Chapter Eight: The Fat Man’s Destiny

Xu Le was dumbfounded. Hong Chen took a swig of alcohol, glanced at him, and said, "It happened just an hour ago. It's that much of a coincidence—don't doubt it. My days of living off my wife are over. I'm preparing for a divorce!"

Seeing Hong Chen's nonchalant attitude, Xu Le could only offer a silent, bitter smile, unsure how to comfort him. Even though Xu Le himself had been with his girlfriend for seven years without marrying, Hong Chen had already married and was now getting divorced—their personalities couldn't be more different. Besides, Hong Chen had once confided to him that he'd been living off his wife, so this was both heartbreak and unemployment rolled into one.

Comparatively, Hong Chen's situation was more tragic, but they shared one thing: both had returned to the ranks of single men.

As Xu Le sat in silence, Hong Chen handed him a bottle, clinking it against his own. "Drink up. Let's drown our sorrows tonight. We won't leave until we're drunk. Let the anger fuel our drinking."

"Cheers!" Xu Le responded crisply, tipping the bottle back and drinking straight from it.

In no time, they'd each finished off two bottles. Even for men with their tolerance, they needed to take a break. Hong Chen picked up a slice of beef, chewing as he asked, "So, Fatty, have you found a job yet?"

"Not yet. I gave myself a two-week break. Just started sending out resumes these past two weeks—only interviewed at one place so far."

"As for your girlfriend, that's your own problem. I'm no matchmaker, and I'm not a pimp either, so I can't help you there. But about work, I do have a connection. Hongcheng Group just started up a new branch. I have a classmate there. With your people skills, you could manage the business development or marketing department. Interested?"

Hong Chen had known Xu Le for more than a year—comrades in games, friends in life. Within his ability, he never hesitated to lend a hand.

"Are you serious?"

"What do you think?"

"Haha, I'll send my resume when I get home. And don't be so formal—I've got sixteen hundred left on me. Order whatever you want tonight—just leave me a hundred for the ride home."

"Boss, bring us a king crab..."

In the middle section of South Street, there was a makeshift stage, just twenty meters from their stall. Starting at nine, singers would take turns performing—a highlight of the night market.

Each singer performed two songs. If the audience liked what they heard, they'd tip the singer. Special requests cost more—two hundred per song.

It was Friday, so there were more singers than usual. Performances here ran until eleven or twelve, after which the singers would head to other venues. A busy night meant at least five hundred earned, sometimes over a thousand, which was a considerable income for students or amateur singers.

After a male singer finished, a young woman took the stage. She wore a pale long dress—not strikingly beautiful, but she had the fresh, natural look of the girl next door. Cradling her guitar, she sat and became a quietly mesmerizing scene.

Her voice rang out—clear and ethereal, like drifting clouds in the sky or a mountain spring flowing gently.

Xu Le was drawn in by her singing and couldn't help but look toward the stage. Seeing his rapt attention, Hong Chen teased, "Good voice, good looks too, Fatty. Thinking of making a move? If you are, don't hesitate. Opportunities don’t wait."

Xu Le tossed Hong Chen a cigarette, meaning to shut him up. Hong Chen grinned and dropped the subject.

After two songs, the singer rose and bowed to the audience, earning a round of applause, whistles, and good-natured jeers. Seeing Xu Le tip the singer a hundred, Hong Chen joined in the fun and did the same before leaving for the restroom.

He was gone five or six minutes. When he returned, he was stunned.

Where there had been seven or eight tables of patrons near the stage, now everyone had retreated some thirty meters away. Below the stage, Xu Le stood with a bottle in one hand and a chair in the other, his bulky frame shielding the singer behind him. Eight or nine gangsters had them semi-surrounded.

"Go!" Xu Le barked to the singer behind him. In that split second, a blond youth swung a chair at him.

Bang! Xu Le, caught off guard, took the chair to his arm, sending his bottle flying. He ignored the pain, swinging his own chair wildly. The blond was forced back, and the others hesitated, cowed by his fury as Xu Le shouted for the singer to leave.

This heroic scene burned itself into Hong Chen’s mind—who said the fat man lacked courage?

He hesitated only a moment before stomping forward. Xu Le spotted him out of the corner of his eye and shouted, "Don't worry about me—run!"

At that instant, a buzz-cut youth and a tall youth each hurled a beer bottle.

Thud! Xu Le managed to block one, but the other struck his head. The bottle didn't shatter, but the dull impact was clear—and blood instantly ran down his forehead.

Hong Chen wasn’t about to leave Xu Le to fight alone. He forced his way through the mob, opened a path, and reached Xu Le. He glanced at the gash on Xu Le's head and cursed, "Yelling like that, you’re going to split your skull open."

Then he whirled around, his gaze icy as he swept it over the thugs. He gestured behind him, "Fatty, step back!"

"Anyone steps forward, I’ll douse you!" Xu Le didn’t listen but advanced instead, standing shoulder to shoulder with Hong Chen. The singer, too, returned, stepping past Xu Le to the front line. At some point, she’d picked up a red-hot iron wok, half-filled with boiling oil.

The gangsters, ready for a group assault, were truly cowed. It was winter, and while their bodies were well-covered, their faces were not. A splash of boiling oil could leave scars worse than any knife.

Hong Chen glanced at the girl's determined profile, then at her reddened hands tightly gripping the wok despite the heat. He found himself looking at her with new respect—gentle on the outside, iron within, a real fighter.

"Give me the wok and go. Staying will only make things harder for us," Xu Le said, stepping over, his face uncharacteristically grave. The wok’s heat kept him from snatching it away.

The singer’s face was equally stern. She stared straight at the gangsters, refusing to answer.

"Both of you, calm down. Let me handle this—it'll be over quickly." Hong Chen’s expression turned odd for a moment. Normally, he’d be curious to see which of them would back down first, but this was no time for games. In a flash, he slipped into the midst of the thugs.

Xu Le’s eyes reddened. With a howl, he charged in as well.

The singer kept her cool, staying put.

Hong Chen had intended to hold back, but with Xu Le joining the fray, he didn’t bother. In moments, cries of pain rang out as one after another of the thugs fell.

In ten seconds, Hong Chen had flattened seven of them, and Xu Le had taken one down himself. The last, a youth with a silver earring, realized the tide had turned and tried to flee.

Hong Chen kicked a chair, hitting the runner square in the back. The earringed youth sprawled, twitching like a dead fish.

The fight over, the two surveyed the groaning heap of thugs, then looked at each other and laughed.

"The Terror Twins’ first battle—damn, that was a rush!" Xu Le's eyes gleamed with excitement. He punched Hong Chen, "You beast, you’re something else. If I’d known you could fight like that, I wouldn’t have gone so hard."

"Beast, my ass. If you want to say I’m ruled by my hormones, just say it," Hong Chen shot back with an eye roll.

"You're bleeding badly. Let me take you to the hospital," the singer said, putting down the wok and approaching Xu Le, concern and unease replacing the earlier steely courage.

"Sorry for the trouble, miss. I have something urgent to attend to, so let’s go." Seeing Xu Le hesitate, Hong Chen cut in, pulled out a wad of cash and signaled to the stall owner in the distance, tossing the money onto a table, then hurried everyone away.

The onlookers made way, all their eyes fixed on Hong Chen, respect and fear mingling in their gazes.

They walked two hundred meters to a corner to wait for a taxi. While they waited, Hong Chen got the story from Xu Le—it was much as he’d guessed. After her set, the singer was harassed to drink with the thugs. Xu Le, furious, had rushed in to save her. Now, she was tending his wounds—a classic setup for a budding romance.

In truth, Xu Le’s head wound was shallow—Hong Chen could have stopped the bleeding in seconds, but he wasn’t about to play matchmaker. If anything, he felt like sprinkling salt on the wound just to help things along.

"Fatty, here’s a tip: the girl’s untouched, so you’re safe. Her safety’s up to you," Hong Chen whispered as the singer got into the taxi. He gave Xu Le a shove, sending the big man in after her, the hint of a mischievous smile on his lips.

Watching the taxi disappear down the street, Hong Chen lit a cigarette and gazed into the deep night sky. The long night stretched before him, and for a moment, he felt adrift. He pulled out his phone to check the time—only to find two missed calls and two unread text messages.