xiaole again and caught a faint scent of drugs. There was nothing else for it—he had to call the police.

Regardless of whether he was right or wrong, he had to see it through.

The intersection became heavily congested. Five minutes later, a traffic officer arrived. After hearing Zhang Pa's explanation, the officer was decisive—he didn't even move the vehicles, waiting for the police to arrive.

Five minutes later, a police car pulled up. After a brief discussion with the traffic officer, they moved the two vehicles to the side of the road to clear the way and then began a detailed inquiry.

Zhang Pa lifted Long Xiaole and slapped his cheeks, then pressed on his philtrum—using every method he could think of, regardless of whether it was effective. Finally, Long Xiaole woke up.

After a moment of recovery, seeing the police were there, he immediately asked to report the crime.

The rest was simple; everyone went to the police precinct.

The most impressive person was, of course, Zhang Pa. He had gone out for a casual ride, stumbled upon a kidnapping, and successfully captured the criminals in an act of heroism.

Once the police finished taking their statements, Long Xiaole rushed to thank Zhang Pa, hugging him tightly.

Long Jianjun arrived. When he walked in and saw Long Xiaole embracing Zhang Pa, he cleared his throat and asked, "Xiaole, are you alright?"

Long Xiaole let go and stepped back, bowing his head and calling out, "Dad." His eyes filled with tears—was he about to cry?

Long Jianjun turned and commanded, "Take Xiaole to the hospital."

Long Xiaole said he was fine.

"Fine? What do you mean you're fine? Go!" Long Jianjun stood at 1.8 meters, his build perfectly proportioned. He wasn't fat, nor did he have the middle-aged spread; at nearly fifty, he was still packed with strong muscle.

His hair was cut very short, and he carried himself like a blade—sharp, dangerous, and always cutting.

After his men took Long Xiaole away, Long Jianjun walked up to Zhang Pa. "You are Zhang Pa?"

Zhang Pa nodded.

Long Jianjun extended his right hand. "Thank you."

Zhang Pa shook his hand quickly. "It's nothing. Xiaole and I are friends."

Long Jianjun nodded. "Please wait for me a moment." He let go and strode inside.

He had learned the full story on his way there. There were two issues: the most important was Long Xiaole—would there be any lasting trauma or psychological shock? The second issue was the kidnappers—was it an opportunistic crime or a hit ordered by a rival?

Long Jianjun was a representative of the People's Congress and a famous provincial entrepreneur; his public honors aside, he had friends everywhere. There was practically nothing he couldn't handle in the provincial capital.

Long Jianjun was generous with his money and respected by many; his reputation was impeccable.

Zhang Pa waited downstairs for thirty minutes before seeing several precinct leaders escorting Long Jianjun down to the entrance. Long Jianjun thanked each of them personally before calling out to Zhang Pa, "Get in the car."

The car stopped not far from the precinct. Long Jianjun asked him to recount what happened. Zhang Pa gave a straightforward, step-by-step account.

A look of approval crossed Long Jianjun’s eyes. Based on Zhang Pa's account, if he had been even a little hesitant or careless, he never would have saved Long Xiaole, and they would have had no idea where he had been taken.

He looked at Zhang Pa for a long moment and thanked him again.

He had every reason to be grateful. Although Zhang Pa was known for being reckless, today, that very recklessness had saved a life. If he hadn't been so decisive in pulling the car door and fighting the driver, how could he have stopped three kidnappers?

Zhang Pa said, "No need to thank me. Long Xiaole has bought me drinks many times."

Long Jianjun smiled. "Haven't eaten yet, right? Care to have a drink with me?"

He certainly hadn't eaten. Saving Long Xiaole had happened just before noon, and after all the back and forth, the entire afternoon had slipped away; it was now past two o'clock. But Zhang Pa declined. "No, thanks. Long Xiaole is still at the hospital; you should go see him. I need to go back and get my bike."

"Get your bike?" Long Jianjun asked, puzzled.

"My bicycle," Zhang Pa replied.

Long Jianjun laughed. "Alright, come over to the house another time."

Zhang Pa agreed and stepped out of the car. He went to retrieve his bike while Long Jianjun rushed to the hospital.

On the way home, he bought some groceries and set the table, waiting for Old Pi and the other four monkeys to return. Instead, they brought back news of a victory.

A few days ago, Old Pi and Yun Zheng had been beaten up. Because of Zhang Pa’s repeated warnings to stay calm, the two couldn't retaliate and had spent every day enduring it while studying at school.

Unexpectedly, this restraint led their rivals to underestimate them, and they brought a gang to the gates of 119 Middle School.

They had been feuding with Yun Zheng’s group for a long time and had fought many times before. The five monkeys were also quite troublemakers, having bullied the others quite severely in the past. Now that they had the upper hand—or thought they did—they naturally wanted a satisfying revenge: "I’m going to slap your faces until they’re swollen."