The young girl, her face fierce and brimming with menace, pouted as she unleashed a flurry of punches and kicks upon Guan Dagou. At that moment, he was hunched over, utterly submissive—nothing like the arrogant thug who had stormed into the office threatening to sever someone's fingers.
The scene left the teachers and parents in the office utterly stunned. None had expected that the little girl, who'd just been doused with water, came from such a formidable background.
Li Yang and the other parents felt their hearts leap to their throats. What they feared most wasn't those with power or influence, but the reckless and fearless, those untamed by rules. In Guan Dagou's groveling gaze, Han Qian saw a trace of brutality.
The little girl offered Han Qian a brief apology, though she too seemed unclear on the full situation. It soon became evident that she was well acquainted with the landlady, and in the end, she decided not to pursue the matter further. Her only demand was that the children return to school and apologize to Li Jiawei—otherwise, she'd make sure they were beaten every time they crossed her path.
This incident had long since spiraled beyond the school's control; neither the director nor Tong Yao could afford to offend those involved.
And yet—
Tong Yao reprimanded the girl, insisting she could not bring the underworld's ways into the school. The girl didn't even spare her a glance, simply asking if she could have dinner at the landlady's house that evening.
Thus, the matter appeared to conclude.
But things were far from over between Han Qian and Guan Dagou.
After leaving the school building, the two walked ahead together. Guan Dagou had his hands in his pockets, a cigarette dangling from his lips. With a lazy smirk, he scoffed:
"Don't think this ends just because the young lady apologized. Once we're off school grounds, we'll settle this like men. Don't expect me to accept an apology. I, Guan Junbiao, don't play that game."
"Heh."
Han Qian responded with a cold chuckle. After exiting the school gates, he asked the landlady to head home first, and awkwardly requested six yuan from her. She insisted on giving him a hundred, and the two tugged back and forth between the six and the hundred until Guan Dagou, growing impatient, growled:
"I'll give you six yuan myself. No more trouble from me. One-on-one. Win or lose, we call it even."
Han Qian turned to look at the red-suited Guan Dagou and replied coolly:
"Fine. But give me the six yuan first."
In a nearby alley, four hulking men dressed in black stood outside, generously allowing the two to fight one-on-one. Men like Guan Junbiao didn't understand reason or civility. Han Qian rolled his wrists and neck—kids raised in the countryside were always sturdier than those from glass houses, and street fights were no novelty to him.
Ten minutes later, Han Qian emerged from the alley, dragging his battered body and holding his tracksuit jacket. He looked even more disheveled than Li Jiawei had earlier, limping toward his car. With eyes closed, he breathed deeply to dull the pain, and drove off two minutes later.
Inside the alley, Guan Junbiao lay sprawled on the ground in a spread-eagle position, staring at the sky. He couldn't understand how he'd lost to someone who looked so scrawny. The only explanation was that he hadn't used a weapon or struck to kill. He had to admit—Han Qian's punches were bone-breaking.
While driving, Han Qian received a call from Wen Nuan. She asked if everything was alright and whether she should come over. He merely said it was nothing and hung up. When he finally opened the door and handed her a container of cold noodles, tears sprang from Wen Nuan's eyes.
"Who did this to you? Tell me—who laid a hand on you?"
Blood had split both the corner of Han Qian's mouth and the skin beneath his eye. His face was a map of bruises and swelling. He placed the cold noodles on the shoe cabinet, forced a smile, and said gently:
"It's nothing—just a fight."
"I didn't ask what happened. I asked who hit you."
"I'm fine. Truly."
When Han Qian removed his filthy jacket and exposed his back, Wen Nuan's expression sharpened. Without another word, she dashed to the coffee table, snatched up her phone, and as Han Qian stood in the bathroom inspecting his face, he heard her furious voice from the living room:
"I don't care! I don't care about anything else. You can bully Han Qian all you want—but no one else can! Do you feel no shame laying hands on him over a child's matter? You won't make the call? Then I will!"
As she hung up, Han Qian's heart sank when he realized she'd dialed her second uncle.
"Second Uncle, it's Wen Nuan. My husband's just been beaten—half an hour ago, near Haihua High. Didn't I ask you to keep an eye on him? How could this happen? Fine. I'm coming to you now. Either we press charges, or I'm calling Big Uncle."
She was already halfway dressed and heading to the door when Han Qian rushed out of the bathroom, grabbed her arm, and wrestled the phone from her. After a long string of explanations and reassurances, she finally agreed to let it go.
He gently guided the furious Wen Nuan to the sofa and handed her a bottle of Yunnan Baiyao.
"It was just a fight. I walked out on my own. He's still lying in that alley. My back's hard to reach—help me spray some medicine. Funny thing is, the kid I fought for is the son of your Enjoyment Department manager—Li Yang."
Wen Nuan, looking at the bruises on his back, bit her lip, furious.
"Li Yang? He hit you? I'll fire him right now."
"No, no—your second uncle called him earlier, and he was already scared stiff."
"So? Was this fight over some pretty little vixen again? Was it Yan Qingqing?"
"You sound like a jealous witch catching her cheating husband! I don't even know the guy. Just some punk named Guan, in a red suit with a ponytail. Total street scum. When he found out Li Yang worked for your company, he started mouthing off. That's when we fought."
"Guan?"
Wen Nuan put down the medicine, walked to the bathroom, fetched his jacket, and tossed it onto the sofa.
"Guan Junbiao? From District Eight? You fought *that* mad dog? Isn't his young master a girl?"
"Huh?"
Han Qian paused as he put on his pajamas. "You know him? That 'young lady' he referred to was also a victim. Seems close to the landlady's kid—might be dating. What kind of family still uses titles like 'young lady' in this day and age?"
Wen Nuan unfastened his pajama buttons and handed them over, speaking softly:
"Guan Dagou works for Tu Xiao. I've heard about Tu Xiao from my uncle and Second Uncle. He used to be a thug—after dark, District Eight was his kingdom. Later, he cleaned up and became a businessman—owns a few KTVs, bars, and bathhouses. Not crazy rich—maybe eight to ten million at most—but his reputation stinks. No one wants to mess with him. He's still steeped in street ways. Guan calls Tu Xiao's daughter 'young lady' out of habit. Even people visiting my second uncle during New Year call Li Er 'second young master.' I'll have Second Uncle give Tu Xiao a call, make sure Guan Dagou doesn't come after you again."
Han Qian shook his head gently as he buttoned up his pajamas.
"No need to trouble him. Besides, your uncle still doesn't know we're divorced. He was a little annoyed when I didn't visit over the holidays."
"Then we should go sometime soon. Even Li Er keeps saying he wants to see you. I still don't get how you two got along so well. Jiawei's homeroom teacher—she pretty?"
"She's alright."
"You really are hopeless."
Wen Nuan scolded lightly, but as she picked up the first-aid box and sat on the couch, she patted those exquisite legs of hers and whispered:
"Come here. Lie down. Let me treat your wounds."
Han Qian gave a sheepish grin.
"Isn't this a little inappropriate?"
Wen Nuan nodded seriously.
"You're right. Bring me the cold noodles. Your head can be the table."