A group near the pool table froze. Arms uncrossed. Old Rooster stayed silent, lined up another shot—and missed again. With a grunt, he slammed the cue stick to the floor, spun around, and shoved Feng Shao hard. Caught off guard, Feng Shao stumbled back several steps, nearly falling.

Old Rooster stepped slowly toward him, grinning. “Knew you’d been getting cocky lately… So what if I said it? Bai Hailong’s trash. His sister’s a whore. Fuck you—got a problem with that?”

Ten-odd people clustered nearby, chuckling as they watched. A kid started handing out cigarettes. Others in the hall, hearing the commotion, set down their cues with smirks, arms crossed, drifting closer. The crowd swelled, circling Feng Shao.

I stood among them, took a cigarette from a fifteen-year-old kid, and watched with a grin—

Not worried at all. *Yao Ni Ming 30* was on standby. If Feng Shao lost a single hair, everyone here would face serious consequences.

Feng Shao took the shoves without fighting back, face cold. Sharp-eyed, I noticed his legs trembling slightly. Old Rooster wasn’t stupid—he knew the risks of provoking a rich kid. He shoved, but held back.

I finally grasped this bald rooster’s hatred for Bai Hailong. Brother Long once said they were childhood friends. Why the venom?

Feng Shao stood stiff as wood under the shoves. *Why’s a rich kid tangled with trash like this?* I sighed inwardly, stepped forward with a placating smile, and pulled Feng Shao gently toward me. “Bro, can’t we talk it out? Feng Shao’s got a dinner planned for you later—a gift for you, Brother Ji. He always speaks highly of you… No need for this tension.”

The Shamate crew turned to stare. Old Rooster spat on the floor, grinning. “And who the hell are *you*? Your boss hasn’t spoken—why’s a little bastard like you butting in?”

Feng Shao gripped my sleeve. His hand shook. *Bro, just go home later. You don’t belong here. Trying to befriend mad dogs? That’s just dumb.*

I raised my hands helplessly. Old Rooster ignored me, grabbed Feng Shao’s arm, and dragged him forward with a chuckle. “C’mere. Don’t be scared. Let’s have a little chat, fucker…”

Feng Shao’s grip on my sleeve trembled again. I sighed, watching him helplessly.

*Guess I’ll volunteer to take the fall today.*

“Young Master,” I said calmly, “Uncle Wang just asked where you were. He worries you go out without guards. Need me to call him?”

Old Rooster paused, took a step back, circled Feng Shao slowly. “Oh? Guards? Real fancy, huh.”

Feng Shao’s body trembled faintly despite his cold face. Old Rooster grinned. “Remember? You said you felt too soft. Wanted to be tough. Came to *me*. I set you up with these brothers! Everything you have is because of me! And now you talk back? You ungrateful little shit!”

*Yeah, right,* I thought. *Without you, he’d be soaring to heaven. What bullshit.*

Feng Shao stared at the floor, silent.

Old Rooster ranted like a disappointed elder. Others stepped in to calm him. Still fuming from the slight, he turned to me, grinning. “You’re Feng Shao’s little brother?”

“Yeah,” I smiled. “He’s always looked out for me…”

Hands in pockets, he swayed close. “Did he teach you? When elders talk, you shut your fucking mouth and stand quiet?”

*Yep. The heat’s on me now.*

I backed up with a nervous grin, hands raised. “Bro, I just stepped in ’cause my boss was in trouble. My bad for speaking up. Let’s eat peacefully today… You’re a big shot. No need to bother with me.”

He stood before me, grinning—then swung a slap at my face. I dodged. “Bro, c’mon…”

The crowd laughed. Flustered, he forced a chuckle, turned back. “Why do I hate your face so damn much? Take another step back, motherfucker!”

Smart move? Backing up. I kept smiling, retreating toward the exit. Almost to the edge—when a Shamate thug patted my back, shoved me forward. “Hey hey, stay put. It’ll be over soon.”

Feng Shao stood aside, head bowed, refusing to look.

I froze with a bitter smile, scanning escape routes from the corner of my eye. The Shamate crew lit cigarettes, thinking I’d surrendered. Old Rooster approached again, swung—missed. Laughter erupted. Enraged, he yelled, “You wanna die today?!”

I kept backing toward the door, still grinning. He charged, kicked my stomach—right where Brother Long’s knee had hit days ago. White-hot pain. *Okay, you’re pushing it.* I grabbed his foot, flipped him. He stumbled back ten steps and crashed into a rack of cues, snapping them.

The Shamate crew surged to their feet, closing in. Feng Shao stared, stunned. I shot him a smile. Old Rooster scrambled up, snatched a broken cue half, swung it hard—and charged.

The stick spun toward me. I blocked instinctively. *Thwack!* Pain shot up my arm. He lunged, fist slamming my face.

I staggered back two steps.

Blood welled in my gums. I spat a bloody glob, lifted my head with a grin—

*You really think I’m a sick cat ’cause I stay quiet?*

He raised a foot to kick my face. I slapped it away. He stumbled. I rushed forward—*thud!*—kicked him hard against the pool table.

He screamed, cursing wildly. I grabbed his collar, raining punches. He hammered my head. I took a few hits, slapped his face again.

I’d said it: I’ve got zero patience for people who don’t listen.

They’ve got one name: assholes.

A shout behind me—*thump!*—a kick to my back. I crashed onto the table, pain exploding in my lower back. Dizzy, I turned—*crack!*—a fist to my temple. Darkness flashed. The thug who’d shoved me earlier fumbled for a baton. I kicked him down, red-eyed, slapped his face twice. He howled.

As I raised my hand again, the whole group charged. A blow to my temple. Blackout. Next thing—I was on the floor. The thug I’d slapped kicked my gut. Dull agony.

I curled tight, arms shielding my head. Old injuries from Brother Long flared. Head pounding. Consciousness fading. Blurs of fists and kicks from every direction.

Minutes passed. Voices jeered. Two held my arms. Hair yanked. Head jerked up. A sharp sting—another slap.

Eyes swollen shut, vision blurred. I rolled my eyes weakly.

Held upright, Old Rooster groaned as he stood—like fragile glass. He rubbed his waist, squatted before me, grinning through pain. “Kid… you’re finished.”

I stared at the floor. And laughed.

He stood abruptly, snatched a baton, strode over.

*Click.* He flicked it open, smiled—

I closed my eyes.

*Damn. Didn’t end up in hospital after Brother Long… but here? With this trash?*

*Guess I’ll be staying awhile…*

“You lay a hand on him,” a gravelly voice cut through the hall, “and you lose that hand.”

Old Rooster froze. Face twitched. Turned toward the door. The Shamate crew swiveled. Even Liu, head bowed nearby, shuddered and looked up.

Held fast, I couldn’t turn—but my heart jolted. I let out a shaky sigh.