Chapter 33: The Old Scholar’s Son

Table 8 was located in the innermost corner, but the foreign rascal had no intention of heading inside. He leaned against the bar, shouting, "Kanglong! Come here! Run!"

The one playing at table 8 was a curly-haired youth in a yellow shirt, about the same age as the foreign rascal. He was stretched over the pool table, aiming for a shot across the table. Hearing someone call his name, he frowned and glanced over. On seeing the foreign rascal, he was visibly startled, then elated, dropping his cue to dash over. When he reached him, he punched the foreign rascal lightly, "Shadow, you're out?"

"You heartless brat, I've been out for more than two months!" Clearly, these two were friends who had met inside, reunited after release—a chance meeting with a familiar face in a foreign land. They exchanged greetings, asked after each other's lives. When Kanglong heard that Tiger was out as well, and had opened a repair shop with Shadow, he became even more cheerful, loudly declaring he must visit soon.

"Here, brother, take a look, who does he remind you of?" The foreign rascal pushed Xiaocheng forward.

Kanglong scrutinized Wen Xiaocheng, his face full of confusion, shaking his head. "Have we met?"

The foreign rascal laughed. "This is Old Scholar's son!"

At the mention of Old Scholar, Kanglong instantly grew excited. "His son? Wait, Old Scholar's son!"

The foreign rascal gave him a playful slap. "You want to act senior? Didn’t you hear me call him brother? He might even be my senior apprentice. Don’t try to take advantage!"

"Senior apprentice? How do you figure?"

"Tiger promised to teach me martial arts, but I owe it to this kid—by seniority, I’d have to call him senior apprentice!"

Wen Xiaocheng kept his harmless smile, sensing the charisma his father wielded in prison from the other’s animated reaction.

"So if you call him senior apprentice, what should I call him?" Kanglong’s status was clearly below the foreign rascal’s; since the rascal praised Xiaocheng, Kanglong took it seriously.

"Glad you’re sensible. If I call him senior apprentice, you can’t call him brother—calling him elder would be awkward. Being Old Scholar’s son, let's call him Little Scholar!"

As they spoke, the foreign rascal slipped his hand into Xiaocheng’s pocket again. This time, Xiaocheng didn’t react aloud, chatting with Kanglong while covering his pocket—he nearly caught him in the act. The foreign rascal was astonished. On the bus earlier, restrictions of the seats made distraction difficult, so failure was understandable. But now, during casual conversation, when the opponent’s guard should be lowest, he was still discovered. How vigilant was this kid?

From then on, wherever they found Kanglong in the billiard club, he was trailed by three or four younger followers. At the internet café, they called in Luohan, and another four or five joined. By the time they found Nezha at the roller rink, their group had swelled to fifteen or sixteen. Both Luohan and Nezha, like Kanglong, were released convicts. At the mention of Old Scholar’s son, their faces lit up with joy. With no barriers, they treated Xiaocheng as a brother. Thanks to Xiaocheng connecting them, the old friends from prison gathered together, raising a ruckus about going for drinks.

Chatting along the way, Xiaocheng learned that Kanglong had been caught stealing scrap metal from a factory, apprehended by security, and sent to the police station. The scrap wasn’t worth much, but the police calculated the value based on component prices, pushing the charge up to meet the threshold for prosecution, and he was sentenced for theft. The foreign rascal, also convicted for theft, looked down on him, thinking his conduct shamed the profession, dismissing him as a petty thief, and always kept Kanglong beneath him.

Luohan was bald, standing at 1.85 meters, broad and muscular, with a punch capable of breaking ribs, sentenced for assault. After release, he worked as a network administrator at the internet café, keeping order.

Nezha’s story was more comical—he was the only one of these with a decent family background. For his eighteenth birthday, his family gave him ten thousand yuan. As a military enthusiast, he bought a replica gun. That gun could only leave a red mark if fired point blank at the head, but he was charged with illegal possession of a firearm, sentenced to six months. Delicate and pampered, combined with mental distress, he nearly died inside. Luckily, he was assigned to Wen Xinwu’s cell, and after six months, saw Wen Xinwu as his benefactor.

Drinking cost money, but among these dozen or so, not one had much. Everyone began digging through their pockets—thirty from this one, fifty from that—fifteen or sixteen people drinking, even at a roadside barbecue, would cost four or five hundred to have a good time. The foreign rascal had only a hundred yuan, now stashed in Xiaocheng’s sock. Seeing everyone hand over money, he was embarrassed to have empty hands, and quietly nudged Wen Xiaocheng, "Little Scholar, take that hundred out from your sock, let’s pitch in together, what do you think?"

Wen Xiaocheng smiled, stopped Luohan from collecting more, and said to the group, "No need to pool money, tonight’s drinks are on me, as thanks to all of you for my father. How about it?"

Among the fifteen or sixteen, Xiaocheng was the youngest. Hearing this, the older brothers felt embarrassed. "Little Scholar, we’re all poor, but we must keep our principles, right? You’re the youngest, it’s not your turn to pay. Others aside, Kanglong, Nezha, and I have all received your father’s help. We should be treating you!"

Wen Xiaocheng waved his hand. "Actually, I don’t have much money either, but I have a way to find someone to pick up our bill. How’s that?"

Behind him, the foreign rascal grabbed his neck, "Kid, you planning to go inside and find your father? Don’t do anything illegal!"

Wen Xiaocheng was prepared, ducked away, laughing, "Of course not illegal. Just watch!"

He had parked the Santana near the billiard hall. The sixteen of them wandered over to the Hongxing market, crossing a small bridge over the Siyuan River. In the distance, they could see the chess stall owner, dressed in a checked shirt, sitting on a small stool playing a game. Across from him was a middle-aged man with glasses, beads of sweat on his nose. Beside them, two accomplices were diligently luring new victims, one of whom was the lighter-wielding thug who had once attacked Xiaocheng.

A dozen people would draw too much attention, so Xiaocheng divided them into four groups. The foreign rascal, Luohan, Kanglong, and Nezha each led three, two groups mixed into the crowd across the river, guarding the bridge’s other end, while the other two groups followed Xiaocheng from a distance. Sixteen people formed a ring, encircling the scammers. Just as the bespectacled man conceded defeat, Xiaocheng sat down across from the chess stall owner with a cheerful grin.

He passed over ten yuan. "Business is booming, boss!" Wen Xiaocheng said with a radiant smile.

Chess stall owner Da Gang frowned at the sight of Wen Xiaocheng, glancing around. He saw the dozen young men around him, all smiling with ill intent. Even his own accomplice, the lighter-wielding thug, was sweating. Just yesterday, he’d gotten into a standoff with this kid, even brawled with a group of children, but hadn’t expected him to return so soon and with reinforcements. A glance showed these weren’t ordinary schoolyard thugs; several carried an intimidating air, likely hardened from prison.

Da Gang frowned, never imagining that messing with a child would land him in such trouble.

"What are the rules, little brother?" he asked.

———

The firearm incident in the story is not exaggerated. According to the "Regulations on Performance Identification of Firearms and Ammunition Involved in Cases," any gun with muzzle energy greater than or equal to 1.8 joules per square centimeter is considered a firearm. How much damage is that? It leaves a red dot on the skin, can barely pierce a thick sheet of paper at close range, so you’d better be careful. This is not alarmist; by current standards, you are indeed guilty and can be sentenced without question! Such cases are common. Just the other day, a young man cried out: "If I am guilty, execute me with the gun I bought." Military enthusiasts, take heed—never underestimate these replica guns, lest you face disaster. On the other hand, I urge relevant authorities to refine the standards. Treating toy guns as real firearms is far too frivolous.

Foreign rascal, ten yuan gone.

Seeing the foreign rascal get scammed, everyone was delighted and eager, raising their hands and shouting, "Scam me, scam me!" making me feel quite guilty.