Chapter 52

Still just a child, Han Qian pushed the cart with Xiao Beibei sitting inside, almost drowning in snacks. Xiao Yangjia watched enviously, clearly wishing she could trade places with the little girl. After paying the 300-yuan bill, Han Qian stashed the bags of treats in Yang Lan's trunk and gave Beibei a little wave before heading off.

He didn't exchange a word with those around him. Inside, a quiet fire smoldered. Being good to Wen Nuan was a debt he owed the Wen family. His past transgressions couldn't be absolved by just three years, and while he didn't feel he owed Wen Nuan much anymore, to Old Wen and Li Jinhe, he still carried guilt. That didn't mean, though, that he would tolerate everyone's nonsense.

Li Dongsheng's repeated provocations had pushed Han Qian to the edge. If Liu Jiulong hadn't stopped him today, he would've taught Li Dongsheng a lesson about life. Han Qian wanted to work at Rongyao, but being pushed around wasn't something he could swallow.

Not wanting to bring that anger home, Han Qian boarded a bus, staring aimlessly out the window at the city's neon glow.

Then the rain came.

A sudden downpour lashed the streets, drenching pedestrians. By the time he reached the last stop, the rain was still pounding down.

He got off at the train station and wandered towards the city's bustling downtown. The rain-washed air was crisp and cool. Han Qian pulled his coat tighter and instinctively felt for his wallet—still thick and reassuring. The money he'd given to Yang Lan remained unspent, still sitting in his pocket. Wen Nuan had been unusually quiet today, leaving him to his thoughts in peace.

He stepped down into an underground shopping area, trailing behind the crowd. He didn't have a destination—he just wanted to walk off his frustration. But the crowd ahead of him suddenly froze, and a chorus of curses and complaints from young voices filled the air.

Han Qian turned to leave, but a voice behind him made him stop.

"Poor bastard! Can you even afford it?"

The words cut like a knife. It was the same insult Li Dongsheng had spat at him in the office. Why did people think a couple of coins made them kings? Han Qian turned back, pushing through the gathering and descending the steps.

There, on the slick marble at the underground entrance, knelt an elderly woman in tattered clothes, clutching a woven bag to her chest. She was apologizing over and over to a group of kids in front of her—kids young enough to be her grandchildren. A frail young man in a white cook's jacket stood behind her, no more than twenty-three or twenty-four, his uniform streaked with footprints and bright red blood. His nose was broken, bleeding freely.

Han Qian's brows furrowed. He stepped forward, fishing a packet of tissues from his pocket and handing it to the young man. Then he turned to the old woman, gently taking her arm with a warm smile.

"Come on, get up—it's too cold to be kneeling here. You'll only get rheumatism."

The old woman looked lost, but with Han Qian's help, she slowly rose. His kindness, though, infuriated the group of youths—seventeen, eighteen, their hair dyed white, green, their clothes cutting-edge. One of them, hair dyed a deep green and a cigarette dangling from his lips, grabbed Han Qian's arm and sneered,

"Poor bastard—trying to be a hero?"

Again, those same words.

Han Qian twisted free of his grip, and with a single, swift kick, drove his foot into the green-haired kid's knee. The boy yelped in pain, swearing violently as the others—boys and girls alike—rushed forward. In their movement, a girl who had been partially hidden behind them emerged fully into view.

"Xiao Tu Kun," Han Qian said coldly. "Tell your father his deal with Rongyao is off."

Then his hand lashed out, slapping a white-haired boy across the face so hard he staggered. As he opened his mouth to curse,

"Fuck—"

Han Qian's hand was already coming down again—*smack!*

The girl, Tu Kun, finally couldn't take it anymore. She looked up at Han Qian, her voice small and trembling.

"Xiao Jiu… it's not my fault!"

The other kids froze, staring at their leader, then back at Han Qian—dumbfounded. Han Qian ignored Tu Kun's pitiful expression. He pulled a hundred-yuan bill from his wallet and handed it to the old woman, speaking softly.

"I should have taught her better. I'm sorry you were hurt. Take this—consider it payment for the bottles she broke."

Then he handed her another two hundred.

"Take this, too. She's just a child who doesn't know any better—I hope it helps."

Finally, he took out a thousand-yuan note and offered it to the young man.

"I don't know if you'll believe me, but this girl calls me 'uncle.' I don't have much on me now—use this to get your nose checked out. Here's my number; if it's not enough, come find me."

The young man didn't take the money immediately. He just stared at Han Qian, his voice low.

"I never heard of Tu Xiao having any relatives around here."

Han Qian smiled faintly.

"She calls me uncle—I'll do what an uncle should."

"She'll probably just call you an idiot for it," the young man warned.

"That's her right," Han Qian said lightly. "For me, it's enough to do what I should."

The young man finally took the money and pressed it into the old woman's hand. Helping her to her feet, he turned back with a wry smile.

"I don't know whether to call you lucky or cursed."

Han Qian let out a soft chuckle.

"Lucky, I'd say. At least tonight, I'll be proud of the money I spent—better than regretting not doing what I should have."

"Maybe," the young man said. "Let's hope we don't meet again—it wouldn't be pleasant."

With that, he and the old woman left, the old woman still shaken. Han Qian turned to glare at Tu Kun, only to see her burst out wailing dramatically.

"Waaa—Xiao Jiu, it's really not my fault… I was the one bullied… and you're threatening me, threatening my dad… waaa…"

The other kids finally understood—this unassuming man was really her uncle. Green Hair and White Hair stammered apologies, backing away. When they reached Tu Kun's side, she kicked them both, sending them scurrying. In an instant, she was the only one left, her crocodile tears loud but utterly unconvincing.

The crowd around them began to murmur, pointing and gossiping. Han Qian flushed a bit with embarrassment, stepped forward, and grabbed Tu Kun by the back of her collar, his voice low and sharp.

"Enough. Let's go."

"Waaa—I can't move, I twisted my ankle!"

Han Qian finally noticed the mud-streaked back of her light grey jacket and the slight swelling of her exposed ankle. With a resigned sigh, he hefted her onto his back and climbed the stairs out of the underground.

Not long after Han Qian left, Guan Da Gou showed up with a group of men. Han Qian handed Tu Kun off to him.

"Tell your boss that if I have time, I'll reach out to him myself. And stay the hell away from Rongyao—everyone already thinks you and I are close."

Guan Da Gou looked at him with wounded eyes, his tone mournful.

"Brother Han, is it really so shameful to be called my brother?"

"Get lost—I'm just worried your enemies will come cut me down."