The middle-aged man seemed to sense the danger. He clutched his own bag and, feeling helpless, suddenly scampered over to Wang Zheng.
The five burly guys had crowded over.
"Give us the bag, or we'll beat you to death. Give us the bag." All five had malevolent looks on their faces. In this place, survival was paramount. But there was no real point here. Those who truly had money and use would not be huddled in this low class cabin.
"You… you can't do this. I'll shout."
The ear-stud wearing leader laughed. "Holler all you want. See if anyone responds."
"Punk, go away. This is none of your business."
Wang Zheng lifted his head. His face was expressionless, but he just said one word. "Scram!"
"Lookin…" The tattooed, ear-studded leader had just begun his sentence when his vision blacked. With a loud bang, he flew seven or eight meters, sprawled unmoving on the ground.
