Chapter Seventy: Playing Dumb

Liu Zhiping was utterly stunned. Ever since he’d made his fortune, leveraging the power of his gang, he’d become the owner of the Fukang Entertainment Club. From that day on, wherever Liu Zhiping went, he walked with his head held high and his chest puffed out; everyone who saw him had to show some respect. He was used to being at the top, holding the lives of others in his hands. Yet today, he’d been beaten senseless by a mere young upstart. Worse still, he’d been beaten so badly his whole face was deformed.

“You little—”

Liu Zhiping, out of habit, was about to shout his usual boast, but before he could finish, Ling Tian’s slap came flying again.

That barrage of blows left Liu Zhiping so disoriented he didn’t know east from west. With only a handful of his men around and no way to fight back, he could do nothing but take the beating.

Wiping the blood from his palm onto Liu Zhiping’s clothes, Ling Tian said, “I always keep my word.”

After Ling Tian finished, the sound of slaps having drawn attention, the rest of the underlings rushed in. More than twenty men crowded into the office, filling it to the brim. Seeing his men arrive, Liu Zhiping spat out bloody saliva and bellowed, “You’ve got guts, kid! Daring to beat me on my own turf! Now my boys are here, let’s see if you dare try that again!”

The underlings all brandished their weapons—steel pipes, uniform and menacing. Steel pipes were even handier than knives; a hit from one would leave internal injuries. At Liu Zhiping’s command, his men, all street thugs by nature, immediately closed in, awaiting the order to attack.

Suddenly, Liu Zhiping saw a shadow flicker before his eyes—another slap landed.

Afterward, Ling Tian grabbed Liu Zhiping by the collar and lifted him up, saying coldly, “You have a terrible memory. Did you forget what I just told you? Stop calling yourself ‘old man’ all the time, or I’ll slap you to death.”

The underlings, weapons in hand, edged closer, but with Liu Zhiping in Ling Tian’s grip, they all hesitated, fearful of hitting their boss by mistake. They could only stand by helplessly, watching as their big brother was manhandled like a chicken.

After a string of slaps, Liu Zhiping’s face was as swollen as a steamed bun, his eyes reduced to narrow slits.

A deathly silence settled over the office. None of the underlings dared move; Liu Zhiping dared not call himself “old man” anymore. He had realized by now that this young man meant every word he said. Even with so many people present, he still had the audacity to keep slapping him.

Ling Tian found a chair and sat down, then said to Liu Zhiping, “If you have something to say, squat down and say it.”

The once arrogant Liu Zhiping obediently squatted down, cowed by the repeated slaps.

“Tell your men to get out,” Ling Tian continued.

Liu Zhiping obediently waved his men away. Once they had left, he put on a fawning smile and said, “Big brother, you’re skilled indeed. A few more slaps and you would’ve beaten me to death. So, what brings you here today?”

A lackey is always a lackey—never the boss. Ling Tian had thought Liu Zhiping might hold out to the end, but a few slaps revealed his true nature.

“It’s nothing major. I’m here to collect an old debt. Take a look at this.” Ling Tian nodded at Wang Yong, who immediately handed over a copy of the ledger.

Liu Zhiping was puzzled—he owed a lot of money, but no one had ever dared come collect. Who could be so bold as to send these two experts?

When Liu Zhiping saw the ledger, his expression shifted to one of sudden realization—it was from the Allure Group. Two years had passed, yet they remembered this debt so clearly? Liu Zhiping was annoyed. “A wise man avoids immediate loss; let them gloat for a bit. Soon, we’ll see who has the last laugh,” he thought resentfully.

“It’s been two years; it’s time you paid up,” Ling Tian said, his tone calm. “It’s not much, just three million.”

Liu Zhiping’s hand trembled as he held the statement, lowering his head to check the details. The amount was clearly two million; how had it become three?

“Big brother, you must have misread. It says two million on the statement,” Liu Zhiping said cautiously, still fearful.

Ling Tian responded with another slap. “You’ve owed it for two years—don’t you think there should be some interest?”

After yet another slap, Liu Zhiping pulled a long face and stammered, “Fine, I’ll pay. Whatever you say, I’ll do. I’ll send someone to get the money right now.”

Seeing this, Wang Yong felt a rush of satisfaction. The public relations department had tried countless times to collect from Liu Zhiping, always returning empty-handed. Sometimes, Allure Group’s staff had even been beaten up. Even Xue Kun himself had come to collect, but Liu Zhiping had replied, “No money, only my life—take it if you can,” acting every bit the tough guy.

Now, with Ling Tian taking action, Liu Zhiping had turned into a lackey.

Liu Zhiping took out his phone, made a call to arrange the cash, then turned to Ling Tian with a sycophantic smile. “Big brother, I’ve sent someone for the money. It’ll be here in five minutes.” As he spoke, he surreptitiously edged toward the door.

Before long, a commotion of hurried footsteps sounded outside—at least a dozen people, by the sound of it. Ling Tian frowned slightly.

The office door was kicked open. A dozen underlings burst in, their steel pipes replaced with machetes. Though not as handy as the pipes, the gleaming blades were far more intimidating, enough to make any ordinary person’s legs go weak. The group quickly split into two teams: one blocked the exit, the other stormed into the office to shield Liu Zhiping.

In those few seconds, Liu Zhiping’s attitude had completely changed.

“Ha! Weren’t you cocky just now, kid? Daring to hit me—do you know whose turf this is? Even if the Mu family tried to intervene today, they couldn’t save you.” Liu Zhiping swaggered to his seat, lit a cigar, and gazed smugly at Ling Tian.

“Liu Zhiping, a lackey is always a lackey. Even if you were made the boss, you couldn’t hold your own,” Ling Tian sneered.

“Still so arrogant? Brothers, cut him down!” Liu Zhiping roared. “But don’t kill him—I want to torment him slowly. Killing him outright would be too easy.”

The underlings, all seasoned thugs, were used to brawling in the streets. Now, facing just two men with a dozen of their own, the odds seemed overwhelmingly in their favor. With a shout, they closed in, forming a tight ring around Ling Tian and Wang Yong.

Cold steel flashed as the machetes all swung toward the pair.

“It’s not too late to kneel and beg,” Liu Zhiping laughed triumphantly.

Ling Tian burst out laughing, his bearing proud. “Lackey, you think a handful of trash like this is worth bringing out? They’re not even worth my attention.” Then, in a low voice by Wang Yong’s ear, he said, “In a moment, get down and cover your head. No matter what happens, don’t look up.”

Wang Yong bit his lip hard and said, “You’re right, big brother. Liu Zhiping’s the lackey, we’re the bosses. Even if we die, a true boss fights to the end—we’ll never grovel and play the lackey.”