Wang Ye rushed into the night.
He knew where those people were.
In the lower urban ring, the society beneath the surface, there were a total of six people, led by someone nicknamed "Yangyang."
It sounded cute, but he was actually in his early 40s.
Essentially, this group was nothing more than a gang of thugs who had been extortionately collecting so-called stall fees on this street for years and never paid for their meals at the barbecue stands along the street.
Despite hanging around in the lower urban ring every day, they were quite flush with cash. They might not compare to those above, but down here, they lived quite comfortably.
Every day, after collecting their money, they would hang out in a small restaurant not far from this street. The restaurant had two stories and was named "Zuixiang Inn," considered a higher-end place for the are.
At 7:30 in the evening, Wang Ye, with a knife wrapped in his school jacket, stood across from Zuixiang Inn.
