Chapter Sixty-Five: First Encounter with the Wolfhound

Bang—

Before anyone could react, it was Chen Huajiang who struck first, his kick landing squarely in the belly of Wolfhound.

Chen Huajiang was no fool; facing a fiend like Wolfhound—who in a past life would have been executed—he had come prepared.

A flash of ferocity crossed his face. With his left hand, he seized Wolfhound’s head and shoved it downward, while his right knee jerked upward.

Another crisp smack rang out as Wolfhound’s body swayed unsteadily, his mind reeling. He collapsed to the ground.

Around them, the crowd’s eyes widened in unison. Whether it was Black Tiger, Ermao, or the men with Wolfhound, all stood in stunned disbelief.

No one had expected that, after barely opening negotiations, things would escalate in the blink of an eye.

Even more unexpected was Chen Huajiang’s ruthlessness—he’d struck Wolfhound without hesitation over a few words.

As for Wolfhound landing the first kick, no one thought much of it. In everyone’s mind, that was par for the course.

“Damn! You dare hit Brother Dog? Take him out!”

“Kid, you’ve got a death wish, haven’t you?”

“Get him—kill him!”

It took a good three or four seconds before Wolfhound’s men snapped to, shouting threats with murderous faces as they brandished weapons and charged at Chen Huajiang.

“Don’t you dare move a muscle!”

“Hell, you punks think you can bluff? You think I, Black Tiger, am a joke?”

Black Tiger quickly stepped forward, shouting as he led his men to intercept.

As Wolfhound’s equal in reputation, Black Tiger just barely managed to hold the situation together.

But with Wolfhound himself yet to speak, his men gripped their weapons tightly, looking to him for direction.

Coughing harshly, Wolfhound finally came to his senses, staggered to his feet, and wiped his face.

His nose, smashed by Chen Huajiang’s knee, was crooked and bleeding profusely.

With one swipe, his face was smeared with blood—making him look all the more terrifying, especially with the blood soaking into his scar, turning his centipede-like mark into a crimson monstrosity.

“Black Tiger, if you open your mouth again, I’ll hack you down along with him today!”

“You lot think you can take on me, Wolfhound? You’ve got some nerve!”

“Cut him down!”

Wolfhound spat the words through gritted teeth, his gaze murderous, finger pointing coldly at Chen Huajiang.

His men surged forward, weapons raised, charging at Chen Huajiang.

“Damn it, you lay a hand on Brother Dog and you're dead!”

“Back off now, or we'll take you all out!”

“You dare act tough in front of us with just a handful of men?”

At this moment, Wolfhound’s men had the upper hand in both numbers and momentum. In less than a round, Black Tiger’s men—those standing between Chen Huajiang and the attackers—were forced back step by step, on the verge of collapse.

Of course, part of this was psychological. They were only here to bolster numbers; no one intended to risk their life for Chen Huajiang. He wasn’t their father—no need to die for him. Even raising their weapons to stall was already showing him respect.

“You think you’ve got numbers? Look over there! And then tell me who’s got more men!”

Chen Huajiang roared, pointing toward the dirt path running between the rice fields at the foot of Dragonhead Mountain.

That was the only road to this place; both sides had arrived via that path earlier.

“Backup’s here—hold your ground!”

“Think you’ve got numbers? See who has more now!”

“Don’t you dare run!”

With one look, Black Tiger’s men were electrified. A dense mass of bicycles was approaching, like a tidal wave of workers streaming in and out of a factory at shift change, or the surging crowds at a school’s opening and closing bells.

“Whose people are those?”

“Who called in so many?”

“Are they with Tiger or Dog?”

Wolfhound’s men felt their bravado draining, eyes darting between the immense crowd and their own group, weapons clutched but spirits flagging.

Their faces were blank with confusion—there were simply too many people. This was nothing like their usual small-time brawls. The sight was overwhelming.

It was as if they were thrust back into the mass movements of a decade ago. Many of them had those memories; for some, just standing firm with weapon in hand took all their courage.

Wolfhound himself was dumbstruck, staring at the tides of people, glancing at Black Tiger, then back at the crowd, then at Black Tiger again.

As old rivals, he knew Black Tiger’s strength inside out—no way could he have so many men.

If he did, what place would there be for Wolfhound? South of the city, the underworld would never have been divided between Black Tiger and Wolfhound; Black Tiger would have ruled it all long ago.

“Don’t panic, everyone—these must be workers passing through,” Wolfhound shouted, trying to sound reasonable and calm his men.

Yet as the masses dismounted and surrounded them, hemming everyone in, Wolfhound’s face changed, fear appearing for the first time.

His men looked shaken as well; some instinctively dropped their weapons, crouching down with hands over their heads.

This was the true force of the era—the power of the workers and peasants, able to crush any would-be tyrant.

There was a story from later times: in the early nineties, the future northern boss Old Qiao, fresh on the scene, provoked a group of steelworkers. The workers surrounded him and beat him so badly he knelt and begged for mercy. Ever since, Old Qiao avoided provoking workers and recruited mostly laid-off workers, growing bolder only as his power increased.

“Over here!”

In the stunned eyes of Wolfhound, Black Tiger, and the others, Chen Huajiang waved toward the crowd.

“This way! Don’t back the wrong side—Boss Chen is over here!”

The leaders of each workers’ compound naturally recognized Chen Huajiang; after all, he was the one handing out the money. They immediately led their men behind him.

There were so many—hundreds—that the space couldn’t hold them all, and they stretched back in rows.

This brought problems as well. Hao Jianguo, for one, was deeply troubled, keeping his head down behind Hao Qiang, hoping not to be recognized.

He hadn’t wanted to come, but as a worker at Factory 115, he’d accepted money from Chen Huajiang in front of Hao Qiang and the others. If he didn’t show up now, what would people say? He’d lose all face.

But Hao Jianguo didn’t know about Murphy’s Law: the more you fear something, the more likely it is to happen.

He thought his quail-like demeanor would help him blend in, but among the curious, excited faces of the workers, his anxious posture made him stand out all the more.

“Zhang Qiang, are you stupid? Over here!”

The leader of the Cotton Mill’s group eyed Hao Jianguo curiously, instantly recognizing him and rolling his eyes as he waved him over.