I am going to write a new story.

Zhang Pa said, “For no particular reason. Once you’re healed, I’ll call a meeting for you all.”

“Boss, you sent us to school, and we all went. Now you want to call a meeting? Are you addicted to being in charge or something?” Old Pi said.

Zhang Pa replied, “Shut your damn mouth.”

Old Pi grinned, “Boss, you’re cursing me again.”

“I feel like beating you up,” Zhang Pa said. “Lie down. I’m going to check on those three idiots.”

That night, Zhang Pa slept less than four hours. The four idiots took turns needing to use the bathroom, and every move hurt their wounds, so they groaned and wailed endlessly.

Zhang Pa had had enough, threatening the four monkeys, “Remember this well. Once you’re out of the hospital, we’ll settle accounts.”

The next morning, four parents arrived. Two were too busy, simply saying they trusted Zhang Pa and to call if anything happened, then left for work.

Zhang Pa was speechless. This is your son—your own flesh and blood!

The other two parents were rather brash. They went to the school first—who knows what they said—then rushed to the hospital after ten-thirty. Even the principal had arrived earlier than them.

Their intentions were clear: they wanted money. They confronted Zhang Pa belligerently, “Unless you kill me, you have to pay up. Otherwise, we’ll sue.”

Normally, in student incidents, the dean of students mediates, leaving some room for negotiation. When the principal himself comes, it means the school truly wants the matter resolved quickly.

Understanding the two parents’ demands—the man Zhang Pa had beaten and the shrewish woman—the principal asked helplessly, “How much do you want?”

“Five hundred thousand,” they replied in unison, clearly having discussed it.

The principal shook his head. “There’s no way we’ll give you half a million.”

The middle-aged woman said, “You can make a counter-offer.”

The principal was at a loss for words.

Zhang Pa said, “Why aren’t you two dead yet?”

“Watch your mouth!” the woman snapped back.

Zhang Pa didn’t hold back. He raised his hand and delivered a resounding slap. The woman fell, blood trickling from the corner of her mouth.

She shrieked that he was trying to kill her. Zhang Pa aimed a kick at her lower back. “Scream again.”

Terrified, she glared at Zhang Pa, hatred in her eyes.

Zhang Pa said, “Your idiot son has nothing to do with me, understand? Otherwise, I’d beat him eight times a day. And you two bastards, you had children but didn't raise them right. You deserve this, you know? I beat you yesterday, and I beat you again today. The hospital has cameras—go ahead and sue me.”

Then he said to the principal, “Don’t bother with them.”

“How can we just ignore this?” the burly man retorted.

Zhang Pa sneered, “The principal knows better than I do how to handle this. But I know this much: your kids were attacked outside the school. What’s that got to do with the school? Stuff like this happens all the time. Have you ever seen a school pay hundreds of thousands for this?”

“Of course, they're not your kids, so you can say whatever you want?” the man said.

“I’m doing this for their sake,” Zhang Pa replied, glancing at his phone for the time. “You take your time talking. I’m leaving.”

He left without a second thought, and even the principal couldn’t stop him.

Fatty had come early to deliver food and stayed the whole time. As they left together, he said, “You’re just being extra, meddling in their business.”

Zhang Pa replied, “Which bastard wants to get involved in their crap? But it always comes back to me—it was me who sent them to school. Would this have happened otherwise?”

Fatty said, “Sending them to school was for their own good.”

“Fine, but what’s the point of talking about it?” Zhang Pa sighed.

The two left the hospital, caught a cab home, and got to work.

Perhaps he’d caught a chill at the hospital last night, for soon after getting home he felt his forehead grow hot and uncomfortable. He raised a hand to check, but it seemed normal, so he kept writing.

Everything else was nonsense—what mattered most was keeping up with his daily updates, rain or shine. That was the life he had chosen. There’s a cliché: no matter what, you have to walk the path you chose, even on your knees.

By six in the evening, he finished his work and boiled some noodles for dinner.

Earlier, while working, the billiard hall owner had called to discuss something. At the start of next month, all the top billiards players in the province would gather for a tournament with a generous prize pool. The owner wanted to know if Zhang Pa could find an excuse not to participate, so the runner-up could take his place.

Curious, Zhang Pa asked about the prize money.

The owner replied, “Not that much really—two sponsors, a total of 150,000. Every participant gets a 2,000 appearance fee; first prize is 30,000, second prize 20,000, third prize 10,000.”

Zhang Pa quickly did the math. “That's not a lot of prizes.”

“Can’t be too many.” The owner explained, “Hiring reporters costs money, and district officials will attend.” In other words, the event was high-profile and expensive to run.

The government valued the people’s cultural life. If you could organize a province-wide tournament without costing the state a dime, just send out invitations and officials would show up. What ordinary people didn’t care about could be a politician’s achievement.

Zhang Pa laughed, “Then I won’t go. Thanks for calling.”

“No, I should be thanking you,” the owner said sincerely. With government officials present, he dared not have Zhang Pa showing off his supernatural luck. Was he there to perform tricks or to make fools of the officials?

The owner was tactful. “Even though you’re not joining, your appearance fee is still yours—it’ll be at the counter whenever you want it.”

“That’s nice of you, thanks,” Zhang Pa said.

The owner really knew how to handle things. Some less scrupulous organizers would simply cancel Zhang Pa’s spot and give it to someone else, and what could he say or do about it?

But it was still a potential risk—the owner didn’t want two thousand yuan to bring a heap of trouble, especially since it wasn’t even his own money.

The owner was tactful, and Zhang Pa was easygoing, so he thanked him with a smile and ended the call.

After his noodles, he rested a while and planned to write for the next day. But as soon as he opened his document, Old Pi called. “Madman’s dad beat him up and told him to ask the school for money.”

Madman’s surname was Feng, one of the five monkeys. His father was that money-grubbing middle-aged brute.

Zhang Pa said, “Call the police.”

“Will that help?”

“If the police can’t help, who can? Hurry up,” Zhang Pa said.

Old Pi sighed, agreed, and hung up to call the police.

Such is human nature—Madman had a fractured right arm, multiple injuries, and couldn’t rest even in his hospital bed. You could see what kind of father he had.

After hanging up, Zhang Pa shut the door, went downstairs, and rode his bike to the hospital. But before he even got out of the neighborhood, he saw Fatty slapping someone.

Zhang Pa was furious. “What’s wrong with you? Can’t go two days without fighting before your ass starts itching? Damn you, wait till I get back.”

Fatty replied, “Hell, this punk was mouthing off to me. Am I supposed to let him get away with it?”

Looking around, Zhang Pa saw the other side only had two people, while Fatty had seven or eight, with a group of onlookers jeering and shouting.

Zhang Pa told the guy being beaten, “You’d better leave now.”

The guy hesitated.

“Don’t think about calling the police or seeking revenge,” Zhang Pa said. “These are just a bunch of scumbags—not worth your trouble. Just leave.”

Fatty said, “Damn, you’re undermining me.”

Zhang Pa got off his bike, propped it up, and said, “Yeah, I am. What are you gonna do?”

Fatty saw Zhang Pa’s mood and, sensing trouble, turned to the two young men and said, “Lucky day for you, get lost.”

Noticing Zhang Pa’s bad mood, Fatty didn’t even dare curse at them. That guy was truly dangerous—not a problem when calm, but when he fought, he went for the kill. The worst part was, you never knew when he’d snap.

The two young men thanked Zhang Pa, who told them not to worry and urged them on. They thanked him again before leaving.

Zhang Pa asked, “Just how bored are you?”

Fatty said, “Damn, they wouldn’t drink properly—had to pick a fight with me. Anyway, got stuff at home, I’m off.” With that, he turned and ran.

Turtle came over, grinning to smooth things over. “That’s just how he is—give him a bit of booze and he forgets his own name. Where are you headed?”

“Nowhere,” Zhang Pa said and pedaled off to the hospital.

There were security guards at the hospital, and the police station had someone on duty with a small office inside.

Zhang Pa went to the ward first. The monkeys were still lying in their beds. Madman’s bastard father wasn’t there—Old Pi said he was downstairs in the police station’s duty room.

Zhang Pa asked Madman, “How are you?”

Madman suddenly said, “Bro, can I stay at your place?”

Zhang Pa was speechless, thought for a moment, then refused. “No.”

“I won’t be a burden—I’ll sleep on the floor. I just can’t go back to that hellhole anymore,” Madman said. “I want to cut all ties with him.”

“What am I, your nanny? Zhang Lao Si’s dog needs me to look after it, and now you too?” Zhang Pa said.

“I don’t need you to take care of me—I’ll work for you. Once I can make money, I’ll move out,” Madman said. “Please.”

Zhang Pa said, “Remember, never say that word. Don’t beg anyone for anything. If you’re a man, stand tall—no begging, no kneeling.”

Old Pi chimed in with a grin, “We’re just boys.”

See? These monkeys were a handful and hard to manage.

Zhang Pa said, “If you don’t want a beating…”

Madman interrupted, “Old Pi and the others can’t help me. Of everyone I know, only you can. I know you’re a good person. Please help me this once, okay?”

Zhang Pa snapped, “You little punk, are you cursing me? Handing me a good guy card already? I haven’t even had a girlfriend!”

“I’ll set you up with someone. There’s a girl in our class—” Madman stopped when he saw Zhang Pa’s face darken.

“Give up that idea right now,” Zhang Pa said, then went downstairs to the police station’s duty room.

Inside, two were seated and two standing. One wore a uniform, the other plain clothes; the two standing were a doctor and, lastly, Madman’s bastard father.

The father was arguing with the police. “He’s my son. What’s wrong with me beating my own son? If he doesn’t listen, I’ll hit him—so what?”

“Calm down. You’ll get your turn to speak,” said the cop.

“Calm down? He’s my son, and you have no right to interfere in how I discipline him!” the father kept ranting.

Zhang Pa slipped in quietly, ignoring the police, and punched the father hard in the head. The man crashed into the wall of the prefab building with a bang.

The police stood up and shouted, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Helping you deal with a fly,” Zhang Pa said coolly, completely unfazed.

When someone hits a person right in front of the police, veteran officers usually don’t react too strongly. You never know whose backing that person has, especially those assigned to hospital duty—they’ve seen everything. They simply stopped Zhang Pa, but took no further action.