For instance, right now.

Zhang Pa asked, “What do you mean?”

“I mean you should quit while you’re ahead. If you don’t want to clash with the police or the government, just let it go,” Tiger advised.

Zhang Pa replied, “Let me think about it.” Tiger agreed, then hung up.

That phone call left Zhang Pa bewildered. The demands he’d made were in jest; who ever heard of someone buying books and apologizing for a fight? Yet Guo Gang actually agreed to his joke—what was going on here?

After some thought, he guessed at the general direction and called Tiger again. “How’s Cannon King?”

“How’s what?” Tiger asked.

“I mean, how is he? How was he yesterday? How is he today?” Zhang Pa clarified.

Tiger said, “Got chewed out by Brother Gang—a real tongue-lashing, and I heard he got slapped a few times. Then he disappeared.”

Zhang Pa said, “Take a look into your company’s current projects, or any you’re trying to land.”

“What for? You playing corporate spy?” Tiger scoffed, “You’ve got too much time on your hands. Even if you find out, what’s that got to do with your fight?”

Zhang Pa pondered. “True enough.”

“So what’ll you do? Host a dinner to apologize?”

“Nope,” Zhang Pa said, hanging up.

Fatty asked, “What are you scheming?”

“Guo Gang seems to be after some project. He doesn’t dare make a scene right now, which is why he’s letting the fight slide,” Zhang Pa explained. “I’m wondering if we should take advantage of this.”

“And do what?” Fatty pressed.

Zhang Pa thought for a while. “Forget it. There’s no point fighting the rich.” He opened his computer and got to work.

“Write the script quickly,” Fatty urged.

At 4:30 in the afternoon, Tiger called again. “Brother Gang says there’s a dinner tonight. Bring the books.”

Zhang Pa asked, “Is Guo Gang trying to get his hands on the Xingfuli site?”

“Most likely. It’s a shantytown redevelopment—government money is involved. Lots of real estate companies have their eyes on it,” Tiger said. “It’s normal for him to want it. Anyway, it’s got nothing to do with your fight. Just get the matter settled.”

Zhang Pa acknowledged and said he’d see him soon.

Tiger added, “Bring Turtle and Fatty with you—all of you together.”

“What, is he trying to recruit us?” Zhang Pa asked.

“Let’s talk when you get here,” Tiger replied.

Zhang Pa agreed, hung up, and had Fatty call Turtle, saying that Guo Gang was inviting them to dinner.

Fatty, too lazy to wonder why, asked, “Why’s he inviting us?” while already dialing.

Zhang Pa didn’t explain, just kept typing away. Turtle arrived as it neared five-thirty; Zhang Pa was still at his keyboard when Tiger called to hurry them up. Zhang Pa claimed they were stuck in traffic and would be there soon, but kept typing after hanging up.

“You’re crazy,” Turtle said.

Without replying, Zhang Pa checked over his article, uploaded it online to complete his day’s work, then shut his computer. “Let’s go.”

They arrived at the restaurant at 6:10 p.m., a rather luxurious seafood place. In the private room sat six people. Aside from Tiger, the other four were Guo Gang’s trusted lieutenants, with Cannon King among them.

Guo Gang sat upright, unmoving, as did his four lieutenants. Tiger was the only one to stand and greet them.

Once everyone was seated, Zhang Pa asked Guo Gang directly, “Are you trying to recruit us?”

“Something like that,” Guo Gang was a bit surprised by Zhang Pa’s candor, but he didn’t deny it.

“Thank you for the offer, Mr. Guo, but I’m not cut out for your world. I don’t know about the others, but I’m actually a writer—a regular writer,” Zhang Pa said.

Guo Gang’s expression grew cold. “A person shouldn’t be too arrogant.”

“You’re the boss, a big name in the provincial capital. I only got into a conflict with your man by accident—it wasn’t my fault. He barged into my home looking for trouble. I don’t want to oppose you. I’d like to resolve this peacefully, and I hope you’ll give me that chance,” Zhang Pa replied.

It was hard to tell if those words were soft or hard. Guo Gang looked at Zhang Pa, then at Fatty and Turtle, who had no intention of speaking. He smiled at Zhang Pa. “Tiger’s one of my best fighters, and he says you’re even better. You must have some skill.”

Zhang Pa didn’t respond.

Guo Gang continued, “I think you have potential. If you’d like to join my company, I’ll start you at six thousand a month during your probation. If you pass, I’ll add a zero—sixty thousand a month.”

“I came with sincerity,” said Zhang Pa.

“I’m sincere, too—sixty thousand a month,” Guo Gang replied.

After another moment of thought, Zhang Pa asked, “May I borrow a bottle of liquor?”

“Help yourself,” Guo Gang gestured.

Zhang Pa picked up the bottle of baijiu from the table, poured a wineglass two-thirds full, and raised it to Guo Gang. “Thank you for your offer, Mr. Guo. This toast is an apology for any offense I’ve caused. Please forgive me.” He downed it in one gulp.

Guo Gang nodded without a word.

Zhang Pa poured another glass, raised it to Cannon King. “This one’s to you. Men brawl sometimes, but I shouldn’t have fought with you. Please accept my apology.” He drank again.

With two glasses of baijiu down, his stomach immediately protested.

Standing, Zhang Pa addressed Guo Gang, “Anything else, Mr. Guo?”

Guo Gang asked, “So this is your apology?”

“Absolutely,” Zhang Pa answered.

Guo Gang pressed, “Just now you said, ‘This is to apologize, for any offense, please forgive me’—were you talking about the past or the future?”

“The past,” Zhang Pa replied.

Guo Gang chuckled. “If it were for the future, that would be interesting.” He added, “How about this: drink three more glasses, and we’ll call it square between you and Cannon King. As for working for me, that’s up to you.”

Zhang Pa didn’t hesitate. He took Fatty’s and Turtle’s glasses, filled all three, and looked at the nearly empty bottle.

He clasped his fists to everyone, then drank the three glasses in succession. With the two before, that made a whole bottle of baijiu downed by one man. For most, that would be a recipe for disaster.

Zhang Pa didn’t fare much better; he fought the urge to vomit and said to Guo Gang, “Mr. Guo, I’ve made a fool of myself. May I leave now?”

Guo Gang stared at him with cold eyes for a long moment before saying, “You may.”

Zhang Pa thanked him and walked out. Fatty and Turtle hurried after.

In the private room, six men remained. Guo Gang said nothing until a bespectacled man asked, “Brother Gang, is that really it?”

Guo Gang didn’t answer, but looked at Tiger. “Your friend’s got something about him.”

Tiger quickly stood. “Thank you for your guidance, Brother Gang.”

Guo Gang smiled. “Let’s eat.”

While they ate, Zhang Pa dashed to the restroom and vomited, retching his stomach clean. He downed some water, went back to the restroom, and purged again. After a third round, sweating, he washed his face.

His eyes were bloodshot from vomiting. He sighed.

Fatty and Turtle had waited the whole time. “What happened?” they asked.

“I’ll tell you at home,” Zhang Pa said. He washed his face again, tried to clear his throat, and finally left.

Back home, they stopped at a noodle shop by the door. Zhang Pa devoured a big bowl, not even leaving the broth.

“Can you tell us now?” Fatty asked.

Zhang Pa said, “First, Xingfuli is definitely getting demolished. Second, Guo Gang wants this deal. Third, he’s trying to build ties with us to help during the relocation. Fourth, he’ll be reaching out to others as well.”

Those others weren’t just the group of effeminate guys, but many others. Xingfuli wasn’t just home to a few toughs—there were plenty more. The neighborhood was chaotic, not only because its hooligans fought outsiders, but because they fought among themselves, divided into factions.

For example, Fatty and his group always looked down on Old Wu the Third, who lived off women. In cruder terms, he was a pimp. He’d come back a few times each year, bringing back girls who were sick or unwilling, and taking away new ones. He was a major player, with both male and female subordinates from Xingfuli.

The most disgusting thing was, he’d persuade girls to lure middle schoolers away—he really did take three young girls. The kids knew nothing, thinking money made you a big shot. After half a year away, those girls returned dripping in gold and showing off.

Old Wu the Third loved to show off too, never caring where the money came from. Because of his showing off—and luring underage girls into prostitution—Fatty had fought him many times.

Zhang Pa himself had never fought Old Wu the Third, nor even met him.

The point here was that Xingfuli was truly chaotic; even the hooligans came in different stripes. Since Zhang Pa, representing Fatty’s group, withheld their stance, Guo Gang would definitely seek out other toughs.

For thugs, money is the only reality. Set the price, dangle some so-called opportunity, and who knows what some of them might do.

Guo Gang wanted Xingfuli, so he made Cannon King swallow his pride over the fight with Zhang Pa’s group. That’s why he extended a friendly hand to Zhang Pa, aiming to divide the neighborhood’s power base.

He clearly valued this project, enough to get personally involved. Think about it: Guo Gang was a big shot, Zhang Pa and Fatty were nobodies—there should have been no overlap. He was a big fish; they were small fry.

For the same reason, Zhang Pa would rather drink and apologize than escalate the conflict. He could go anywhere, and wasn’t afraid of offending Guo Gang. But Fatty, Turtle, and the others all lived in Xingfuli. Because of them, Zhang Pa drank those five glasses. In a way, he emptied that bottle for Fatty’s sake.

In the noodle shop, Zhang Pa didn’t mention the drinking, only outlined those four points.

Fatty asked what they should do. Should they try to stir up trouble?

“Are you crazy? This is different—the government’s in charge. If you make trouble, you’re going up against the government,” Zhang Pa said.

“So we just let Old Guo have his way?” Fatty asked.

“This isn’t our fight,” Zhang Pa said. “Don’t rush. Ask around for news. If the government’s leading, they’ll call the big shots together for a bidding process. Once there’s a result, we can talk.”

“Will it be too late by then?” Turtle asked.

“Late or not, it’s out of our hands. All we can do now is wait,” Zhang Pa smiled. “Unless Long Jianjun is dead. He’s from Xingfuli, and he won’t just watch Old Guo snatch it away. So don’t worry yet.”

Fatty’s eyes lit up. “Yeah, let’s watch them fight it out.”

Zhang Pa sighed in exasperation. “You’re missing the point.”