Jiang Deqian realized he might very well go down today. He had been counting on Hou Biao to find some way to help him, only for that damned monkey to advise him to admit defeat.
Of course he refused.
His title of Young Master Jiang might not have been particularly famous in Wuzhong, but he was at least somebody in his circle. Now his woman had run off with a tomboy from a little bar, and not only had he failed to get her back, he had lost to that tomboy in a drinking contest. If word got out, he, Jiang Deqian, could forget about showing his face in Wuzhong ever again. People would laugh him to death!
Bi Shenghua had already drained twelve bottles. She smashed the bottle onto the floor with a crash and said, "Can you keep going or not? If not, get lost!"
The people around them had long since started jeering:
"If you can't handle it, get lost!"
"You drink that badly and still come to Liuying Lane to throw your weight around!"
"Get out of Liuying Lane!"
The men who had come with Jiang Deqian all looked ashen. They glanced at one another, not knowing what to do.
Caught between a rock and a hard place, Jiang Deqian glanced back at Hou Biao, only to find that the bald monkey looked like an old monk deep in meditation, utterly unconcerned.
Little did he know that Hou Biao was having no easier a time than he was.
Hou Biao, who had once fought in underground matches in Thailand and later spent several years as a mercenary, had real fighting skills. His skills were no mere flashy moves; they had been honed in one life-and-death struggle after another. If he had not offended the most powerful mercenary group overseas, he might still have been active in the jungles of Southeast Asia and the deserts of the Middle East.
He had escaped back to China by hiding in a shipping container full of garbage. Jiang Deguan had rescued him from a pile of waste plastic, covered in wounds and barely breathing. From then on, he had served as Jiang Deguan's bodyguard and enforcer.
Hou Biao deserved some of the credit for Jiang Deguan's smooth sailing over the past few years. At the very least, he had removed plenty of tough customers who had no backing and relied solely on ruthlessness.
When that man with the bird's-nest hair grabbed his wrist, he instinctively tried to twist his joint and reverse the grip, but he failed. The strength coming from the other man's fingers terrified him. Clenching his right hand tightly into a fist, he pulled back, the veins bulging on his arm. He tried to wrench free of the man's hand, but even with every ounce of strength in his body, he could not manage it. His hand seemed fixed in an iron hoop. Never mind breaking free-he could not even shift it a fraction.
Based on his past combat experience, he should have fought back at this point. He could strike with his elbow, drive in his knee, or sweep with his leg. His left hand was still free, and from this angle, he had more than a dozen ways to launch a lethal strike. There was a military dagger in his pocket, and hidden in his belt was a length of wire capable of strangling someone hard enough to break their neck.
But when he saw the calm expression on that bird's-nest-haired man's face, he felt that none of his means of attack could be relied upon. Those who had made their living amid jungles and warfare had a keen instinct for real danger. He knew that until he freed his right hand, he could do nothing, or he would only put himself at a greater disadvantage.
He was starting to regret not bringing a gun. It had been a long time since he had carried one. On the one hand, carrying a gun in the peaceful environment back home sometimes brought unnecessary trouble. On the other, since returning to China, he had never encountered anyone worth drawing a gun on, to the point that even his marksmanship had grown rusty.
Qingmu simply stood there languidly, his left hand gripping Hou Biao's right wrist, smiling at Hou Biao while keeping an eye on the two people still drinking.
Jiang Deqian threw caution to the wind and forced himself to drink another two bottles. Then he vomited with a retch.
Once he started, there was no stopping it. His stomach churned violently, and all the alcohol he had been holding down came pouring out. Bracing himself against the table, he vomited for a full three minutes, leaving puddles of white foam all over the floor.
Bi Shenghua lowered the bottle, with a little under half its contents remaining, from her lips. Dropping her fierce manner, she said evenly, "Young Master Jiang, right? You lost!"
The thugs came up to support him and pat his back. "Young Master Jiang, are you all right?"
He might have been fine without the patting, but it made him throw up again. Even his bladder gave out, and a warm stream ran down his trouser leg. The stench of urine made everyone in the room cover their noses.
The beer foam on the floor was thick. It mingled with the yellow liquid running down Jiang Deqian's trousers, making a sizzling sound.
Jiang Deqian knew that if he admitted defeat today, his name would stink as badly as his trousers. Although he was vomiting so hard that his stomach cramped and he had no strength left at all, a surge of hatred and regret rose from the bottom of his heart and forced his body upright.
He shoved away the underling supporting him and pointed at Bi Shenghua. "You fucking played me!"
Bi Shenghua spread her hands, looking innocent. "Everyone saw it. I drank every last drop I was supposed to, and you threw up first!"
The people Xiao Qi had brought spoke up to back her. "What? Trying to welsh on it?"
Jiang Deqian steeled himself and waved his hand, ordering, "Smash the fucking place! Smash it to pieces! If anyone fucking tries to stop you, beat them! Beat them to death! I'll take responsibility if anyone dies!"
His belligerence was not without reason. Although the bar's side seemed to have more people and most of the onlookers favored the tomboy, they were nothing but a rabble. The men he had brought were all experienced fighters, and besides, he had Hou Biao. He did not believe Hou Biao would refuse to act if it truly came down to life and death.
He knew that in a life-or-death situation, whatever he did, as long as his opponent was not some big shot with powerful connections, his older brother would find a way to smooth things over. At worst, he would be confined to home for a while afterward.
Apart from Hou Biao, all five or six men he had brought sprang into action. First they sent the drinks on the table crashing to the floor, then overturned the tables and chairs. Someone headed straight for the liquor shelves.
Bi Shenghua had not expected to encounter someone so shameless, and she really had drunk quite a lot, leaving her reactions a little sluggish. Yet Xiao Qi, usually so cautious, lunged out like a tiger and kicked one of the thugs smashing things to the ground. The people Xiao Qi had brought charged in after him.
The clatter of bottles and glasses colliding rang out alongside the startled cries of the onlookers. The place descended into chaos.
Looking at the shattered glass strewn across the floor, Bi Shenghua cursed in dismay, "Fuck!"
The people on Xiao Qi's side were all hot-blooded young men from the neighborhood. Though they might not have been as good at fighting as Jiang Deqian's men, they had numbers on their side. Xiao Qi had also gone all out. Even with his forehead split open and blood streaming down his face, he was still waving half a beer bottle, shouting and yelling like a madman.
Seeing the situation turn against him, Jiang Deqian narrowed his eyes and shouted, "Monkey! Are you still not going to do anything?"
Only then did Bi Shenghua notice the bald, tattooed man behind Jiang Deqian. She could tell at a glance that he was a vicious character, Jiang Deqian's real source of confidence, and quite possibly someone who would kill without blinking.
She was about to warn everyone when she suddenly noticed Qingmu standing beside the bald man, still watching the fight nearby with that lazy air, while the bald man seemed to have already grabbed Qingmu's hand.
"Fuck! If you won't help, can't you at least run? What an idiot!"
Bi Shenghua muttered indistinctly, kicked over the chair she had been resting her foot on, bent down to pick up a bottle from the floor, then stepped half a pace forward and smashed it over the head of Jiang Deqian, who was still dazed from vomiting.
Her left hand swiftly seized Jiang's collar and pinned him against the edge of an overturned table. She pressed the exposed point of jagged glass on the half-bottle in her right hand against the major artery in Jiang Deqian's neck. Keeping Qingmu and the bald man in the corner of her eye, she roared:
"Nobody fucking move! Move again and I'll stab him to death!"