Chapter Fifty-Eight: The HEI Society of the New Era

Zheng Long felt a bit dazed; he couldn’t understand where these timid-looking fools suddenly found the courage to confront him head-on. He wasn’t particularly distressed over his father’s brand new car being wrecked—the repair costs would be extracted from those little thugs several times over, after all.

Steeling himself, Zheng Long instructed the driver, Li Yong, who also doubled as his father’s attendant, to get out and keep an eye on the boys, lest they make a run for it. Li Yong was burly and heavily tattooed, wearing nothing but a short-sleeved shirt in the dead of winter. He opened the door, grabbed a leather jacket from the passenger seat, and went to the trunk, pulling out a steel pipe wrapped at one end with cloth. He followed Zheng Long toward the Audi.

Zheng Long was still on the phone, “Brother Biao, where are you?”

“I’m almost onto the airport expressway. Where are you?”

“Brother Biao, as soon as you exit the airport, you’ll see me. Those little bastards crashed my father’s car. Hurry up.” Brother Biao was his father’s right-hand man, known in the underworld as Tiger Biao. Back in the days when he helped with the demolition business, he did quite a few ruthless things; his most legendary feat was capturing the boss of South City, Old Sixth Li, and severing his Achilles tendon. But those were deeds from more than twenty years ago. Nowadays, it wasn’t about who had the most men or fought the hardest—it was about money, about connections.

Cheng Xiaoyu sent a text to Su Weilan, telling her their current location. Su Weilan replied quickly, telling him not to clash with the other side until she arrived.

Cheng Xiaoyu hadn’t even put his phone in his pocket when he heard the car door rattle. Turning to look out the window, he saw Zheng Long kick the driver’s side door. Beside Zheng Long stood a hulking man holding a steel pipe. Cheng Xiaoyu remained calm, but Wang Dongliang was utterly dumbfounded, muttering, “What do we do now?” All his life, he’d been a model student, awarded countless merit certificates, never once involved in a fight, let alone anything resembling the underworld. In his mind, in a safe and harmonious China, how could such gangsterism exist?

Cheng Xiaoyu patted Wang Dongliang’s shoulder, reassuring him, “It’s fine. They hit us—we’re owed compensation for repairs.”

Wang Dongliang had lost all courage to play the hero; his face was forlorn. “Brother, please, you can see they’re trouble. Take a step back, keep the peace. Why provoke them? We could’ve just driven away, but now look at this mess. You don’t even know who they are, and you just charge ahead—I’m doomed, and this is our company car.”

Cheng Xiaoyu smiled, ignoring Zheng Long’s pounding on the window, and calmly said, “If he messes with me, it’s nothing. But if he dares target my sister, I’ll make him pay.”

Su Yuxi, wearing headphones, didn’t hear Cheng Xiaoyu’s words.

Wang Dongliang hesitated, “She’s your real sister?”

Cheng Xiaoyu paused, then nodded.

Wang Dongliang suggested, “Should we go out and fight first? We outnumber them now—might as well get our money’s worth.”

Cheng Xiaoyu couldn’t fathom Wang Dongliang’s sudden change, but he was a poor fighter himself. Still, if they didn’t go out soon, Zheng Long looked ready to break the window. He nodded, “Let’s go see what’s happening.”

Cheng Xiaoyu opened the door and pushed Zheng Long, who was hammering at the window, off balance. Zheng Long staggered back, regained his footing, and pointed at Cheng Xiaoyu, “You little punk, you’ve got guts. You crashed Lord Zheng’s car. I’ll make sure you suffer.”

The wind in Beijing was fierce in February. Cheng Xiaoyu closed the car door, buttoned his coat, and replied unhurriedly, “I’ve already called the traffic police. They’ll be here soon. You rear-ended us, you’re fully at fault. What’s with the swagger?”

Zheng Long strode over and patted Cheng Xiaoyu’s face, “You know, I like your clueless stupidity. If the police could solve everything, what would we gangsters be for?” He clearly took pride in his underworld status, relishing the thrill of trampling others’ dignity.

Cheng Xiaoyu grabbed Zheng Long’s hand to stop him from continuing, smiling, “You just slapped me three times. You’ll regret it.”

Zheng Long laughed, tapping his own head, “I won’t hit you, but I’ll show you how scary an educated thug can be.”

Wang Dongliang stepped forward, raising his voice, “How dare you act so arrogantly under the emperor’s nose? This is a society governed by law. We’ll settle everything legally.”

Zheng Long heard police sirens approaching. He glanced back, sneered at Wang Dongliang, “Just wait, I’ll teach you what law really means.”

Wang Dongliang heard the sirens too; his anxiety eased a touch as he looked back, surprised at the speed of emergency response. He snapped, “Don’t get cocky. You think the police station belongs to your family? I’m sworn brothers with Director Wang from East City—I’ll call him right now.”

Zheng Long kicked Wang Dongliang’s leg, “Go ahead and call. Be sure to tell him whose son’s car you crashed.”

Wang Dongliang tried to dodge but failed. Seeing the police arrive, he shouted, “How can you hit someone after crashing into their car?”

The two police vans marked ‘110’ screeched to a halt. The doors opened, and seven or eight men poured out, reeking of alcohol, dressed in police uniforms but without badges. The only one with a badge remained seated inside.

Leading them was a short, stocky man with a scarred face, wearing a leather jacket over his police uniform. Zheng Long approached, “Brother Biao.”

Cheng Xiaoyu, experienced as he was, immediately recognized them as thugs masquerading as police—auxiliary officers.

A crowd surrounded Cheng Xiaoyu and Wang Dongliang. Wang Dongliang, still clueless, shouted, “What are you doing? What do you want?”

Cheng Xiaoyu himself wasn’t particularly afraid, but he worried for Su Yuxi still inside the car.

Scarface Biao swung his baton and asked Zheng Long, “Just these two?”

Zheng Long replied, “There’s a girl and a black guy in the car. Don’t touch the girl!”

Hearing this, Cheng Xiaoyu felt slightly relieved. Scarface Biao then struck Wang Dongliang on the head with his baton, “Why are you shouting? Idiot. Did I give you permission?”

Blood immediately streamed down Wang Dongliang’s forehead. He clutched his head, silent, but Cheng Xiaoyu saw the fury in his eyes.

“IDs—hand over your ID cards,” Brother Biao ordered his men to collect Cheng Xiaoyu’s and Wang Dongliang’s identification.

They had no choice but to comply.

Brother Biao then directed, “A-De, check if the Audi still runs. A-Hui, call a tow truck for the boss’s car.”

A small man climbed into the Audi, shifted gears, pressed the accelerator, drove a few meters, and rolled down the window, “Boss, the Audi’s fine, still runs.” The Audi’s trunk was deformed, the taillight shattered. The BMW, which had taken the front impact, had its airbags deployed and was far more damaged.

Scarface pointed at Cheng Xiaoyu and Wang Dongliang, “You two, get in the car. Come with us to the station to assist with the investigation.”

Without room for refusal, they kicked the black driver out of the Audi and shoved Cheng Xiaoyu and Wang Dongliang into the back seat. Zheng Long took the front passenger seat.

Cheng Xiaoyu glanced at Su Yuxi, still calm and listening to music. He gently bumped her shoulder, “Are you okay?”

Su Yuxi took off her headphones, “What’s wrong? Has Second Brother arrived?”

Cheng Xiaoyu shook his head. Su Yuxi frowned, took a copy of Walter Benjamin’s ‘Theses on the Philosophy of History’ from her backpack, and started reading.

Zheng Long adjusted the rearview mirror to see Su Yuxi, then leered, “Miss, what’s your name?”

Su Yuxi ignored him.

Zheng Long chuckled, “She’s got a temper—I like that. Here’s the deal: you’ll compensate me for a brand new BMW 760, and this matter ends here. If you can’t, you’ll see how I deal with you.”

Cheng Xiaoyu dismissed him entirely, messaging Su Weilan that they’d been abducted.

Su Weilan asked, “Are you in any danger?”

Cheng Xiaoyu replied, “Not really. They’re taking us to a police station.”

Su Weilan answered, “Then it’s nothing. Go ahead. Send me the name of the station when you arrive.”

Cheng Xiaoyu replied, “Okay,” then leaned back and closed his eyes to rest.

Wang Dongliang was numb at this point—never in his life had he gotten into such trouble just for chasing a girl. He couldn’t believe it, and started contacting colleagues to see if anyone could help. As for Cheng Xiaoyu, who would bear the responsibility, he had no expectations.

After more than twenty minutes, winding through alleys, they arrived at a small courtyard with a sign reading “Wangqiao Town Police Station.” Cheng Xiaoyu quickly sent the station name to Su Weilan.

Su Weilan replied, “Got it.”

Just as Cheng Xiaoyu slipped his phone into his pocket, a few auxiliary officers dragged him from the car, pushing and shoving him into a room. As soon as he entered, a kick landed on the back of his knee, almost knocking him to the ground. Scarface’s voice barked, “Squat down. Handcuff these two perpetrators to the radiator.”

Cheng Xiaoyu muttered inwardly about these professional thugs, then looked around for Su Yuxi, but she was nowhere to be seen. Fixing his gaze on Scarface, he demanded, “Where’s my sister? Where have you taken her? I warn you, don’t touch her!”

Scarface slammed his baton onto Cheng Xiaoyu’s back, “This is a police station, not a marketplace. Who gave you permission to shout?” Though Cheng Xiaoyu was tough, the forceful blow stung badly. But his fear for Su Yuxi outweighed the pain. He shouted, “Damn it, my grandfather is Su Dongshan and still lives in Jiubaoshan. If any of you bastards dare touch my sister, I’ll make you wish you were dead!”

The crowd in the station laughed. Scarface swung his baton again, “My grandfather is Puyi, and I still have a bed in the Forbidden City—what can you do?”

A fifty-something officer with a badge sitting at a desk overheard the exchange and paid attention—Su Dongshan had been mayor of the capital, a minister, now retired with vice-national rank privileges. The older generation in Beijing still knew the name. He quickly asked Scarface what was going on. Scarface replied, “These punks deliberately crashed Mr. Zheng’s new car. We’ve checked—the Audi belongs to a small web company. The older guy is an employee there, no background. The fat one is from S City; his household registration isn’t flagged.” (Children of high officials are marked in Beijing’s registration records.)

The officer asked, “What about his sister?”

Scarface replied, “She’s fine—Xiao Long is just chatting with her in the car. He won’t do anything to her.”

Cheng Xiaoyu was frantic, rattling the radiator with his handcuffs. Ignoring everything else, he kicked the nearest auxiliary officer, yelling, “Unlock me now!” To him, nothing was more shameful than being unable to protect his own family.

The auxiliary officer staggered, nearly falling, then swung his baton at Cheng Xiaoyu. Cheng Xiaoyu tried to block, and soon a group began beating him with fists and feet.

Su Dongshan’s name kept echoing in the old officer’s mind, but the station chief was sworn brothers with Zheng Long’s father, so he couldn’t offend them. He could only try to mediate, “Enough, enough. Do you want money or lives?”

The auxiliary officers stopped, cursing under their breath.

Cheng Xiaoyu spat blood and pleaded with the old officer, “Uncle, please, help me check on my sister. I really am Su Dongshan’s grandson. If you help me, I’ll never forget it. These bastards are finished. Please look after my sister—if anything happens to her, this little station can’t handle it.”

The old officer sighed and went out. Cheng Xiaoyu stood hunched, anxious. Wang Dongliang, seeing Cheng Xiaoyu beaten so badly, squatted obediently, not daring to move. The auxiliary officers crowded around Wang Dongliang, “This won’t be settled so easily. You need to replace the car. When you transfer two million, we’ll let you go.”

Wang Dongliang’s face was pale, “A BMW 740 isn’t worth two million, is it?”

Scarface replied, “There’s also compensation for emotional distress, lost wages, and towing fees. You think we respond for free?”

The group burst out laughing, “Boss can be a lawyer now—what a spiel!”

Scarface’s face twitched, “Lawyers charge by the hour; this is a one-time deal. Hurry up and do your business. You think you’ll get rich sitting around here?”

Just then, a scream rang out from outside, making Cheng Xiaoyu’s heart race. Listening closely, he realized it was a man’s voice and felt slightly relieved.

Everyone in the room heard the scream and rushed outside. Cheng Xiaoyu looked through the window but saw nothing, cursing Su Weilan for being so slow.

Then he heard shouts in the courtyard—voices urging a young woman not to act impulsively. Cheng Xiaoyu’s anxiety deepened. He yanked hard at the radiator; perhaps it had restrained too many people, or maybe the old nails were loose and poor quality, but he managed to pull one end free.

He urged Wang Dongliang to help. Wang Dongliang protested, “Xiao Cheng, don’t be rash. I’ve already called for help. Don’t worry, your sister will be fine.”

Cheng Xiaoyu ignored him, gripping the radiator, shouting as he pulled at the other end. Finally, he tore it loose and, holding the radiator, dragged Wang Dongliang outside. Wang Dongliang cried, “Xiao Cheng, are you crazy?” but could only help carry it as he struggled to keep up.

As they emerged, they saw a group clustered around the Audi. Zheng Long’s ugly face was pressed against the window; Su Yuxi had one hand on his neck, the other gripping his left middle finger, stretching his arm straight and pinning him against the right door. The car was locked from inside, so the crowd could only watch helplessly. Cheng Xiaoyu remembered then—Su Yuxi’s martial arts rank was high; the family had a tatami-lined training room that was her domain.

Seeing Su Yuxi unharmed, Cheng Xiaoyu finally breathed a sigh of relief. His right hand, holding the radiator, throbbed with pain. Looking down, he saw a large patch of skin had been scraped off, deep enough to reveal the fat beneath.

In February’s gray Beijing sky, a flock of sparrows perched on the crooked tree outside the courtyard, startled into flight by the cars.

Just as everyone in the courtyard was at a loss, a distant police siren grew closer. They assumed the station chief, out playing cards, had returned and paid it no mind.

But when a black Mercedes S600 turned into the yard, followed by a black Hongqi 5 and a Land Rover Range Rover, all bearing police lights and the blue-and-white livery of the Inspectorate, the noisy little police station was instantly plunged into silence.