Chapter 6 – Retaliation

Zhou Liao had barely finished speaking when Qin Zhan punched him squarely in the face. For a split second, Zhou Liao’s mind went blank, as if he couldn’t comprehend that anyone would dare strike him.

“You fucking bastard, Qin Zhan!”

Regaining his senses, Zhou Liao didn’t even drop his cigarette before lunging forward, grabbing Qin Zhan by the throat and shoving him against the wall. The two men were locked in a frenzied brawl, each punch aimed at the other’s vital points.

Suddenly, a scream pierced the night air. The instant Zhou Liao turned his head toward the sound, Qin Zhan’s next punch landed squarely on his brow bone, momentarily blinding him.

“What’s wrong? Why are you screaming?”

“It sounds like there’s a fight over there,” a girl whispered, her hand covering her mouth in fear.

When the beam of a flashlight swept over them, Zhou Liao ignored the pain searing through his body. He shoved Qin Zhan aside and quickly slipped through a side door to escape.

“No one’s here?”

“But I swear I just saw something…”

“Maybe you saw a ghost?” The security guard swept the corridor with his flashlight again.

……

On the way home, Zhou Liao felt as if every bone in his body, especially his brow bones, was about to shatter from the pain. He gasped for breath the entire way. The moment he collapsed onto his bed, he nearly bit through his lip.

His phone buzzed incessantly. Zhou Liao glanced at it—a video call from the twins. He frowned impatiently and hung up, ignoring the barrage of messages. Instead, he dialed Chen Xian.

“What do you want so late?”

Hearing Chen Xian’s labored breathing, Zhou Liao knew exactly what he was doing.

“What was the name of that bar we went to last time? The one we went to after racing?”

“You’re calling me just to ask that? Couldn’t you have texted?” Chen Xian, caught in the middle of his activities, rolled his eyes.

“Just answer the question.”

“Player. What’s wrong?”

“Do you know the marketing manager at that bar?”

“…What are you planning?”

Zhou Liao narrowed his eyes slightly. “Ask him what days and times Qin Zhan works. How long are his shifts?”

The rhythmic thumping on the other end slowed abruptly, and Chen Xian grew wary. “Why do you need to know that?”

“Just get me the information.”

A moment later, Zhou Liao received a message from Chen Xian—a screenshot of the marketing team’s manager’s work schedule. Soon after, Chen Xian sent a voice message: “He usually works weekends, but sometimes helps out during the week when extra hands are needed. It just so happens Qin Zhan is covering a shift tomorrow.”

Zhou Liao saw Qin Zhan’s shift on the schedule ending at 2 AM. He licked the blood that had seeped onto his lip.

“Got it.”

……

“Then I’m heading off work now. Qin Zhan, just throw this trash out for me,” Ollie said, glancing at Qin Zhan, who was still cleaning up after changing. “Are you sure your injuries are okay?”

Qin Zhan shook his head dismissively. Ollie didn’t press further. The scars he’d seen on Qin Zhan’s body last time had nearly scared him to death—they looked like he’d been through some kind of abuse. Now there were fresh cuts on his cheek and neck.

“Oh, okay, I’ll head home then.”

“Mm.”

Once Ollie left, Qin Zhan was alone in the bar’s back room. He tied up the foul-smelling trash, did a final check, and turned off the lights. The bar rarely stayed open late during the week due to the lack of customers.

The narrow alley was pitch-black, devoid of streetlights. After tossing the trash, he pulled his hat brim low and headed home, just as he always did.

But barely two steps into his turn, a violent kick to the back of his knee sent him crashing to the ground. The force struck his bones, forcing him to kneel almost instantly.

Before Qin Zhan could rise, his hands were pinned down. A rough shoe stomped squarely onto his face, plunging his vision into near-total darkness. Only the grinding pain of the sole grinding against his skin burned like fire.

“Look who we meet again,” a voice sneered.

As the shoe lifted, Qin Zhan’s vision gradually cleared—only to be immediately assaulted by a blinding beam of light.

Zhou Liao, a bandage still clinging to his eyebrow, crouched down, his phone’s flashlight illuminating the filthy mud coating Qin Zhan’s face.

Beside him, a man knelt on Qin Zhan’s spine, the sickening crack of bone echoing through the alley. Qin Zhan immediately let out a muffled groan.

“Brother Liao, what do we do?” The man looked up at Zhou Liao, his tone ingratiating.

Zhou Liao had merely casually mentioned the previous night’s dispute that morning, without giving any specific instructions. However, his subordinates, who were always eager to please him, naturally understood when to curry favor.

Even with Qin Zhan’s formidable strength, it was impossible for him to contend with six or seven men while restrained. He narrowed his eyes at Zhou Liao, not uttering a word.

Zhou Liao remained silent, snapping a photo of him. He then held the screen up to Qin Zhan’s face: “Good expression. Want me to send it to Bai Ling?”

Qin Zhan stared at the photo of his profile, the red marks from the shoe’s heel still visible, but he refused to speak.

“Brother Liao is talking to you, didn’t you hear him?” The man pinning Qin Zhan down pressed his knee harder into his back and grabbed his hair, yanking his head back to force him to look up. “Hmm?”

Qin Zhan could only feel the excruciating pain of his scalp and spine threatening to shatter. The men beside him tightened their grip on his arms, making even simple bending motions nearly impossible. He gazed at the bruises on Zhou Liao’s face, his voice utterly indifferent.

“Whatever you want.”

This indifference infuriated Zhou Liao. Throughout his life, he had been the center of attention, showered with attention and deference by nearly everyone. Even those who secretly resented him and gossiped behind his back would crumble after a few kicks, begging for mercy through tears and snot. It was utterly boring.

But Qin Zhan, this sewer rat—lowly, contemptible, and yet refusing to resist or beg for mercy even when beaten—was a rare find for Zhou Liao. After a few rounds of this, both his excitement and rage had been fully ignited.

“Whatever I want?”

Zhou Liao didn’t give any signal, but as soon as the words left his mouth, one of his cronies, eager to prove himself, slapped Qin Zhan across the face. The force of the blow left Qin Zhan’s ears ringing and a metallic taste of blood flooding his mouth.

Zhou Liao watched as Qin Zhan’s cheek swelled rapidly from the slap. He froze for a moment, then burst into raucous laughter. Violence, the most primal form of release etched into human DNA, once ignited, sends euphoric blood surging through every limb and bone.

“How pathetic. Don’t blame me for this,” Zhou Liao said, rising to lean against the wall as he lit a cigarette. “This is the consequence of your ‘whatever I want.'”

……

The sound of slaps and fists striking bone echoed through the silent alley. No one knew what was happening here, and at some point, someone picked up a broken liquor bottle and smashed it over Qin Zhan’s head.

Qin Zhan, who had been silent, began to let out muffled groans of unbearable pain. Zhou Liao felt even the nicotine in his lungs felt refreshing.

Even the sounds a woman made in bed couldn’t compare to the painful moans Qin Zhan now uttered. Zhou Liao stood to the side, watching coldly as the others fawned over him.

After about the time it took to smoke a cigarette, Zhou Liao leaned against the wall, observing Qin Zhan’s swollen face. The man was nearly unconscious, yet his eyes remained unchanged—at most, a weary blend of numbness and detachment, tinged with a hint of pain.

“You really can take a beating,” Zhou Liao remarked, having been merely an observer until now. He walked over and nudged Qin Zhan’s face with his toe, then tilted the man’s chin up. Qin Zhan was covered in filth and blood from the beating. “Qin Zhan, now who’s the dirtier one between us?”

Qin Zhan stared at him, his stomach churning violently. The persistent ringing in his ears made it nearly impossible to hear Zhou Liao’s words. He raised his eyes, his thoughts struggling to focus, when a searing pain seared his neck, instantly snapping him back to reality. The burn area was smaller than before, yet it still sent shivers through his entire body.

Sizzle—

The acrid stench of burning ash and smoke filled Qin Zhan’s nostrils. The skin around his adam’s apple quickly developed a red, swollen burn mark from the low-temperature burn, which swiftly blistered and began to fester.

Zhou Liao tilted his head, ground the extinguished cigarette butt against the other man’s skin, and tossed it aside. “No ashtray? Guess I’ll have to use you to put it out.”

He didn’t bother waiting for a response from the man beneath him. Standing up, he brushed the ash off his pants. “Oh, right.”

“Bai Ling’s mother is a full-time housewife. Her father is the deputy director of Lin Yun Hospital, who embezzled 4.8 million yuan in medical bribes and has been keeping a mistress on the side for years.”

“You get my drift? You probably don’t want a girl whose family’s been reduced to nothing, do you?”

In the pitch-black alley, no one knew a man lay sprawled inside.

Qin Zhan had no idea when Zhou Liao and the others had left. When he regained consciousness, he rolled over and vomited sour bile all over the ground. The persistent burning pain on his skin made his scalp tingle numbly. The spine that had been crushed felt like it was tearing apart as he arched his back.

A light rain suddenly began to fall, soaking him completely. The raindrops stung unbearably as they struck the burned areas, making even the act of swallowing—the movement of his adam’s apple—excruciating.

His phone suddenly lit up on the cold, filthy concrete, displaying a text message: a verification code sent to the wrong number in the middle of the night. Beneath it lay a dozen unread messages.

Qin Zhan knew they were reminders to pay his loan.