Chapter 85: Enmity Rekindled

Hearing Jiang Fan call his own backstage bosses Lu and Skinny so casually, A-Dong stared at him in astonishment and asked, “You know Brother Lu and Brother Skinny?”

“I don’t know any so-called brothers,” Jiang Fan replied. “But I can tell you this: even if you call your Skinny over, there’s no making peace today. As for settling scores, I’ll decide when and how. If you don’t believe me, just wait and see.”

After finishing, Jiang Fan tugged at the man with the shawl and said, “Come with me. Let’s see who dares to touch you today.”

A-Dong saw that Jiang Fan ignored him and had someone go fetch Skinny, yet claimed even Skinny couldn’t resolve the matter. His nerves dulled, he watched the two walk past him and didn’t dare stop them.

They sat by the table outside the dumpling shop. Zhang Xiaoye poured a cup of tea for the man with the shawl, stole a glance at him, then stood silently beside Jiang Fan.

Jiang Fan guessed that Zhang Xiaoye had recognized the man, but seeing no anger in her eyes—only sympathy and concern—he asked, “You don’t hate him?”

Zhang Xiaoye shook her head, took two wrinkled bills from her pocket and said, “He didn’t rob me. He even gave me two yuan. If not for circumstances, I believe he wouldn’t have done such things.” She put the money in front of the man.

Yesterday, Zhang Xiaoye had been dirty and disheveled, but now her appearance had completely changed; the man hadn’t recognized her at first.

Hearing her mention the two yuan, the shawl man glanced at the bills, then lowered his head and softly said, “Little sister, I’m sorry about yesterday.”

Zhang Xiaoye quickly waved her hand. “You didn’t hurt me. There’s no need to apologize.”

During the earlier scuffle, the man had taken several hits. Now as he relaxed, the pain settled in.

He pressed his shoulder with one hand and his waist with the other. Hearing Zhang Xiaoye’s kindness, he felt embarrassed to speak.

Jiang Fan noticed his shabby clothes, an absence of unpleasant odor, but a distinct salty scent. His face was wan and pale; he was tall but frail, as undernourished as Jiang Fan himself.

He habitually reached into his pocket, only to remember it had been emptied yesterday.

Seeing Jiang Fan reach for his pocket, Zhang Xiaoye quickly said, “Brother Fan, do you need money? You put all your cash in the rented room. I’ll go get it.”

Jiang Fan waved her off. “Keep it for yourself. The money your brother gave you, spend it as you need, understand?”

He then went to the kitchen and found Uncle Qiu busy at work. “Uncle, lend me some money. I’ll pay you back when my wife returns.”

Uncle Qiu’s hands were full; he stuck out his rear and said, “It’s in my back pocket. Take what you need.”

Jiang Fan took a handful from Uncle Qiu’s pocket—ranging from ten cents to a hundred yuan, all neatly stacked. He pulled out two ten-yuan bills, waved them in front of Uncle Qiu to show him, then returned the rest.

Uncle Qiu turned his head away, feigning indifference. “You rascal, why bother showing me? Don’t you think I trust you?”

Jiang Fan returned outside. As he passed by Huang Guihua, who was tidying the tables, he lightly pinched her cheek and praised, “You’re quite nimble. Learn from Uncle and Aunt. Someday you’ll have your own dumpling shop.”

Huang Guihua pouted playfully. “I’m already skinny. You always pinch my face, there’s barely any flesh left. Can’t you pick another spot? I’m not opening a dumpling shop—otherwise, I’d compete with Uncle and Aunt.”

Seeing how devoted Huang Guihua was to this place, Jiang Fan affectionately patted her head. “The more skills you have, the more paths open for you. Dongguan is vast. One more dumpling shop won’t affect Uncle and Aunt’s business.”

Carrying a plate of dumplings from the kitchen, Zhang Xiaoye saw Jiang Fan so close with Huang Guihua and felt a hint of sadness.

Jiang Fan noticed her expression and asked with concern, “What’s wrong?”

Zhang Xiaoye hesitated, her lips trembling, nearly in tears before she finally said, “Brother Fan, you’re biased.”

Jiang Fan realized she was still young and wanted affection and care. He’d avoided being too close, fearing to touch her wounded heart, but his politeness made her feel neglected.

Understanding, he pinched her cheek too, joking, “Masochist. Satisfied now?”

A smile broke across Huang Guihua’s face. Fearing her new friend might misunderstand, Zhang Xiaoye explained, “I—I—I’m not jealous of Guihua, just saying you’re biased as a brother.”

“I—I—I—” Jiang Fan echoed her stammer, “Why so nervous talking to your own brother? You even stutter.”

Zhang Xiaoye hit Jiang Fan shyly. “Brother, you’re so bad.”

Jiang Fan teased his two sisters for a while, then returned to the shawl man, handing him twenty yuan. “Go to the pharmacy, get some herbal oil, find a quiet place to treat your wounds. Don’t leave yet—I’ll take you to settle things with them soon.”

He never liked Brother Lu, but hadn’t planned to make trouble. Now he had a reason, and figured he’d vent his anger and maybe squeeze some money from those heartless people.

The shawl man pushed Jiang Fan’s money away. “I’m tough. Checked myself already, nothing serious.”

Jiang Fan joked, “So you’re a doctor now, examining yourself?”

“My grandfather was the village barefoot doctor. I know some basic medicine.”

Jiang Fan didn’t insist, but asked why he turned to robbery and why the casino thugs attacked him.

The shawl man shared his story.

His name was Zhang Chunggeng, twenty-two, from Sichuan—Kangding, where Han and Tibetan live together.

His father hailed from Qiqihar in the northeast, met his mother while stationed in Kangding, married after leaving the army, and settled there. His mother was a Tibetan farmer, and among six sisters, he was the eldest.

Their mountain village suffered from food shortages. Zhang Chunggeng began working away from home at fifteen, first as a temp with the Kangding road maintenance crew, but aside from covering his own expenses, he couldn’t help his family.

Hearing tales of gold everywhere in Guangdong, he came to Dongguan in September with two fellow villagers. Unable to find work, his companions soon returned home, but he stayed.

One afternoon, passing by a casino, he saw a crowd and went in for curiosity’s sake. He saw the casino making dirty money off the poor, and earning well. He decided to swipe some chips—printed paper slips laminated and used for betting—hoping to exchange them for cash. He was caught, leading to the scene Jiang Fan witnessed.

Jiang Fan knew casinos used these chips to save time, opening more tables. Players bought chips, then cashed them in when done.

Hearing Zhang Chunggeng mention his companions leaving, Jiang Fan skipped the details and went straight to today’s casino incident.

He asked directly, “How have you survived these past months?”

Zhang Chunggeng paused and replied softly, “I borrowed some money from people in quiet places, enough to survive. At night, I sleep outdoors.”

“You mean ‘borrow’ like you did with Yezi?”

Seeing Jiang Fan press the matter, Zhang Chunggeng nodded in shame, explaining, “I know everyone works hard for their money, so I never take more than five or ten yuan. Even if someone has more, I never ask for more than ten.”

Jiang Fan sighed, not wanting to embarrass him further, and changed the subject. “You seem handy in a fight. Have you trained?”

“My father won awards in army sanda matches. He taught me some basic moves.”

Jiang Fan gave a sardonic laugh. “This afternoon I talked with a rich man about ‘honor among thieves.’ I think I understand a bit more now.”

After learning Zhang Chunggeng’s situation, Jiang Fan offered him money again. “Take this. Later, let’s see if we can get some compensation from those who’ve had their hearts blackened by silver. Tomorrow, I’ll ask around and try to help you find work.”

“You saved me; I can’t take your money.” Zhang Chunggeng refused again.

Seeing his refusal, Jiang Fan noticed his lips twitch. “Are you hungry?”

Zhang Chunggeng nodded awkwardly, saying nothing.