Every Title Holds Its Own Story

Little Six was boasting shirtless, but when he heard Tiger speak, he replied and began pulling on his clothes. Suddenly, the Pretty Boy stood up and addressed them: “Quiet, the King has something to say.” Despite the nickname, Pretty Boy was the most handsome among them.

He then declared loudly, “Tomorrow I’m signing up for ‘The Voice.’ Wait for news of my triumphant return.”

Fatty chimed in, “Aren’t you tone-deaf when you sing?”

“I’ll give you tone-deaf! Every single one of you here is coming to cheer me on.” Pretty Boy raised his beer. “I’ll down this first!” He took a swig straight from the bottle.

Zhang Pa mused, “If you’re entering the contest with your skills, maybe I should definitely give it a go.”

“Enough nonsense,” Fatty interrupted. “Listen up, there’s a pool competition at the Front Station Pool Hall. First prize is ten thousand, and the winner gets to represent the provincial capital in a citywide showdown. Win that and you get fifty thousand. I’m going to clean up; who’s scouting for me?”

“Nonsense, how much is the entry fee?” asked Six, holding a skewer.

“One hundred per person. Best of five up to quarterfinals, then best of seven. Anyone interested?”

Fatty had just finished speaking when two Range Rovers pulled up and stopped in front of the barbecue place. A skinny guy climbed out and swaggered over. “Tiger.”

Tiger walked over, silent, staring coldly at the newcomer.

The skinny man sneered, “Listen up. My brother got into a fight here yesterday and lost his phone. Since you’re the local, either bring those punks out, or cough up a new phone.”

“You lot can fight all you want. What’s it got to do with me?” said Tiger.

“If it’s got nothing to do with you, then just bring out those guys. People keep calling you the Tiger of Xingfuli—let’s see how tough you really are,” the skinny man taunted.

Tiger snorted. “Forgive me, but who exactly are you?”

The skinny man blinked, then suddenly smiled. “No need to know who I am. Here’s the deal: hand over the people or the phone. You’ve got two days. I’ll be back at the same time two days from now. If I don’t get a satisfactory answer, don’t blame me for what comes next.” He sneered, turned, and got into the car. The two Range Rovers drove off swiftly.

Watching the cars leave, Tiger walked over to Fatty. “Which of you four did it?”

Fatty shook his head. “All this over a phone? Two Range Rovers for a phone? Is it made of gold?”

“Do you have the phone?” Tiger asked.

Fatty hesitated. “Yeah, I picked it up.”

“If you don’t want trouble for me, give the phone back.”

“Screw that, let them try me…” Fatty blustered.

Zhang Pa interrupted, “Shut up. Do you even know who owns those Range Rovers?”

“Who cares?” Bandit scoffed. “We’ll fight if they want.”

“Enough with the big talk. Last time you shot your mouth off, Old Niu ended up in jail—still got a year left. Meanwhile, you’re living the good life at home,” Fatty retorted.

Tiger looked at this group of misfit youths—trash in the eyes of normal people—and left them with, “I don’t care what you do, but you all better show up the night after tomorrow.” With that, he walked away.

Six turned to Fatty. “What now, Fatty?”

Fatty asked Zhang Pa, “Whose Range Rovers are those?”

Zhang Pa waved his phone. “Checked the plates. Kowloon Real Estate.”

“Shit.” Fatty cursed, got up to find Tiger, left the phone behind, and came back shouting, “Everyone pays thirty, split the bill.”

“Split my foot. It’d kill you to treat us for once?” Bandit grumbled.

Fatty gritted his teeth and said to Zhang Pa, “Come with me to the pool hall tomorrow. I’m winning that ten grand.”

Zhang Pa refused flatly. “Find someone else. I have work.”

“Forget that crappy job, you never make any money.” Fatty asked, “How many did you sell today?”

Zhang Pa made a big zero with his hands.

“You’re a real piece of work. I told you not to self-publish, but you didn’t listen. Sixteen grand down the drain, and now you’re stuck with a pile of books. When are you ever going to make it back?”

“What do you know? This is about pursuit.” Zhang Pa stood up. “You eat, I’m off to work.”

He left immediately, hopped on his bike, and rode home to write stories.

Going to bed after midnight had become a hard-earned bad habit over the years, and tonight was no exception. In the morning, he went downstairs. The main gate was locked—Lily Wang was probably still at the hospital. He wandered to the street corner, where there were wonton stalls and breakfast shops. Three yuan was enough to fill up.

He’d barely started eating when a commotion broke out ahead. The ancients said: Nothing’s duller than missing out on a spectacle. Zhang Pa gulped down his porridge, grabbed two buns, and went to watch.

A young girl stood motionless, looking stunned, a backpack on her shoulders. On the ground sat an old woman clutching a bicycle, shouting about being hit.

Zhang Pa recognized her—one of Xingfuli’s notorious figures, locked up four times for insurance scams, and once even sent to detention for offending an official’s family.

This family was notorious—both parents rotten, and their son even worse, so much so that even Fatty’s gang of misfits wouldn’t associate with them.

Zhang Pa moved to the back of the crowd, scanning for the old woman’s family, but saw no one. He weighed his buns, reluctant to part with them. Not far away was a trash bin. He stuffed the buns in his mouth and rummaged through the trash, surprisingly finding a canned food jar—an unconventional weapon. He quickly retrieved it and strolled back to the scene.

The girl looked dizzy and aggrieved, more flustered than anything, unable to understand why she was being accused when she’d done nothing wrong. But she was no match for the old woman’s loud theatrics. Just then, with a loud smack, the heavy glass jar crashed onto the old woman’s head and shattered.

It was a satisfying blow—the jar broke on impact. The old woman cried out and fell backward.

Inside, Zhang Pa was yelling: Run, girl, run!

But the girl was frozen, rooted to the spot. Zhang Pa was exasperated—sheltered flowers with no street smarts were useless. If it were Lily Wang… No, why even think of her?

With the jar coming from above, many in the crowd looked toward where it had flown from. Zhang Pa, ever the sly one, had already sidestepped as he threw it and looked in the same direction, feigning keen curiosity.

After pretending to look for a while, he glanced back at the girl.

The foolish child was still standing there, while the old woman lay on the ground, eyes closed, moaning.

Usually, the old woman worked with accomplices, and now that she was down, her helpers ought to have shown up. Zhang Pa turned to check, but saw no one. He thought, “Girl, this is your last chance. If you don’t run now, you’ll never get away.”

But how could he make her bolt?

Just then, he spotted Old Zhang Four walking his dogs—two huge black beasts of indeterminate breed but fierce appearance.

Zhang Pa hurried over to tease the dogs. One of them leaped at him with a howl, nearly pulling Old Zhang off his feet.

Old Zhang cursed at the dog, then at Zhang Pa. “Trying to get yourself killed? Don’t say I didn’t warn you. If it bites you, I’m not responsible.”

“You’re the one looking for trouble. That old witch is pulling an insurance scam over there—aren’t you going to have a look?” Zhang Pa shouted at the dogs, who barked back in response.

Old Zhang grew angry. “Get lost, or I’ll let the dogs loose.”

Zhang Pa sneered, “Who are you scaring? Go ahead.”

“Damn you.” Old Zhang pretended to let the dogs go. Zhang Pa ran, and Old Zhang laughed. “Serves you right. Here, you hold the leash while I take a look.” He smacked both dogs to calm them down.

Zhang Pa took the leash and grumbled at the dogs, “After all those sausages I’ve fed you, you still try to bite me every time. Don’t you recognize me?”

The dogs ignored him, watching Old Zhang head toward the scene.

There was a big crowd, but fewer people near the middle of the road. Zhang Pa stood at the edge and suddenly shouted, “Dogs!”

The two black dogs glared forward, scaring several people into fleeing. Still, the girl didn’t move. Zhang Pa shouted again, “Move, or the dogs will bite!”

The girl in the middle was completely petrified, arms flailing, screaming, but still didn’t run.

Zhang Pa was at his wit’s end. How stubborn could one kid be?

Old Zhang strode over, smacked Zhang Pa on the head, and snatched back the leash. “Are you trying to get killed?” He tugged the dogs away.

Zhang Pa pretended to dodge, then quickly ran to the girl’s side, glanced back at the dogs, and whispered, “Run. Now.”

With the dogs gone, the girl stopped screaming but was still panting with fright. Hearing him, she looked at Zhang Pa, hesitated, then pushed her bike and ran off.

Zhang Pa leaped into the middle of the road, feigning reluctance to get involved. “Hey, why are you running?” he called, which served as another prompt, but the girl stopped and looked back at him.

What kind of IQ is this? Zhang Pa was speechless. He squatted down, leaving her to her own devices.

The girl was decisive enough—once she’d made up her mind, she hesitated only briefly before rushing her bike across the street, jumping on, and pedaling away.

Zhang Pa squatted and watched until she vanished, then sighed, “Thirty-six seconds. Kids these days…”—lamenting how slow her escape had been.

With the girl gone, Old Lady Jiang seemed to recover, slowly sitting up and looking around. The jar had hit hard—one side of her face was covered in blood. Zhang Pa just shifted position and squatted quietly, watching her.

After a moment, her son arrived. About 1.7 meters tall, not particularly burly, but infamous for his shamelessness—often stripping off his shirt and daring others to fight, yelling, “Kill me! Go on, kill me!”

Xingfuli had never been demolished for redevelopment, in part thanks to the Jiang family. City leaders called the locals “troublemakers”—and in Xingfuli, that was everyone.

Elsewhere, forced demolitions sometimes worked, but here, it was impossible. In other places, the holdouts were a minority; here, they were at least a third of the community.

With so many holdouts, unless a natural disaster struck, no one would take on the project.

The old lady’s son was named Jiang Zhen. What a shame that name was—he’d been a thug since childhood, and now, in his forties, remained a hardened one.

Jiang Zhen didn’t check on his mother’s injuries. He looked around, searching for the person she’d tried to scam, found no one, and finally turned back to his mother. “Where’d they go?”