Chapter Sixty-Three: Majesty...

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“Wang Yu, what are you trying to do?” One had to admit, Old Zhou was truly a good teacher; as danger loomed, he stepped in front of Zhuo Nan and Shi Yang.

Wang Yu brought over a dozen men, each holding a rolled-up newspaper. It looked like a newspaper, but everyone knew inside there were either machetes or iron rods. Cigarette dangling from his lips, head held high, Wang Yu boasted shamelessly, “Teacher Zhou, I’m here for Zhuo Nan today, it’s got nothing to do with you. We all know each other—I don’t want to hurt you.”

Truth be told, Old Zhou was over fifty. If Wang Yu really hit him, probably just two punches would send him to the hospital, maybe even force him into early retirement. But the old man showed no fear, meeting Wang Yu’s gaze, his expression unwavering. “Wang Yu, leave now or I’ll call the police.”

Barely had the words left his mouth when the crowd across laughed uproariously. Wang Yu, smiling, said, “Old man, don’t push your luck. The people at the district police station are my friends—I’ve already given them a heads-up. No cops will come here today.”

With that, he waved his hand, and his men surrounded the three of them. Old Zhou was so angry he clenched his fists and cursed at Wang Yu, “Wang Yu, just try and lay a hand on them!”

At that moment, both Zhuo Nan and Shi Yang were deeply grateful to Old Zhou. When danger approached, even knowing he couldn’t protect them, he still stepped forward. Such spirit was truly noble. Shi Yang fished his phone from his pocket and dialed a number. At that moment, Long Kun lay naked in his brand-new apartment, half-asleep, beside a likewise naked woman—a newcomer he’d picked up at the bar last night and promptly took home.

Drowsy, Long Kun saw Shi Yang’s call and answered at once, “Hello, Shi Yang, what’s up?”

Unhurried, Shi Yang replied, “Oh, nothing big. Nan is blocked by a bunch of punks outside Ninth High. You handle it… There are over a dozen of them, all armed.” With that, Shi Yang hung up.

“Damn…” Long Kun cursed into the phone, then quickly called Rib. Their crew were night owls, all still lost in dreams at this hour. Rib answered, and Long Kun roared, “Get your asses up! Nan’s blocked by punks at Ninth High. Let’s move!”

Shi Yang gave the word, and everyone sprang into action. Long Kun arranged for two big trucks and led over sixty underlings straight to Ninth High…

In truth, Shi Yang’s call was unnecessary. For Zhuo Nan, dealing with a dozen punks was no harder than crushing ants. But since he’d called for backup, he’d let them handle it; after all, beating up so many on a busy street was a bit too conspicuous.

Wang Yu, sharp-eyed, saw Shi Yang making calls for backup, but he wasn’t worried. Ever since dropping out, Wang Yu had drifted through society, relying on family leftovers to make friends and gather his crew. They were all minor players, but he figured his dozen brothers were more than enough for a couple of middle schoolers. “Shi Yang, look at you, all fancy now, even got a phone… I’m just gonna wait here, see how many people you can muster.”

Shi Yang thought to himself, what an idiot. If he were Wang Yu, he’d strike first instead of showboating. Since the purpose was to take down Zhuo Nan, why not get on with it? Shi Yang shook his head—guys like this were small timers, never meant for the big stage.

Old Zhou saw Shi Yang with a phone and urged, “Shi Yang, call the police!”

The old man was stubborn. Wang Yu’s swagger indicated he’d already arranged things with the station; even if they called, the police would probably wait until Wang Yu finished before showing up. “Teacher Zhou, what’s the point? For people like this, you have to fight back.” After so long on the streets, Shi Yang had grown sharp.

Old Zhou nodded, seeing the logic. He lowered his voice, “Shi Yang, will your people be enough?”

Shi Yang shot him a look—now he remembered him. “Don’t worry, Teacher Zhou. I’ll keep you safe.”

“You brat, I’m just worried about you…” Old Zhou said, giving Shi Yang a playful flick on the head.

“So, Shi Yang, your people still haven’t arrived? We’re not waiting anymore.” Wang Yu had waited five minutes and was growing impatient, having told the police to delay their response by twenty minutes.

One of Wang Yu’s underlings complained, “Yu, stop waiting. These two act tough, but they’re just stalling. If the cops come, we’re screwed…”

Wang Yu agreed, staring at Zhuo Nan and shouting, “Go! Take him down!”

Shi Yang knew trouble was coming and immediately assumed a fighting stance, cursing Long Kun in his mind—damn it, why aren’t you here yet…

Old Zhou was furious. “Wang Yu, touch them and I’ll fight you to the end!”

Just then, at that critical moment—two long screeches of brakes echoed, and two trucks stopped at the school gate. Before the vehicles even settled, Long Kun charged out, machete in hand, his scar twisting with rage. He bellowed, “Who dares touch my brothers?”

Men tumbled out of the trucks, and with Long Kun’s shout, his underlings roared in unison, “Who dares touch our boss?”

A hundred voices thundered together, overwhelming the scene, encircling Wang Yu’s group. Wang Yu stood agape, cigarette dropped to the ground, utterly stunned by the sheer numbers. His men exchanged nervous glances—this was far beyond what they’d expected.

But it wasn’t over yet. Not far away, three more minibuses pulled up. Each newcomer bore a machete. The leader, a bald man about thirty, shouted, “Where’s Brother Kun?”

Long Kun was startled—who was this? He yelled back, “I’m Long Kun. Which crew are you?”

“Brother Kun, our boss got your call and sent two hundred brothers. I was closest, so I came first. Over a hundred more are on their way,” the bald man said, hurrying over.

Long Kun breathed a sigh of relief. These were Ghost Boy Chao’s men. He’d worried his side was short-handed, so he’d called Ghost Boy Chao, who promptly mobilized two hundred men.

At this point, Long Kun’s side had nearly a hundred gathered, their momentum overwhelming. Long Kun shouted, “Brothers, Zhuo Nan is my sworn brother. These punks are here to mess with him—what should we do?”

“Cut them down! Cut them down!” A hundred voices, machetes raised, chanted in unison, their ranks still swelling.

Wang Yu’s dozen underlings were petrified, the situation reversed. Zhuo Nan walked up to Wang Yu, raised his head and said coldly, “I don’t like looking up at people.”

As soon as he finished, Rib pressed a five-shot revolver to Wang Yu’s temple, growling, “Kneel.”

“Boss, please, please, I’ll kneel, I’ll kneel…” Wang Yu’s voice quavered, and with a thud he dropped to his knees, clutching Zhuo Nan’s leg, pleading, “Nan, Nan, I was wrong, I was wrong, I didn’t recognize your greatness, please spare me, please…”

Zhuo Nan kicked him aside and spat, “Weren’t you all high and mighty just now?” Then he looked at Wang Yu’s crew and said coolly, “You all thought you were tough too, huh?”

At his words, Long Kun’s men surged forward, “Get on your knees! Didn’t you hear Nan?”

The dozen underlings quickly dropped to their knees, begging Nan to spare them, each claiming Wang Yu paid them to come—they had no idea Zhuo Nan was Long Kun’s sworn brother.

Long Kun strode up and slapped Wang Yu hard, cursing, “Damn it, you don’t know me, Long Kun? Zhuo Nan is my cellmate—he went in because of you! Today I’ll cripple your leg!”

He snatched the revolver from Rib, cocked it with a click, and aimed at Wang Yu’s leg.

Wang Yu sobbed, “No, no, Brother Kun, spare me, spare me…” A strong smell of urine wafted through the air. Long Kun frowned and kicked him, “Look at you, pathetic, and you still want to play tough?”

“Wang Yu, I don’t want trouble with you. I’ll give you a way out—don’t show up in front of me again, or you won’t be so lucky next time.” Zhuo Nan finished, kicked Wang Yu to the ground, then gestured to two men behind him, “Take this fool away. Go embarrass him in front of his mother.” He scanned the crowd, pointing at Wang Yu’s underlings. “And you lot—every time I see you, I’ll beat you. Get lost.”

“Thank you, boss, thank you, boss…” The group hoisted Wang Yu and hurried away.

Long Kun leaned in, “Nan, you’re just letting them go?”

Zhuo Nan rolled his eyes, “Let them go. What, you want more trouble? Damn it, can’t you keep a low profile? What’s the point of waving a gun around?”

Long Kun chuckled, “Nan, it’s fake, just a prop, nothing inside.” He handed the gun to Zhuo Nan.

Zhuo Nan glanced at it and returned it, “Even if it’s fake, don’t show it off. If something happens, it’ll be trouble. Get your men out of here—cops will be here soon.”

Long Kun smiled sheepishly and hurriedly directed his men to board the trucks and leave.

He hadn’t meant to draw attention, but now it was even more outrageous. Zhuo Nan shook his head helplessly.

Old Zhou was in high spirits. After years of teaching and living by the rules, he’d never felt as unrestrained as today—over a hundred men at his back, it was a feeling beyond words. Though he knew they weren’t here for him, having them behind gave him a taste of glory and awe… He could even brag a bit when he got home—he’d seen the big stage at last.