Chapter 231: How Did I End Up with a Good-for-Nothing Son Like You?!

Chapter 231: How Did I End Up with a Good-for-Nothing Son Like You?!

There was no hatred without cause, and no love without cause.

Mao Qi and Tang Shanshan shared no blood with He Xinxin. They were not childhood neighbors. Their families did no business together. So why did they shelter her?

At the root of it all lay Mao Rusong.

Tang Shanshan’s involvement came through Mao Qi. She was only one of his many girlfriends, and although she was his favorite at present, the future was anyone’s guess. Mao Qi had arranged for some of his boys at school to keep an eye on He Xinxin. Tang Shanshan knew that, so she treated the girl well too.

The two of them had eventually become genuinely close friends.

As for Mao Qi, he actually had no idea why his father wanted He Shiqin and He Xinxin looked after. He was still young, only eighteen that year. There were things Mao Rusong could tell him now that he certainly could not have told him a few years ago.

But Mao Rusong had told his son that a very powerful family stood behind He Shiqin and He Xinxin, and that they had only left that family for certain reasons…

Mao Qi understood what that meant.

Mao Rusong had also told him to look out for He Xinxin a little at school. Little by little, things had grown into what they were now.

At first, Mao Qi had done it only because his father said so. But by now both he and Tang Shanshan had grown close to her. She was pretty, and her nature was easy to like. So there was real feeling mixed into the way they watched over her these days.

It was rather like they had simply taken on a little sister.

Wu Chen knew every bit of this.

Because of how singular He Shiqin and He Xinxin were, he knew everything about them with perfect clarity.

Mao Qi’s expression shifted as he stared at Wu Chen, anger flickering in his eyes.

Wu Chen had asked, “Does your family know you’re this badass out here?” It sounded very much like mockery. But Wu Chen had not been mocking him. He had meant it exactly as it was said.

Mao Qi, of course…

There was no chance he would take it literally. All he heard was contempt.

And it was a wildly popular line for slapping someone down.

“Fuck! You’re really something. You know who I am and you’re still this cocky?” Mao Qi cocked his head at Wu Chen, cursing, his tone every bit as arrogant—the kind of swagger that came with hot-blooded youth.

He was not the least surprised that Wu Chen knew his name. Far too many people in Dongpu knew Brother Daqi.

“Why do you talk so much?” Wu Chen asked with a smile, studying Mao Qi from two meters away. “Aren’t we here to fight? I’m not in the habit of disciplining other people’s children, but I do dislike being sworn at.”

“Yo!”

“Fuck, this guy’s playing tough like he doesn’t care if he dies!”

“Damn, he’s actually got me laughing!”

This time Mao Qi had not even spoken before the crowd erupted. A few came forward a few steps with clubs in hand, though nobody moved to strike.

Mao Qi was not finished showing off. They could not step on his moment.

“Badass. You are seriously fucking badass. I’ve never seen anyone like you in my life. Seriously badass.”

Mao Qi laughed in his anger, and as he spoke he drew his hands from his pockets.

Something came out with them.

Brass knuckles.

For fighting.

Mao Qi had no intention of going easy on a “private tutor.” His girlfriend had told him this tutor seemed to have money, that he drove a Mercedes. And he could see for himself that everything Wu Chen wore was expensive.

But he was working as a private tutor.

No matter how high the fee, what family of real weight ever produced someone who went around tutoring children?

Mao Qi felt he had Wu Chen’s station pegged. He had no reservations whatsoever.

Originally he had only meant to get He Xinxin’s recording back, lecture Wu Chen, make him admit he was wrong, and be done with it.

But Wu Chen had “mocked” him. That he would not swallow.

“Thought it through?” Wu Chen asked, seeing the knuckles go on. He gave Mao Qi another faint smile. “Don’t say I didn’t give you a chance.”

“Ha!”

Mao Qi was so angry he hardly knew how to laugh.

“You’re good. Let’s see if you can still talk this fucking big in a minute…”

He clenched his fist, raised his hand, and cut it sharply through the air.

“Get him!”

“Get him!”

“Go!”

The crowd shouted and surged. Not far off, He Xinxin panicked a little. She knew that if this turned into a real fight, something would go badly wrong…

Ring-ring-ring…

A phone rang.

The sudden sound made everyone hesitate, because it came from Mao Qi. He stood closest to Wu Chen and had been on the verge of making a move. He stopped, pulled out his phone, glanced at the screen, and immediately waved at everyone around him.

“Hold up!”

The crowd that had just started forward rippled once, then stopped dead.

“Quiet! It’s my dad!”

Mao Qi gestured again as he barked it out.

Everyone understood at once.

Mao Qi’s father was on the line. He could not let his father hear the sound of a brawl. No parent enjoys hearing that his son spends his days fighting in the street.

“You’re in luck. You get to stay cocky a little longer.”

Mao Qi threw Wu Chen another look and left him with a grin.

He did not know it was not luck. It was what had always been going to happen.

Having said his piece, Mao Qi took the call. “Dad!”

“You little bastard! Can you go one goddamn day without making trouble for me? Huh?! I’ll break your fucking legs! Fuck!”

Mao Rusong came on the line in a fury so complete he sounded ready to throttle his own son.

Mao Qi was cursed into a stupor, his chest tightening, his head buzzing.

However big a deal he was among Dongpu’s second- and third-generation youngsters, he was still afraid of his old man. Without his father he was nothing. And it had been years since he had heard his father this furious with him.

Cursing him the second the call connected?

Over what?

Mao Qi had no idea. There was no way for him to make the connection so fast.

“Dad…” he answered instinctively, in a very small voice.

Then he fell silent. He instinctively wanted to explain himself, but he had no idea what there was to explain.

“You fucking— I…” Mao Rusong sounded angry enough to bring on a heart attack. He paused, then demanded urgently, “Have you done anything yet?”

“Huh?” Mao Qi was still dazed.

“I asked you a question! Have you laid a hand on Mr. Wu?” Mao Rusong ground out through his teeth.

“Who?”

Mao Qi still had not surfaced from the tongue-lashing.

“Who do you think?! You call a hundred people to the park to beat somebody and you’re asking me who?! How did I end up with a good-for-nothing son like you?! Fuck!”

Mao Rusong’s rage was immense.

“Ah…”

Phone in hand, face blank, Mao Qi raised his head and looked at Wu Chen.

At last he understood what this was about.

“No… no, we haven’t done anything. Not yet, Dad,” Mao Qi stammered into the phone.

“Good. Good. As long as you haven’t. Good…”

Mao Rusong said good several times over and let out a deep breath.

A minute or two earlier he had taken a report from one of his men. His own son had brought over a hundred people, armed, and was about to attack “Mr. Wu.”

Mao Rusong had nearly had a heart attack.

He was afraid. And the fear cut both ways.

He knew Wu Chen had to be formidable in a fight. That marksmanship of his was something out of a ghost story. Gu Ruibo had mentioned a few other things as well. The man was practically inhuman.

So Mao Rusong was afraid something would happen to Wu Chen, and equally afraid something would happen to his son. Who knew whether Wu Chen was carrying a gun? Who knew how many of those hundred-odd youngsters and street punks Wu Chen might kill before the rest scattered in terror?

Whichever way it went, Mao Rusong could see his whole family ruined over it.

Good. It was truly good. Thank heaven they had not started swinging.

“Dad… who… who is he?” Mao Qi asked haltingly.

His father’s manner had frightened him. As he spoke he moved a few steps aside and cupped a hand over the side of his mouth so nobody could hear.

“You don’t even know who he is and you go provoking him blind?!” Mao Rusong cursed again.

He had clawed his way up from the bottom and had little education. When his temper went, the profanity came thick.

“No, Dad, I…” Mao Qi tried to explain.

“Your Uncle Gu practically treats him like his own father, and you’re asking me who he is? You fucking…”

More profanity followed.

Mao Qi froze all over again.

Because the “Uncle Gu” his father meant was Gu Ruibo. A core third-generation member of the Gu family of Modu, and a man several cuts above Mao Rusong himself.