Chapter 19: Beating Up Chen Anlong's Bodyguard

Wang Fang, not understanding what was wrong, tried to comfort Hao Meng for a long time, but Hao Meng continued to sob uncontrollably, buried face-down on the sofa. Finally, Wang Fang teased, “Here comes Slippery Zhang.”

During working hours, any behavior from the hostess that might damage the hotel’s image was harshly punished, and crying was certainly among such forbidden acts.

Despite their glamorous appearance, hostesses bore harassments and humiliations in both work and life that few outsiders could ever truly comprehend.

Deputy Manager Zhang, notorious for regularly abusing his power by forcing hostesses and girls to cater to his carnal whims without pay, had earned the nickname “Slippery Zhang” behind his back. But for fear of petty informers and Zhang’s retaliation, only those very close dared use this name, and never openly.

The moment Hao Meng heard those three words, her sobs ceased at once. She quickly sat up and looked toward the private room, relieved to see only Wang Fang there with her.

Still dazed, Hao Meng asked, “Where is he?”

“Where? If you keep crying like this and someone with bad intentions reports you, that devil will come looking for trouble. I had to say something to stop your tears, didn’t I?” Wang Fang explained.

Wiping away her tears with a tissue from the table, Hao Meng glanced at her watch. “Oh no, has Mr. Wang left his room?” Seeing it was already past midnight, she hurried out the door.

Not every guest who booked a room through a hostess would tip generously, but the hostess responsible for the booking was always the one to arrange the girls and collect the table fee—a significant part of their income. Even with less generous clients, it was customary for the hostess to make a polite appearance.

Mr. Wang, whom Hao Meng referred to, was her client for the evening. He was usually quite generous, often giving her a two-hundred yuan tip along with the girls’ table fees.

Moments ago, she had been weeping over her heartache, but thoughts of the cash in the patrons’ pockets steeled her resolve. Forcing a smile, she threw herself back into her work.

Wang Fang wanted to ask what had upset her so, but Hao Meng was already out of sight.

At night, most factories worked late, and the surrounding restaurants matched their hours, staying open until two or three in the morning.

After finishing his late-night meal at the dumpling shop, Jiang Fan grabbed a broom to help clean up.

The dumpling shop stood at the entrance to Baisha First Village, where it joined Highway 107, bordering several factories in Baisha Second Village. The village council had erected a row of metal sheds on unused plots not yet slated for development, dividing them into small rental units for shops.

This row of tin-roofed units housed over twenty businesses: hair salons, fruit stands, eateries, convenience stores, sundry shops, and gambling dens.

The dumpling shop was the very first unit at the end of the row—a prime location. The kindly couple who ran it had built a good reputation, and business was brisk. Next door was a sundry shop, beside which sat a small convenience store.

The convenience store occupied two adjacent units, operated around the clock. Two billiard tables stood outside its doors.

The final three units were occupied by a roulette gambling den, jointly run by several men from Chaozhou and local partners. The roulette wheel, marked with numbers one through twenty-four, took bets starting at five yuan, with a one-hundred-yuan maximum. Players could wager on any number for a twenty-fourfold return, or bet even/odd and big/small for even odds.

After factory shifts or during holidays, the roulette den was packed with punters. It stayed open till one or two in the morning, and even all night during holidays—never closing as long as there were gamblers.

Wherever there was gambling, peace was a rare commodity. A handful of thugs always lingered inside, and when business was booming, the village’s security patrols would park their bikes—marked with “Security”—at the door, playing watchdog.

While Jiang Fan swept the area, he didn’t notice a young man with a cropped head stop and stare at him in surprise for a minute or two. The youth then walked over to the group of billiard players outside the convenience store.

Jiang Fan finished sweeping inside and out. Uncle Qiu was just calling him in for tea when a loud crash startled Auntie Qiu—a beer bottle, hurled from the direction of the convenience store, shattered at the freshly cleaned entrance.

Jiang Fan, who had just stepped inside, turned and came back out to see six young men, the billiard players from before, approaching.

One, nearly 180 centimeters tall and powerfully built, with long hair tied into a braid, pointed at Jiang Fan and said, “When you were sweeping just now, what were you mumbling about? Were you cursing us?”

Uncle Qiu, who had followed him out, recognized the pretense for what it was and quickly pulled Jiang Fan behind him, whispering, “Leave it to me. Don’t get involved.”

Since opening, the dumpling shop’s success had attracted occasional troublemakers, coming up with excuses to eat for free or extort thirty or fifty yuan. Uncle Qiu’s policy was always to buy peace with money.

Though Jiang Fan had only known Uncle Qiu for a day, the old man’s kindness had already won his gratitude. So when beckoned, Jiang Fan said nothing and stood quietly behind, watching what would unfold.

Uncle Qiu first took out ten yuan, then, after a moment’s thought, added two more, handing the cash to the braided youth. “Boys, if we’ve offended you somehow, please forgive us. Take this and buy some cigarettes—a token of apology.”

The braided youth brushed away Uncle Qiu’s hand. “Do you take us for beggars? Your worker cursed us—how do you plan to settle this?”

Such matters were usually resolved with ten yuan, but seeing there were six of them, Uncle Qiu had added a little extra. Now, faced with their unyielding hostility, he asked, “So, what do you want?”

The braided youth glanced at the cropped-head boy sitting outside the convenience store, noted that he wasn’t coming forward, and after a moment said, “Make that bastard who cursed us apologize in public and hand over a hundred yuan. Then we’ll let it go.”

Jiang Fan knew he hadn’t uttered a word while sweeping—where was this accusation coming from? But since their target was clearly him, he stepped forward, pulling Uncle Qiu behind, and pointed at the group. “What are you really after?”

The braided youth sneered at Jiang Fan. “You cursed us. Apologize, pay up. What else?”

“You’re sick in the head. You must be desperate for money,” Jiang Fan replied, giving the braided youth a sidelong glance, his tone even but firm.

Jiang Fan himself hadn’t realized how much he’d changed since his run-in with the robbers and his fight with the security patrol and Brother Qiu. The honest, simple man who’d arrived in Dongguan was slowly being reshaped by the city’s harsh realities.

“Who are you calling sick?” The braided youth, seeing that Jiang Fan was smaller than himself yet dared talk back, didn’t take him seriously and threw a punch at his face.

Jiang Fan caught the fist, twisted it back, and kicked the youth hard in the stomach.

Staggering back seven or eight steps, the braided youth lost his balance and sprawled flat on the ground.

The other five, seeing their leader beaten, rushed at Jiang Fan. One doubled back to the billiard table, grabbed a cue, and swung it at Jiang Fan’s head.

“Watch out!” Uncle Qiu, already backing away in fear, still managed to shout a warning.

But Jiang Fan, unfazed by unarmed opponents, was already alert. As the cue swung down, he caught it just inches from his head and yanked it back, sending the assailant tumbling to the ground.

With Jiang Fan now holding the cue and displaying such quick reflexes, the remaining four stopped in their tracks, staring at him, not daring to move.

It was already past midnight. Many factory workers had just finished their shifts, and with various drifters and idlers about, the street was crowded. A ring of onlookers now surrounded the shop.

The cropped-head youth, still seated by the convenience store, strolled over as if to watch the show. As Jiang Fan’s attention remained fixed on the four in front, the youth suddenly launched a flying kick at his back.

Confident, he assumed Jiang Fan would stagger forward several steps, leaving him open for more attacks.

But to his surprise, Jiang Fan’s stance was rock-solid. Not only did he remain steady after taking the kick, he immediately spun to the side, dodging the following punch, and landed a heavy blow to the youth’s left cheek. Before the stars had cleared from the youth’s eyes, Jiang Fan followed up with a swift roundhouse, striking the same spot.

With a thud, the cropped-head youth crashed to the ground, clutching his face. He spat out a mouthful of blood—and within it, a tooth.