Can You Call Them Young If They Aren't Hotheaded?
That scornful laugh, like a sharp needle, pierced the brief somber atmosphere between Lin Feng and Lawyer Zhou.
Lin Feng slowly turned his head, his cold gaze fixed on the source of the sound—the group of young men at the table, all dressed in elaborate robes. One of them, with a rooster-like hairstyle and a toothpick dangling from his mouth, saw Lin Feng looking over and instead of backing down, he defiantly raised his chin, his eyes filled with the arrogance of "What are you looking at? I'm talking to you guys."
Lin Feng's face remained expressionless, showing neither anger nor agitation at being provoked. He glanced at the other man indifferently, as if looking at a roadside stone, then turned back nonchalantly, picked up the wine glass on the table, and took another sip. It was as if the sneer from before was merely an insignificant breeze passing by his ear.
His indifference was interpreted by the group of young men as a sign of weakness and vulnerability.
Seeing that Lin Feng made no response, the people at that table burst into even louder laughter, filled with smugness and mockery. They began whispering among themselves, glancing at Lin Feng and his group from time to time, pointing and making comments that were clearly not pleasant.
Lawyer Zhou, however, remained deeply immersed in his own emotions, his forehead pressed against the back of his hand, his shoulders trembling slightly, oblivious to the noise around him.
Seeing that one of the two was too timid to utter a word, while the other was crying uncontrollably, the group of energetic young men became even more arrogant. Their discussions grew louder and more unrestrained.
Suddenly, the man with the mohawk who had initially scoffed stood up abruptly. To show off his power, he even put one foot on the plastic stool he was sitting on, waved his arms, and shouted loudly in Lin Feng's direction in his raspy voice:
"If you ask me, some of these guys look all respectable, but they're not even real men! They're always crying and whining like sissies, they're a disgrace to us men!"
"Well said!"
"Brother Ji is awesome!"
"Haha, brilliant!"
His group of energetic young men and women at the same table immediately cheered loudly, slapped the table, and stomped their feet, creating an incredibly enthusiastic atmosphere, as if their "Brother Ji" had performed some extraordinary heroic feat.
This clearly targeted insult pierced through the noise of the barbecue stall and reached Lin Feng's ears.
Lin Feng, who had been expressionless the whole time, suddenly turned cold the moment he heard those words.
He bent down and casually pulled a green beer bottle from a box of empty bottles under the table. Then, without even standing up completely, he simply used his waist and abdomen to swing his arm like a taut bowstring!
The heavy glass beer bottle, carrying a cold and resolute air, traced a brief arc and smashed with perfect accuracy against the smug-looking rooster-headed guy who was standing on a stool!
Smack!
A crisp yet muffled cracking sound abruptly drowned out all the noise!
The beer bottle exploded on the rooster-haired man's head! Glass shards flew everywhere like fireworks! Golden beer mixed with the sudden gushing of dark red blood gushed down his shocked and contorted face, instantly staining his cheap, tight-fitting vest.
The man with the rooster-like hair was completely stunned by the sudden blow. He remained in his comical pose of waving his arms while standing on the stool, his eyes wide open, filled with disbelief and bewilderment from the sudden pain. He swayed a couple of times, the plastic stool under his feet slipped, and with a "thud," he fell to the ground, stool and all, with a painful groan.
The boisterous cheers from everyone at his table abruptly ceased. Everyone seemed to have been simultaneously grabbed by the throat; their smiles froze, and they stared dumbfounded at the scene that had unfolded in the blink of an eye, their minds blank.
The entire barbecue stall seemed to have been muted, falling into an eerie silence. Only the crackling of the burning charcoal and the faint sounds of traffic from the distant street could be heard.
The silence lasted for a good three or four seconds.
"Holy shit!!!"
"Brother Ji!!"
"Damn it, he dared to lay a hand on me!!"
The group of energetic young men finally snapped out of their shock and exploded like a hornet's nest that had been poked! Driven by anger and alcohol, they jumped up, their faces red and necks bulging.
One of the guys, with his striking yellow hair and bare chest revealing large patches of cheap tattoos, reacted the fastest. He cursed and slammed his hand on the table, making the bowls and chopsticks jump around. He grabbed an unopened beer bottle from the table, cursing under his breath, and charged toward Lin Feng!
"Sit down!"
Just as tensions were about to rise, a deep, hoarse voice, yet carrying an undeniable authority, boomed out from the side like a muffled thunderclap!
At the same time, a large, scarred hand, with thick knuckles, pressed down heavily on the shoulder of the blond-haired man who was about to charge forward, like an iron clamp!
The force was incredibly strong. Huang Mao felt a sudden weight on his shoulder, and an irresistible force came over him. His buttocks, which had just lifted off the ground, were slammed back onto the plastic stool with a "thud." The fragile stool groaned under the strain and almost fell apart.
Huang Mao was both shocked and furious. He turned his head sharply, about to start cursing, but all the foul language he was about to say was instantly stuck in his throat when he saw what was behind him. It turned into a cold chill that shot from his tailbone straight to the top of his head!
Not only him, but all the energetic young men at his table who were about to start a fight, as well as the diners at several other tables who were alarmed, all turned to look and then collectively gasped!
Suddenly, a group of fifteen or sixteen burly men appeared beside the barbecue stall!
These men were all dressed in tight-fitting black short-sleeved T-shirts or vests, their bare arms revealing bulging muscles that exuded explosive power. They were expressionless, their eyes fierce, like hungry wolves eyeing their prey.
What's even more chilling is that each of them is holding a heavy wooden baseball bat, the ends of which are casually resting on the ground, radiating an invisible sense of oppression.
The one who pushed the blond-haired man back down was the leader of the group. He was a man in his thirties with a buzz cut, a square face, a strong jawline, and a hideous scar on his neck that extended all the way to his collar. He wore a black leather vest, and his exposed bronze skin and solid muscles indicated that he was no pushover.
The leader ignored the pale-faced blond man and instead swept his mocking and cruel eyes over the group of young men who had instantly deflated, finally fixing his gaze on the blond man's crooked, over-the-shoulder dragon tattoo.
He reached out and slapped the blond-haired man's trembling cheek hard, making a soft "slap, slap" sound. Then, with his rough fingers, he poked the sketch-like dragon, his tone filled with undisguised mockery.
"Oh, you have tattoos? Are you part of the triads?"
Yellow Hair's legs began to tremble uncontrollably, and his teeth chattered, but his youthful arrogance and the thought of losing face in front of his "brothers" and "little sisters" forced him to force a fierce but ultimately weak response. "You... who are you? You... what do you want?"
Upon hearing this, the leader of the group gave a strange smile. He turned to the silent, burly men in black behind him and, as if sharing something amusing, began to speak:
"Who am I?" he scoffed. "Young people these days are too arrogant."
As he spoke, he slowly took the thickest and sturdiest-looking baseball bat from one of his men and weighed it in his hand.
Then, with unhurried and leisurely steps, he walked back to the stiff, pale-faced blond man.
His smile remained unchanged, and his tone even seemed unusually gentle, as if he were having a heart-to-heart talk with a younger person.
"That's true." He nodded, as if affirming a certain truth. "If you're not spirited, are you even a young person?"
The moment he finished speaking, the gentle smile on his face vanished, replaced by a terrifying ferocity!
His arm muscles bulged instantly, and the baseball bat in his hand, accompanied by a gust of wind, slammed down hard on the blond-haired man's head!
"Whoosh--Smack!!!"
The dull thud of the club striking the skull sent chills down your spine!
Before the blond-haired man could even utter a sound, he and the chair were smashed to the ground. Blood gushed from his head instantly, his body twitched twice, and then he stopped moving.
As the leader made his move, the fifteen or sixteen burly men in black behind him, who had been waiting in ambush, charged silently and efficiently toward the table of terrified young men and women, wielding baseball bats.
"Ah--!"
"Don't hit me! Ah!"
"Help!"
"I was wrong! Brother, spare my life!"
In an instant, the once arrogant young people were crying and screaming, running away with their heads in their hands. The dull thuds of baseball bats hitting flesh, the cracking sounds of plastic tables and chairs being overturned, and the shrill screams and pleas for mercy replaced the previous noise, playing a cruel symphony of violence on this early autumn night.
The entire barbecue stall was silent. Other diners were either too frightened to look, or quietly slipped away. The owner hid behind the grill, his face pale, and didn't even have the courage to call the police.
Lin Feng, the instigator, remained calmly seated, even picking up a wine bottle and refilling the glass of Lawyer Zhou, who had just been awakened from his grief and was staring in astonishment at the scene before him.