Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Guardian

The veteran police officer, upon seeing the Beijing A80 license plate at the front of the Mercedes S600, knew trouble had arrived. Then, spotting the second car—a black Hongqi 5 with a Beijing A6 plate—he was so startled he hurried to call the station chief.

Wang Dongliang, seeing the impressive display, broke into a pleased smile and said to Cheng Xiaoyu, “See, my friends really come through for me. They’ve brought reinforcements.” But then he thought, wait, I only made a call ten minutes ago. How could they have arrived so quickly?

Su Weilan stepped out of the Hongqi 5. At twenty-eight, he held a nominal post at Shanghe Records’ Beijing branch and, together with friends, ran a media company that dealt in book rights, organized celebrity concerts, and invested in films. With a powerful family behind him, he had made a name for himself in the capital.

Today, Zhou Peipei had called her father, which gave Su Weilan the chance to show off by driving his grandfather’s Hongqi with the Beijing A6 plate. But as soon as he entered the cramped, shabby police station, he felt like he was wearing brocade robes at night—what a display of power, all for dealing with a petty squabble.

Though Su Weilan wasn’t on the official career track, he liked to present himself as if he belonged to the system, dressing in a tailored black Zhongshan suit and imitating his father’s mannerisms and speech. As he got out of the car, he glanced around. He didn’t know Cheng Xiaoyu, and the stares from everyone in the courtyard made him feel like he’d walked into a pyramid scheme den. With no other options, he raised his voice and called out, “Xiaoyu, where are you?”

Su Yuxi was still trapped in the car, surrounded by people, while Su Weiran hadn’t yet appeared. Cheng Xiaoyu, finally at ease, called back loudly, “Second Brother, I’m over here!” and waved his unshackled left hand.

At that moment, everyone realized the two of them had come out of the building. But the imposing presence of the three cars had cowed them into silence; no one dared speak.

The veteran officer, having called the chief, saw for himself that this chubby kid had powerful connections and quickly moved to unlock the handcuffs from Cheng Xiaoyu and Wang Dongliang.

Cheng Xiaoyu pressed a strip of skin still dangling from his wrist against the bleeding wound, grimacing in pain as he walked toward Su Weilan, trailed by the old officer.

Two men in crisp inspector uniforms, both in their thirties and clearly ex-military, emerged from the inspector’s car. One asked the old officer, “Who’s your station chief? Where is he?”

The officer scurried over and bowed, “He’s out on a call, but he’ll be back right away.”

The other man, having stepped out from the passenger seat, asked, “Which district has jurisdiction here?”

“Shunyi District, sir,” the officer replied respectfully.

“And your district chief is Fang Yuntao, isn’t he?” the man continued.

The officer’s heart sank. He suspected the chief’s job was as good as gone, but he forced a smile and said, “Yes, that’s right.”

The man turned to his colleague, “Xiao Li, call Fang Yuntao. Tell him he has twenty minutes to get here and deal with this. Is this still a government office? This place is a bandit’s den.”

With that, he climbed back into the car, not the least bit interested in entering the building.

Su Weilan walked over to Cheng Xiaoyu and asked, “Where’s Xiaoxi?”

“She’s still stuck in the car,” Cheng Xiaoyu replied.

Su Weilan headed toward the Audi, with Cheng Xiaoyu following. The auxiliary officers silently parted to let them through, not daring to breathe too loudly. Even those unfamiliar with the license plates could see the row of access passes displayed in the car windows. The last vehicle, a Land Rover, bore a red police security plate—anyone who’d spent time in the capital knew such plates meant the bearer could control traffic at will, and the occupants were all armed.

Su Yuxi, unaware of what was happening outside, had been holding down Zheng Long with a grappling move. Only when Su Weilan knocked on the window did she let go.

Zheng Long thought the girl had been scared and had no idea of the situation outside. He turned, intending to slap her in anger—pain was secondary; it was the humiliation that stung. But before his hand could land, Su Yuxi swung her elbow, catching him in the face and drawing a stream of blood from his nose. Zheng Long clutched his nose in agony, cursing Su Yuxi a thousand times in his mind, plotting how he’d torment her later.

Su Yuxi stepped out of the car. Cheng Xiaoyu immediately darted over, grabbed Zheng Long by the leg, and dragged him out. Though surrounded by Zheng’s henchmen, none dared intervene. Cheng Xiaoyu snatched a baton from a nearby auxiliary officer and began beating Zheng Long, cursing as he did, “You bastard!”

Zheng Long, seeing his cowering lackeys and catching sight of Cheng Xiaoyu and Su Weilan in their imposing attire, finally realized things were spiraling out of his control.

Su Weilan made no move to stop Cheng Xiaoyu. Smiling at Su Yuxi, he asked, “Are you alright, Xiaoxi? Did the little punk try to take liberties with you?”

Su Yuxi stretched her sore arm and replied calmly, “I’m fine. I was trying to call you, but he grabbed for my phone, so I pinned him against the window.”

Seeing the tables turned, Wang Dongliang also took the opportunity to kick Zheng Long a few times, muttering, “Serves you right.”

Su Weilan, noting the wounds on Cheng Xiaoyu’s hand and the blood on Wang Dongliang’s head, said, “Xiaoyu, you and your friend should stop now. Let me handle this. I’ll have someone take you to the hospital first to treat your injuries and get a medical report.” Without waiting for their response, he directed them to get into the Mercedes.

The driver, Wu Fan, was Secretary to Uncle Su Changqing, and the car was Su Changqing’s own, with official red plates for national and security use. After a quick word from Su Weilan, the Mercedes took them to a nearby hospital. Wu Fan didn’t say a word during the drive, and once at the hospital, he managed the arrangements before stepping out to make a call.

At the emergency room, Cheng Xiaoyu’s wrist was stitched and bandaged; it would be painful to play instruments for some time. Wang Dongliang’s injuries were less severe; his head was wrapped in gauze, making him look a bit ridiculous.

Later, Su Weilan called Cheng Xiaoyu to report the outcome. Zheng Long, with a criminal record, had been arrested and would be prosecuted for multiple charges—likely facing at least five years, and if the case was defined as organized crime with him as the ringleader, he could be looking at sixteen or seventeen years. The chief of Wangqiao Town Police Station was suspended, Zheng Jun was forbidden from leaving Jincheng and had to report daily to the local station for investigation, and the rest—including Biaozi—were detained as suspected members of a criminal gang. If the charges stuck, they’d all be eating prison food for over a decade. Zheng Jun had immediately written a three-million-yuan check as compensation for Cheng Xiaoyu and Wang Dongliang’s medical and car repair expenses.

Receiving this call, Cheng Xiaoyu experienced firsthand what power truly meant.

There is no such thing as absolute fairness in this world; all injustice stems from one’s lack of ability. If Cheng Xiaoyu had been just an ordinary person today, he would have had to swallow his anger and avoid trouble. Law is not a weapon but a suit of exquisite paper armor.

Everyone has something or someone they wish to protect, but when you are unable to do so, you can’t help but blame yourself for being useless. That was how Cheng Xiaoyu felt at this moment.

He found Wang Dongliang, told him to get the car and take it to the 4S dealership for repairs. He would cover all expenses and compensate Wang Dongliang further.

Wang Dongliang had already called his friends in the system to recount the whole extraordinary incident. When he mentioned the car with the Beijing A6 plate, his friends accused him of bragging—there were only two hundred such plates in the entire city. But when he mentioned Su Dongshan’s name, they finally believed him. This made Wang Dongliang realize the depths of Cheng Xiaoyu’s background. Later, when he looked up Cheng Xiaoyu online, he discovered he was that wealthy young man who had crashed a Ferrari, making him even more apprehensive, worried he might have inadvertently offended him. So when Cheng Xiaoyu offered further compensation, he hurriedly refused, saying, “No need, the car isn’t badly damaged. And there’s insurance—no need to worry about the repair costs.” He then stammered, “Will I have trouble getting the car back?”

Cheng Xiaoyu replied offhandedly, “That tall guy, Zheng Long, has been arrested and will probably get over a decade. The rest are being prosecuted as members of a gang. If they all have records, the sentences won’t be light. As for the station chief, whom I never even saw, he’s already out.”

This made Wang Dongliang regret ever getting mixed up with these thugs. Forcing a smile, he said, “Brother Cheng, I hope you don’t mind me calling you that. If I did anything to offend you earlier, please forgive me! Whenever you have time—maybe bring your sister, or just come yourself—let me treat you to a meal at the Royal Hotel!”

Cheng Xiaoyu deliberately exaggerated the outcome for a reason. Ever since learning on the plane that Wang Dongliang was an executive at MiaoPu.com and had connections to the University Internet Alliance, Cheng Xiaoyu had been plotting—he wanted to start a social network, and Wang Dongliang was the perfect entry point.

This winter, he had recorded a song he planned to upload to a music site. While researching the nation’s three major music platforms, he realized that social networks like Facebook had not yet emerged. With the coming era of smartphones, this would be a goldmine. Initially, he saw it as just a money-making venture, not something urgent. But after today’s ordeal, he changed his mind—he needed to arm himself with power and wealth. All beautiful things invite covetous eyes; he didn’t want to have to rely on others for protection ever again. At heart, he wasn’t a child anymore; he felt he should shoulder responsibility like an adult.

With a smile, Cheng Xiaoyu said, “Don’t be so formal, Brother Liang. Just call me Xiaoyu. Our meeting is fate. I’ll treat you next time, and I happen to have some questions to ask. I’ll pay you for your time, don’t refuse. My brother stepped in, and they compensated us three million, but honestly, it wasn’t just because of him—the Beijing A6 plate scared them stiff. Su Weilan does well, but he’s not that powerful.”

Wang Dongliang was terrified. To pay three million and still face prison? His attitude toward Cheng Xiaoyu became even more deferential. “Of course, Young Master Yu! If you need anything, just ask. If there’s anything I can help with, just say the word.”

Whatever was asked, Wang Dongliang resolved to comply without hesitation—these people were not to be trifled with.

Cheng Xiaoyu could guess Wang Dongliang’s thoughts, but to Wang Dongliang, this was also an opportunity. Cheng Xiaoyu had no intention of comforting him—intimidation alone can’t win loyalty; interests matter more.

He still wanted to talk with Wang Dongliang, but his phone rang. Seeing it was Aunt Zhou, he answered at once. She had arrived at the hospital to see him. Cheng Xiaoyu assured her he was fine and would come out right away, then told Wang Dongliang he would be in touch tomorrow, said his goodbyes, and left the hospital.