Yi Leng had loved fighting ever since he was a child. He had both a sharp mind and a strong body, making him quite the anomaly. In elementary school, he was the kind of kid who would receive a "Model Student" certificate in the morning and a disciplinary warning in the afternoon. During high school, he got caught up in a case that led to him being coerced into enrolling at the International Relations Academy.
At the academy, he initially studied intelligence analysis, which was more of a desk job. But after taking an elective in mixed martial arts, he underwent brutal training in lethal combat techniques taught by special forces instructors. These weren't flashy moves, but brutal, efficient techniques designed to kill in a single strike. After a few field missions, he somehow transitioned from an analyst to an operative, becoming a figure akin to James Bond.
During four years of imprisonment, Yi Leng was held on an isolated island near Cape Horn. In this desolate and freezing place, there was little to do, and fights between inmates were a daily occurrence. For thugs like Yin Bingsong, snapping someone's neck was a brag-worthy feat they'd boast about for years. For Yi Leng, it was just a casual part of survival.
Even if the surveillance cameras hadn't been turned off, it wouldn't have mattered. The footage would show Yi Leng seemingly dodging and defending himself, his movements cleverly concealed and seamlessly executed, like action scenes from a Jackie Chan movie.
Before anyone could react or pull out their phones to record, Chef Huang Pi Hu had already dislocated six men's shoulders, bringing the fight to an abrupt end.
The six men groaned in pain, drenched in sweat and clutching their dislocated arms. Fighting was no longer an option.
A Li, however, had recorded the entire scene on her phone. Her heart was racing, and adrenaline coursed through her veins. She was at a loss for words, overwhelmed with excitement.
Meanwhile, Xiao Hong leaned against the doorframe, munching on sunflower seeds and enjoying the spectacle like it was her favorite TV show.
Yin Bingsong, humiliated after his complete defeat, was fuming. As a well-known figure in the local underworld, being taken down so easily in front of his lackeys was a massive blow to his pride. He couldn't let this slide unless he found a way to regain face by defeating the one who had dislocated his arm.
However, with all six of them painfully nursing their dislocated shoulders, putting up a fight was impossible. Still, Yin Bingsong couldn't resist throwing out some harsh words: "Put my arm back in, or I'll kill you!"
Remarkably, Huang Pi Hu complied. Grabbing Yin Bingsong's arm, he applied force. With a "pop", the shoulder was back in place.
Yin Bingsong, still woozy from the alcohol, wasn't thinking clearly. With his newly-realigned arm not yet functional, he swung at Huang Pi Hu with his other arm, landing a punch that sent the chef flying.
Huang Pi Hu crashed into the wall and slid to the floor, seemingly unconscious.
Yin Bingsong stared at his fist in disbelief. "Wow, I had no idea I was this strong!"
Rou Mingrui barely managed to keep a straight face, thinking to himself, "Damn, Brother Huang deserves an Oscar for that performance. Looks like he's going to milk this situation for compensation."
Yi Leng was a master at faking injuries, thanks to years of dealing with real bullets and blades. His reactions and expressions were spot-on, making his performances incredibly convincing.
Though Huang Pi Hu's dramatic fall might have been a bit over-the-top, it achieved the desired effect. Yin Bingsong felt he had reclaimed some dignity, while Huang Pi Hu had set the stage for a financial settlement.
Outside, police lights flashed as officers finally arrived. Being seasoned professionals, they recognized many of the faces present and approached the situation with measured diplomacy. Huang Pi Hu eventually "regained consciousness" and, when asked if he needed to go to the hospital, insisted that he did because of a severe headache.
The officers didn't immediately call for an ambulance. Instead, they gathered both sides outside for mediation. They explained there were two options: settle the matter amicably or escalate it, which would result in both parties being detained.
This was standard procedure for minor scuffles without serious injuries. Escalating the matter would only waste police resources, making mediation the most practical solution.
Yin Bingsong, a veteran at handling the aftermath of street fights, confidently approached Yi Leng. "Alright, I won't make this difficult for you. Five grand, flat rate."
"Deal," Yi Leng replied calmly.
"So, are you paying now or tomorrow?" Yin Bingsong asked.
Yi Leng smirked. "You've got it wrong. The five grand is what you owe me."
"You're trying to extort me? Bold of you!" Yin Bingsong sneered. "Alright, let's play."
With mediation failing, the police had no choice but to proceed with official procedures. However, Huang Pi Hu insisted on being taken to the hospital for a full checkup, claiming he was seriously injured. Meanwhile, Yin Bingsong's group also claimed they had been assaulted, forcing an ambulance to transport everyone involved to the hospital for medical evaluations.
The results were astonishing.
X-rays revealed that Huang Pi Hu's body was riddled with old injuries—fractures, knife wounds, gunshot scars, burn marks, and whip lashes covered him from head to toe. None of these injuries were new, but they painted a tragic picture.
Huang Pi Hu also claimed to have a concussion, citing headaches and nausea—symptoms notoriously difficult to verify with scans. Everyone understood the game he was playing, but there was no way to refute it.
Meanwhile, five of Yin Bingsong's men had their dislocated shoulders realigned by the orthopedist. Despite being treated, they pretended they were still incapacitated, sticking to the same playbook. At this point, it wasn't about who was stronger but who could act better.
Dislocated shoulders were considered minor injuries, but they were enough to get Huang Pi Hu detained.
To complicate matters, Huang Pi Hu lacked proper identification, which could lead to serious legal trouble. With the restaurant unable to operate under these circumstances, everyone involved headed to the hospital to assist.
At the hospital, Ma Xiaowei seized the opportunity to showcase his capabilities.
His face had been nicked by a beer bottle thrown by Yin Bingsong, leaving two small scratches. A nurse applied a band-aid, giving him the appearance of a "wounded hero." Although the injury was superficial, the fact that it was on the face of a deputy chief engineer made it a big deal. If the situation escalated, Yin Bingsong would face serious consequences.
Standing firmly on Huang Pi Hu's side, Ma Xiaowei called Yin Bingsong outside to talk. Despite being a Tsinghua graduate, Ma Xiaowei had no problem slipping into streetwise banter.
They eventually negotiated a truce: both sides would drop the matter and avoid involving the authorities further.
"Ma Gong (Manager Ma), I'll let this slide for your sake. Otherwise, I wouldn't let him see tomorrow's sunrise," Yin Bingsong said, leaving a veiled threat before departing. In truth, he wasn't conceding out of respect for Ma Xiaowei but simply giving himself an excuse to back down gracefully.
"Let's catch up sometime," Ma Xiaowei replied with a measured smile. He knew better than to issue threats directly—mature men preferred to settle scores quietly.
As Yin Bingsong walked away, his face hardened under the streetlights. Dialing a number with his left hand, he barked, "Qiangzi, find me two kids—fresh faces from out of town."
Back in the emergency room, Rou Mingrui and Huang Pi Hu were chatting. After this ordeal, the two had become fast friends. Rou mentioned that it was likely Yin Bingsong who had orchestrated the recent inspections by the Health Bureau and Urban Management.
Wu Yumei furrowed her brows. "Why would he target us? We've never had any conflict with him. He's even dined at our restaurant and has always been polite, sometimes even tipping extra."
"Maybe he made a pass at you, and you ignored him?" Rou Mingrui speculated.
That seemed plausible. Yin Bingsong was notoriously persistent when it came to women he fancied—a reputation widely known in the shipyard district.
Wu Yumei's face turned an uncharacteristic shade of red—not from embarrassment but from anger. Though she often came across as carefree and bold, she wasn't the type to indulge casually. If she were, with her looks and figure, she wouldn't have to work so hard running a small restaurant; she could've easily latched onto a wealthy man.
Yi Leng recalled his first day working at the restaurant when Yin Bingsong had already begun harassing Wu Yumei, forcing her to drink alcohol. It was a rude and disgraceful display, the typical behavior of a thug. If it had been four years ago, Yi Leng would have dealt with him on the spot in a way he'd remember for the rest of his life. But the current Yi Leng no longer had an official status or logistical support to fall back on—he couldn't rely solely on his courage to act recklessly.
It was now clear that Yin Bingsong had a grudge against Yumei Restaurant and would likely continue to provoke and retaliate. Yi Leng never fought battles he wasn't prepared for. Even against small-time troublemakers, he made sure to gather sufficient intelligence.
He discreetly sought out Rou Mingrui, asking him for everything he knew about Yin Bingsong. The two conversed in hushed tones while nearby, Ma Xiaowei comforted A Li, asking her if she was scared and assuring her, "Don't worry, I'm here if anything happens."
"I'm not scared, not with Master Huang around. I think he might be a descendant of Wong Fei-hung," A Li said, her cheeks flushed with excitement. She was only wearing a light down jacket and an apron, and Ma Xiaowei felt a pang of sympathy. He took off his cashmere coat, intending to drape it over her shoulders.
But A Li didn't notice. She immediately turned and ran off, dashing over to Huang Pi Hu. Rubbing her hands together, she asked, "Are you done talking? Can we go back now? I'm waiting for the staff meal."
Yi Leng burst into laughter and said, "All done—let's go eat."
The four restaurant workers piled into a Wuling minivan and drove off without inviting Ma Xiaowei to join them. Left behind, Ma Xiaowei could only shrug on his cashmere coat and wave them off with a veneer of grace.
Back at the restaurant, Yi Leng cooked up two dishes for everyone to enjoy before heading to bed. During dinner, A Li kept pestering Huang Pi Hu about where he had learned his martial arts.
Without hesitation, Yi Leng fabricated a story, saying, "I grew up in a performing arts troupe. As the saying goes, 'A skilled martial artist can't beat a wily actor.' All my skills come from childhood training."
"Do they teach joint dislocation in performing arts troupes?" A Li pressed.
"Later, I apprenticed under an old master who specialized in bone-setting," Yi Leng replied with a straight face. "In fact, I've re-aligned more joints than I've dislocated."
His seriousness convinced A Li, who accepted the explanation without further question. After finishing their meal, the group drove home. Worried about potential retaliation from Yin Bingsong, Wu Yumei discreetly carried a knife for protection, while Yi Leng also made his own preparations. Overconfidence wasn't an option—even the most skilled fighter could be ambushed.
They returned to Building 17 in the Shipyard New Village, where everyone went to their respective homes to wash up and sleep.
The events of the day left Wu Yumei deeply unsettled. She realized how vulnerable she was without a man by her side. Yet despite her frustrations, Huang Pi Hu remained as oblivious as ever, refusing to take a hint. The thought alone irritated her, and in a fit of pique, she locked herself in her bedroom, refusing to step into the living room.
After washing up, Yi Leng went to bed but soon got up quietly, sneaking out the door. He had earlier purchased a can of WD-40 to lubricate the door hinges, ensuring they wouldn't creak in the middle of the night.
His destination? Yin Bingsong's hideout.
Yi Leng believed in being proactive. Yin Bingsong, a thug like him, wasn't going to let the matter drop. Since the restaurant was open to the public, it was impossible to prevent every possible attack. Offense, therefore, was the best defense.
Late at night, dressed in a gray cotton jacket, Yi Leng moved through the darkened streets, avoiding surveillance cameras. Based on the information provided by Rou Mingrui, Yin Bingsong had multiple hideouts. His wife and children lived in a high-rise apartment in Hawaii Residential Complex. His mistress resided in Binhai Commercial Tower, and he also had an office space that doubled as a residence, though the exact unit number was unclear.
But that didn't matter—Yi Leng remembered the license plate number of Yin Bingsong's SUV. Wherever the car was, Yin Bingsong wouldn't be far.
The next morning—
Yin Bingsong stepped out of his mistress's apartment on the 18th floor of Binhai Commercial Tower. Taking the elevator to the underground parking lot, he pulled out his remote key and unlocked his SUV.
As he approached the driver's door, he noticed a faint black smudge on the handle, as if someone with dirty hands had touched it.
Years of experience working in security, combined with his time navigating the gritty underworld, had honed Yin Bingsong's instincts. Suspicious, he circled around to the passenger side, opened the door, and climbed inside to inspect the driver's side more closely.
Nothing seemed out of the ordinary—it could simply have been a homeless person touching the car.
But as he inserted the key into the ignition, he noticed something else amiss. The dashboard cover appeared to have been tampered with.
Upon closer inspection, he found a red electrical wire attached to the ignition. Following the wire, he traced it to the engine compartment.
Opening the hood, he discovered the wire was connected to a rectangular device. Attached to the device was a cylindrical object resembling a firecracker, with the wires leading directly into it.
Yin Bingsong froze. He didn't dare touch the device and instead backed away slowly. Cold sweat drenched his thermal underwear, sticking uncomfortably to his skin.
His hands trembled so much that it took four or five attempts to light a cigarette. His mind raced, replaying every possible scenario.
"Who would dare do this to me?"
[--------------------------------------------]
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