Chapter 134: Brother Lei

In an instant, Old Han became the target of public criticism. The students grew increasingly indignant, and had it not been for his status as the deputy principal, they likely would have swarmed him. After giving Old Han a couple of kicks, Song Nianqiang felt his anger gradually subside.

"This is the kind of popularity you have. I honestly marvel at how you still have the unmitigated gall to remain in this school after the scene today," Song Nianqiang said, patting Old Han mockingly on the cheek before strutting away.

As for what kind of disciplinary action or treatment the school would hand down to Old Han, that was no longer within Song Nianqiang's purview. School had just let out, and Song Nianqiang, along with Fatty, mingled with the crowd as they walked out of the school gates. They casually picked out a small diner to sit in. Small eateries like this right outside the school gates always did a roaring trade; as soon as the final bell rang, students would flock here in droves, especially since the food wasn't expensive and well within a student's budget.

Ordering a few small side dishes and four bottles of beer, Song Nianqiang and Fatty began to drink. They bantered back and forth, boasting loudly, and burst into simultaneous laughter at a particularly amusing remark, drawing the gaze of everyone in the entire restaurant.

Middle school students were right in the middle of their rebellious phase. Unlike high schoolers, who had already begun to mature and grow steady—ignoring trivial matters—middle schoolers were completely different. They were like tinder, ready to ignite at the slightest spark, and before long, the boisterous laughter of Song Nianqiang and Fatty drew the dissatisfaction of a nearby table of students.

That particular group of students relied on connections with street thugs they knew outside, lording over the school as local tyrants. Even the teachers found them a massive headache, while ordinary students feared them even more.

These fellows never asked their families for money; whenever they ran short, they would simply stroll through other classes, sizing up anyone they disliked and shaking them down for some cash. Although Song Nianqiang had been somewhat similar in the past, he had never stooped to extorting money from others. More importantly, Song Nianqiang had carved out his reputation in the underworld through sheer competence, unlike these punks who thought knowing a few tough guys made them invincible.

"What the hell? Which class are you bastards from? Shut your damn traps!" demanded a mohawked youth as he strode over. His hair was dyed in a riot of flashy colors—truly cutting-edge for a young punk nowadays. He was holding an empty beer bottle, which he used to point directly at Song Nianqiang.

To be frank, Song Nianqiang truly hadn't expected to have a beer bottle pointed at him by a middle schooler. Back when he was in middle school, he was always the one intimidating others, never the target of such antics. He couldn't help but let out a snort of laughter, turning to Fatty to chuckle, "Today I finally know what it feels like to be threatened!"

Song Nianqiang's expression was so thoroughly dismissive that the mohawked punk grew impatient. He had never seen these two guys before; they clearly weren't big names. The mohawk harbored a grand ambition: to reach the heights of Song Nianqiang. Back in middle school, Song Nianqiang had already been the undisputed boss of their town, and even the county's middle schools bowed to his commands. Now that Song Nianqiang's legend was slowly fading, the mohawk desperately wanted to take his place.

"Damn it, what are you laughing at? Well, my young master is in a good mood today. Hand over a dozen yuan and I'll let you walk away, how about that?" Without waiting for an answer, the mohawk slumped uninvited into a seat at Song Nianqiang's table, reaching out a filthy hand to grab some food from a plate. Yet Song Nianqiang merely kept smiling as he watched the punk, as if admiring a piece of fine art.

"Fatty, so this is what it feels like to be shaken down. Doesn't feel all that great, does it?" Song Nianqiang picked up his teacup, finished off the remaining beer inside, and then said to Fatty, "Qiangzi, I'd say these kids have a bright future—they've actually learned the art of extortion." Fatty showed not a shred of fear toward these students. Are you kidding? Fatty had seen much bigger storms; petty little trifles like this were beneath his notice.

"Shit! You two, Brother Lei is talking to you out of respect, don't toast to a forfeit and drink a penalty instead!" At that moment, one of the cronies standing behind Brother Lei stepped forward, pointing right at the bridge of Song Nianqiang's nose.

"Oh?" Song Nianqiang raised his eyelids at the remark, lifting his head to gaze at the death-seeking fellow.

The guy was genuinely avant-garde. Judging by Song Nianqiang's rough estimate, the punk had at least ten piercings on his face alone, with little chains threaded through the holes. Seeing this fellow's appearance, Song Nianqiang sighed and shook his head.

"Do you even know what that phrase means?" Surprisingly, Song Nianqiang didn't resort to violence immediately, opting instead to lecture these "alternative" students on some high-minded principles. The effect, however, fell far short of his satisfaction; these students had no intention of listening to sermons. The moment Song Nianqiang finished speaking, the face-pierced punk lunged forward and swung a heavy palm straight at Song Nianqiang's face.

"Huh?"

The pierced punk was as thin as a bamboo pole, with virtually no physical strength to speak of, let alone any real combat prowess. His blow stopped dead about ten centimeters away from Song Nianqiang's cheek because his wrist had somehow been caught firmly in Song Nianqiang's grip.

"Well, my mood is actually quite decent today, so let me teach you what it really means to toast to a forfeit and drink a penalty." Song Nianqiang exhaled softly, then slowly rose to his feet without releasing his hold on the punk's wrist. By this time, the punk's face had turned beet red, the pain shooting from his wrist simply unbearable.

"Ah! It hurts! It hurts so much!"

He finally broke down and shrieked. This sudden yell startled Fatty, who was in the middle of drinking some water, causing the liquid to shoot straight out of his nose. To make matters worse, Fatty had been drinking piping hot water. "Cough, cough, cough..." Fatty doubled over, covering his nose and mouth in a fit of violent coughing, thoroughly choked by the mishap.

It took about three minutes for Fatty to recover his breath. By then, Song Nianqiang had already let go of the pierced punk's wrist, knowing the fellow was about to suffer. Sure enough, Fatty stood up, picked up the cup of hot water he had just been drinking, and marched wrathfully toward the punk.

The punk was kneeling on the ground, still reeling from the excruciating pain in his wrist, when he suddenly felt a searing heat on the top of his head. "Ahhh!" he shrieked in fresh agony, throwing both hands up to shield his scalp as he scrambled frantically to the side.

"Little bastard, you just made a massive mistake—you went and annoyed your grandpa while he was trying to drink water. How do you propose we punish you for that?" Fatty stalked over, bent down, and hoisted the punk up by the collar in a single motion. By now, the punk had lost all his bluster. No matter how much he swaggered in front of outsiders on ordinary days, he was fundamentally just an overgrown child, and terror was his innate response.

"Fuck! You don't beat a dog without checking who its master is! Where do you put me in all this?!" Brother Lei finally reacted. But just as he tried to stand up, he felt a sharp pain behind his knee, and with a heavy thud, he dropped straight to his knees.

"Damn it! Which suicidal bastard just kicked me?!" A wave of agony surged through Brother Lei's kneecaps, prompting him to unleash a stream of curses without a second thought. His brain was honestly dimmer than a pig's.

Brother Lei attempted to rise once more, but agony struck the back of his legs again, and with another heavy "thud," he crashed back down to his knees. This time, his kneecaps made solid, brutal contact with the floor, sending a torrent of cold sweat streaming down his face from the pain.

Still, Brother Lei possessed a shred of toughness, managing to keep his jaw tightly clenched without crying out. "Oh ho, the kid has quite a bit of tolerance. Not bad, not bad." Song Nianqiang stepped out from behind Brother Lei. Only then did Brother Lei realize who had kicked the back of his knees. Glancing toward the table, he snatched up a beer bottle and prepared to liven things up by giving Song Nianqiang a taste of it.

Things, however, did not go as Brother Lei planned. The moment he rose to his feet, a sharp pain blossomed in his abdomen, and his body flew backward completely out of his control, slamming violently into the wall behind him and leaving him completely dizzy and disoriented.

The beer bottle shattered against the floor into a scattering of glass shards, and Brother Lei's hand happened to land right upon them. Crimson blood immediately began to ooze from his fingers, giving him a sudden, bone-chilling fright.