Chapter 4: Time to Pay the Protection Fee

Lin Fan rushed out of his apartment, only realizing he hadn't eaten breakfast when his stomach growled. He hurried toward a familiar street food stall near his neighborhood.

Before he could step closer, a sweet, melodic voice called out, "Brother Lin Fan! You're here!"

A petite girl with large, doe-like eyes smiled up at him. She wore a pristine apron over her school uniform, her hands busy clearing bowls from a plastic table. Though a head shorter than Lin Fan, her figure held a delicate charm, accentuated by dimples that deepened as she giggled.

"Morning, Little Yunying! One beef noodles, extra hungry edition!" Lin Fan plopped onto a stool she'd just wiped, grinning.

"Right away! Dad, another bowl!" Yang Yunying's cheeks flushed pink at his casual use of "Little Yunying," a nickname she secretly adored. She spun away to hide her embarrassment, her ponytail swishing.

The girl was a sophomore at Jiangnan Third High, two grades below Lin Fan's senior class. On mornings when her father's noodle cart was busy, she'd help out before school—and occasionally walk to campus with Lin Fan if their timing aligned.

As Yunying bent to clean another table, Lin Fan tugged her sleeve. "Here." He pressed a warm milk carton into her palm.

"Ah! You… you didn't have to—"

"Drink up. Girls need calcium," he teased, winking. "Consider it a special delivery."

Yunying's face turned scarlet. She mumbled thanks and fled to the cart, where her father—a burly man with flour-dusted sleeves—slid a steaming bowl toward Lin Fan.

"Eat up, kid! You look half-starved."

Lin Fan devoured the noodles, broth splattering his chin. "Mr. Yang, your recipe's still unbeatable!"

The man chuckled, settling beside him. "Your mom's still on business trips? Must be tough, living alone."

Lin Fan nodded through a mouthful. His mother, a freelance journalist, had been away for weeks—hence his daily visits to the Yangs' stall.

As he reached for his wallet to settle overdue tabs, a sneering voice cut through the morning calm.

"Old Yang! Three days overdue on protection fees. Pay up… or we start breaking things."

Five thugs swaggered toward the cart. Their leader, Ping Yuan—a wiry man in a stained white shirt—leered at Yunying, who shrank behind her father.

"Please, Brother Ping," Mr. Yang pleaded, hands trembling. "My wife's hospital bills cleaned us out. Just a few more days—"

"Days?" Ping Yuan slammed a fist on the table, making bowls clatter. "Your stall's packed every morning! Where's the money? Hiding it for your daughter's dowry?"

His gangmates snickered. One yanked Yunying's arm, but her father shoved between them. "Leave her alone!"

Ping Yuan's gaze crawled over Yunying's trembling form. "No cash? Fine. We'll take the girl instead. A week with us, and your debt's cleared."