Chapter 230: Does Your Family Know You’re This Badass Out Here?

Chapter 230: Does Your Family Know You’re This Badass Out Here?

The small plaza was not tiny, but it was only about the size of a few basketball courts.

With over a hundred youths crowding in, plus the space swallowed by more than a dozen cars, it already felt cramped.

At a glance there seemed to be people everywhere, and all of them “colorful,” hair in every shade, clothes just as loud. And many carried something in hand: short clubs, long sticks, baseball bats, steel pipes.

A scene like that would rattle anyone.

Even an underworld boss, even a genuinely vicious fighter, might look composed on the surface, but he would not be composed underneath.

“Kids” were the worst people to cross.

By “kids,” that generally meant middle-schoolers and high-schoolers, fifteen or sixteen, seventeen or eighteen. Too young, too easily inflamed. Once the blood rushed to their heads they would do anything, no matter who stood across from them. The ones without the nerve to swing would fold outright. The ones with the nerve stopped caring about consequences entirely. If they said they would cut you, they would cut you, and it made no difference who you were.

And when there were many of them, crowd mentality became much stronger.

A great deal of the time, youngsters like this were more of a headache than any big shot in his forties or fifties.

Adults spoke in terms of interests, of gains and losses.

The young spoke in terms of loyalty.

Heaven ranked first, I ranked second. Brotherhood, showing off, playing tough, consequences be damned. That was them.

They were all converging on Wu Chen.

It made quite a scene.

And the scene had been staged deliberately by the young man with the earring. He wanted the spectacle. He had gathered everyone outside the park first, then brought them in together. Cars in first, people rising up on all sides afterward. He wanted the feel of a film shoot.

Wu Chen, however…

He still stood with one hand in the pocket of his dress slacks, his posture natural, even stylish, a smile on his face.

Not the least bit rattled.

There genuinely was nothing to be rattled about.

The other side had over a hundred people, but most were little punks of seventeen or eighteen. With Wu Chen’s footwork, fighting them would be easier than thrashing a pack of grandkids. Some among them had quit school years ago and spent those years on the street. They had never trained in any real martial art, but they knew group brawls.

Even so, no amount of brawling experience could match a professional.

If it really came to a fight, Wu Chen figured he could snatch a club, put a dozen down in a row, draw blood. After that there would be no need to keep swinging. Nobody would dare step forward.

What made youngsters like this frightening was their recklessness, not their staying power. If anything they broke more easily. Once the heat left them, they folded.

Although, of course—

By Wu Chen’s plan, and by everything he knew, there would be no fighting today.

The dark mass of over a hundred closed around Wu Chen. None of them came very near. They formed a rough ring five or six meters out, packed so tightly they made a wall of bodies.

Many of them stood with mouths twisted and eyes cut sideways, bouncing clubs in their palms, leering at the man in the crisp suit like street trash spoiling for trouble.

“Make way… make way…”

He Xinxin came rolling through, calling out twice, and the crowd on that side opened a lane for her.

Almost all of them knew her. They also knew that Brother Daqi and Sister Shanshan treated He Xinxin like their own little sister.

She rolled up beside the red Ferrari, stopped, and came to stand next to the young man with the earring.

“Brother Daqi, why’d you call so many people? We don’t need this many, do we?”

He Xinxin sounded uneasy, and she glanced around at the crowd.

She was afraid this would get too big.

“Too many? Somebody dares bully Xinxin and you think this is too many?” the young man said. “This is too few. Who in Dongpu doesn’t know Xinxin’s my ‘little sister’? Fuck, today I want to see exactly who’s got the guts.”

As he spoke he threw a sideways glare toward Wu Chen.

“Guy’s got some nerve on him.”

“Fuck, he even dared bully Xinxin.”

“Look at that punk still standing there posing.”

“How old is he? Twenty-three, twenty-four?”

Only then did several of the rich kids who had come in the sports cars start piping up.

“Brother Daqi…”

He Xinxin tugged his sleeve.

He was very tall, over 1.8 meters. The moment he felt the tug he understood, and he bent slightly, turning an ear down to her.

He Xinxin whispered something.

Tang Shanshan immediately joined the huddle, wrapping her arms around He Xinxin from behind and resting her chin on the girl’s shoulder. The three of them murmured together for a while.

At that same moment—

Along the far edge of the extreme sports area stood a short row of low buildings, the shops that served the grounds. On the left was a kiosk selling drinks and snacks. On the right, a shop selling extreme sports equipment: skateboards, knee pads, helmets, and the like.

In front of the snack kiosk.

A slight man of about thirty, short and plain-featured, stood in sunglasses with a bottle of cola in one hand. He leaned against the refrigerator set outside the kiosk, watching the plaza.

When the sports cars and the flood of youngsters appeared, he straightened at once, pulled off his sunglasses, and fixed his attention on Wu Chen’s direction.

He grasped immediately that something had gone wrong.

There was going to be a fight. And it was aimed at Wu Chen.

The color drained from his face.

His name was Qin Erhe.

He was Mao Rusong’s man.

Yesterday Wu Chen had spoken with Mao Rusong and told him only to stay out of it. To put it precisely, he had told Mao not to pass along what he knew to Ding Ruilong. He had never told Mao to stop protecting He Shiqin and He Xinxin.

Nor had Wu Chen told Mao Rusong which day he would approach He Shiqin. He had never named a time.

So in practice, Mao Rusong’s arrangements around He Shiqin had scarcely changed.

Yesterday afternoon, the men responsible for watching over He Shiqin and He Xinxin had received fresh word from their big boss. Mao Rusong had called them in and told them face to face.

So they knew that sometime in the next few days, a young man would make contact with He Shiqin and He Xinxin. They had no idea who the young man really was or what his position might be. They only knew his surname was Wu and that he was addressed as “Mr. Wu.”

They had also been given a photograph of Mr. Wu. Mao Rusong had provided it so that no one would mistake the man for someone else.

Mao had further warned them never, under any circumstances, to provoke Mr. Wu. If Mr. Wu spotted them and came over to question them directly, they were to tell the truth. Be courteous. There was no need to conceal anything. As long as they were honest, there would be no trouble.

So…

Qin Erhe understood that this Mr. Wu was likely an extraordinary figure, the sort no one could provoke and no one could afford to offend.

And now something had happened.

Of course Qin Erhe could see it. That crowd of youngsters was carrying clubs.

He started forward at a run, then stopped short after two quick steps.

He knew he could not hold them back. There were also things he could not say.

And he did not even know how the conflict had started.

Make a call, then.

Qin Erhe snatched out his phone and dialed Mao Rusong’s number.

Back on the plaza, now black with people, He Xinxin, the young man with the earring, and Tang Shanshan whispered together for perhaps a minute.

The young man finally grasped what He Xinxin was asking. She was afraid of it getting out of hand. If a real fight started, someone could die.

“Relax. Big brother will take care of it for you.”

He gestured as he spoke, then lifted his head and looked at Wu Chen.

He walked straight over. Alone.

Every person around them was his. It showed in the way he looked at Wu Chen, in the swing of his stride, all of it radiating I am a very big deal.

Pure swagger.

“You’re the private tutor. Right?”

He stopped in front of Wu Chen, hands stuffed in the pockets of his baggy hip-hop pants, body angled slightly forward. There was even a smile on his face, but his tone could not have been less friendly.

“What’s that to you?” Wu Chen asked flatly, then smiled.

“Yo! Look at the attitude. Real badass, huh? All these people and you’re not sweating? Nice act…” The young man was swaggering just as hard.

“Mao Qi, does your family know you’re this badass out here?” Wu Chen asked.

He frowned slightly, but the smile stayed.

Dongpu’s Brother Daqi.

His real name was Mao Qi.

And his father was none other than that famous, silver-tongued, endlessly well-connected power in Modu’s Dongpu District—

Fifth Master Mao.

Mao Rusong.