Chapter 18: Brother Lin, Can We Reconcile?
Inside the room.
Low, heavy breathing echoed around inside the room.
Strategist Li was covered in blood, his face bruised and swollen as he curled up, several distinct teeth scattered beside him.
He was completely dazed from the beating.
His whole body ached, as if it had fallen apart.
As for the thugs he brought, they were no better off—seemingly sturdy and capable, but utterly useless.
Lin Fan looked calm as he picked up a rag from the table to wipe the blood from his fist. He sniffed it; it originally only smelled of blood, but after using the rag, it now carried a strange odor too.
“Little Fatty, did you wash this rag? Why does the smell get stronger the more I wipe?” Lin Fan asked with a smile.
“N-no, I didn’t wash it.” Zhao Er stood frozen in place. He glanced at Strategist Li, whose face was full of resentment, then suddenly snapped awake, his senses returning. He grabbed Lin Fan to leave. “Bro, let’s go quick. He’s Yuan Jiang’s strategist. If his people come, we won’t be able to leave.”
Lin Fan lightly patted the back of Zhao Er’s hand, signaling him to relax and not panic. Then he looked toward Zhao’s wife lying on the bed, walked to the bedside, and smiled. “Auntie, you remember me, right?”
“I remember.”
“Auntie, don’t worry. With me here, Little Fatty will be fine. A while back, I asked if he had any troubles, and he said no. I think he’s just stubborn, so I came specially to check.”
He had visited Little Fatty’s home once, not long after they started working together. Little Fatty had somehow gotten a roast chicken that someone had already eaten two chicken legs from and mysteriously dragged him home.
The two of them gathered around the table, happily eating.
At that time, he vaguely remembered the relief and joy in auntie’s eyes when she saw her child had made a friend.
Now he had stood up.
Life had improved, so naturally he wouldn’t forget Zhao Er, a fellow low-level thug in the same boat. That courtyard wasn’t small; it definitely needed a butler.
Zhao Er was his top choice.
At this moment, Lin Fan looked at Strategist Li, who roared in fury: “You’re dead meat. I’m gonna kill you. Call people—call people for me!”
The thugs looked at the strategist in confusion. How were they supposed to call now? The opponent wouldn’t give them that chance.
But who could have imagined.
Lin Fan pointed at the thugs. “Go ahead. I’m letting you call people now. Call as many as you can—it’s your skill. Don’t say later that I didn’t give you a chance.”
“Bro, we can’t let them call people!” Zhao Er hurriedly advised. He wasn’t stupid; if they called reinforcements, the consequences would be unimaginable.
He knew Brother Lin was highly valued in Loyalty Hall and promoted to wharf leader. As long as they left now and returned to Loyalty Hall territory, even if Strategist Li was unwilling, it wouldn’t matter.
Could he really bring people to stir trouble on Loyalty Hall turf?
If it came to that, it wouldn’t be a private matter anymore—it would be a clash between two gang branches.
“Calm down.”
Lin Fan said.
Zhao Er was panicking inside; he really couldn’t calm down. But since bro had said it, what more could he say?
The thug stood up, cautiously testing the waters. He wasn’t sure if the opponent was serious or just toying with him—waiting for him to believe it, head to the door, then kick him back.
He was all too familiar with this routine.
He’d done it plenty himself.
They might even add an insult: “I told you to go, so you go. Are you an idiot?”
“I told you to go call people—didn’t you hear?”
“You really mean it?”
“Go.”
The thug slowly edged toward the door, glancing at Lin Fan now and then. Seeing him just sitting by the bed without moving, he quickened his pace, pushed open the door, went outside, pulled a skyrocket from his waist, and lit the fuse.
“One arrow piercing the clouds, a thousand troops and ten thousand horses come to meet—a cry for help!”
The thug shouted at the top of his lungs.
A streak of fire shot into the sky with a bang, bursting into ordinary fireworks in the air.
Lin Fan, sitting by the bed, looked out the window at the night sky. “So that’s it? I thought some special pattern would appear, or maybe a tiger head.”
He shook his head, quite disappointed.
The movies he’d seen before had axe gang skyrockets that actually shot out axes.
Clearly not professional.
The fireworks were conspicuous in the night sky; those in the know recognized it as the Fierce Tiger Gang’s distress signal.
Inside the room.
Strategist Li, beaten badly, said ecstatically: “You’re dead meat. No one can save you now. Weren’t you eager to stick your neck out? Have the guts not to run when they get here.”
Strategist Li didn’t recognize Lin Fan, but if Lin Fan said his own name, Strategist Li would definitely know it.
After all, Lin Fan was famous now.
The Cui Jing Tower incident had a huge impact.
Anyone with even a bit of involvement in the gangs knew about it.
Lin Fan ignored Strategist Li and called Zhao Er to the bedside. He said to auntie: “Auntie, here’s the deal. You know Little Fatty is honest and not suited for gang life, so I want him to quit the Fierce Tiger Gang and become the butler in my courtyard. What do you think, auntie?”
Zhao Er blinked. “Bro, when did you buy a house?”
“It wasn’t me who bought it—my sister gave it to me.”
“Huh? Bro, since when do you have a sister?”
Little Fatty was like a kid with a million questions, always coming up with more.
Lin Fan patiently explained. After hearing it, Little Fatty stared at him in shock. He never imagined this bro he’d come to know through a fight had become so impressive.
Sure enough, excellent people excel no matter where they are.
Zhao’s wife held Lin Fan’s hand and said gently: “Auntie trusts you. For him to have a bro like you looking out for him is his blessing and his luck.”
Zhao’s wife could tell Lin Fan was sincerely doing this for her child.
Her child had suffered so much since young, was too filial, lived more tired than anyone, shouldered more burdens than anyone—and she, as his mother, had seen it all.
“You’re Lin Fan.”
Strategist Li, curled up there fantasizing how to deal with him, naturally overheard their words. Their conversation mentioned Loyalty Hall’s Wang Changhai and Jili Wharf.
No need to even think.
Who else but Lin Fan?
“Strategist Li, you’d better hope the people they call are real fighters, or you’re in for it,” Lin Fan said with a smile.
Hearing this.
Strategist Li’s face went pale; he sensed something was wrong.
Sweeping eighteen gold medal thugs at Cui Jing Tower, even unscathed—that level of skill, how could he not know when others didn’t?
Those eighteen gold medal thugs together could easily handle over thirty ordinary low-level thugs.
Thinking of this.
Strategist Li hurriedly said: “Brother Lin, misunderstanding—this is all a misunderstanding. Can we reconcile?”
“What do you think?”
“I think we can reconcile.”
“Bullshit.”
Lin Fan snapped back angrily. At a time like this, still thinking of reconciliation? His brain must not be working.
What he wanted was a clean sweep.
After he became a constable in the Public Security Bureau.
These people would be what?
Merit—walking merit, his chips for advancement.
