42: Chapter 42 It's not just the rich who are bullies; the poor can be just as ruthless.

The remaining half of the beer bottle was still clutched in his hand, blood dripping from the sharp glass shards; it was impossible to tell if it was red wine or blood from the yellow-haired guy's forehead.

The air around them seemed to have frozen.

Dozens of eyes in the night market stall stared fixedly at Su Muyang. No one could believe that this student, wearing a T-shirt that cost only a few dozen yuan and looking so weak and bookish, could strike with such ruthlessness.

"I'm going to kill you!"

The remaining two thugs finally reacted. One fat guy with a tattooed arm cursed, grabbed a folding chair, and smashed it down toward Su Muyang's head.

Su Muyang didn't dodge.

Alcohol had scorched his rational nerves; now, only one face filled his mind—that smug face of Wang Hao, holding Qian Li.

"Screw you!"

Su Muyang let out a roar, advancing instead of retreating, and lunged forward with the broken bottle.

The fat guy had clearly never seen such a death-defying fighting style and hesitated for a split second. In that lightning-fast moment, an inconspicuous pebble flew out from the darkness, striking precisely on the back of the fat guy's knee.

The fat guy's leg went soft, and he pitched forward.

Su Muyang seized the opportunity and drove his knee upward.

Bang!

A dull thud echoed. The fat guy clutched his stomach, kneeling on the ground, retching up bile.

"Number Three!" Seeing this, the last thin, tall thug pulled out a switchblade—a real, sharpened weapon. "You little brat, you're asking for death!"

Upon seeing the knife, the surrounding diners screamed and scattered in all directions.

The girl sitting on the ground, Lin Wanqiu, was terrified, her face deathly pale. She grabbed onto Su Muyang's pant leg, crying out, "Don't... don't fight! Run!"

Run?

Su Muyang looked down at the girl.

Those terrified eyes looked exactly like himself back then, when he was at a loss after being called out in front of the class for not being able to pay the class fees.

Run? What was there to run from?

He had been running for nineteen years, yielding for nineteen years, and enduring for nineteen years.

And what was the result?

The result was being trampled into the mud, with even his most beloved woman becoming someone else's plaything!

"I'm not running today!"

With red-rimmed eyes, Su Muyang shook off Lin Wanqiu's hand. Like a lone wolf backed into a corner, he charged straight at the knife.

The thin, tall guy sneered as he stabbed forward.

The blade aimed straight for Su Muyang's stomach.

Su Muyang had never learned how to fight; he simply relied on instinct and twisted his body to the side.

"Ah!"

The tip of the blade sliced through his T-shirt, leaving a bloody gash on his side. It burned with pain.

But this pain only completely ignited the powder keg inside Su Muyang. He wrapped his arms around the tall, thin guy's waist and slammed his head hard into the other man's nose.

Thud!

The sound of the nasal bone breaking made one's teeth ache.

The tall, thin guy screamed and let go of the knife.

Su Muyang tackled him to the ground, mounted him, and rained down punches like raindrops.

"You think having money is a big deal, right!"

One punch.

"You think driving a bmw is a big deal, right!"

Two punches.

"You think messing with women is fun, right!"

Three punches.

The tall, thin guy was beaten until his face was covered in blood; he had long since lost the strength to resist and could only let out whimpering pleas for mercy. But Su Muyang couldn't hear them; he threw every punch with all his might, as if he were smashing apart that hypocritical world.

"That's enough."

A hand as powerful as an elephant's grabbed Su Muyang's wrist.

Su Muyang whipped his head around, his gaze so fierce that even Ghost Shadow was momentarily stunned.

"Young Master, if you keep hitting him, you'll kill him." Ghost Shadow lowered the brim of his hat; his voice was soft but carried an undeniable authority. "These worthless lives aren't worth you catching a criminal charge."

Su Muyang panted heavily, his chest heaving violently. He looked at the thug beneath him who had already passed out, then looked at his own blood-covered fists.

That frantic murderous intent slowly receded, replaced by a wave of exhaustion.

"Boss! Someone's been killed! Call the police! Hurry, call the police!"

The owner of the night market stall held a spatula, hiding behind the cash register, shouting tremblingly.

The place was a mess. Three tables had been overturned, broken glass and beer covered the floor, and the three thugs lay on the ground, groaning.

"What police?"

Ghost Shadow released Su Muyang's hand and pulled two thick stacks of cash from his jacket. They were bright red bills, just taken from the emergency fund in the trunk, totaling twenty thousand.

Slap.

The brick-like stacks of money were thrown onto the cash register, making the calculator jump.

"Compensation for your tables, chairs, and emotional distress—is that enough?" Ghost Shadow asked coldly.

The owner stared at the two stacks of money, his eyes fixed. These crappy tables and chairs weren't worth even two thousand yuan in total.

"E-enough..." The owner swallowed hard, his previous sense of justice instantly thrown to the dogs. "Um... these brothers..."

"That's for medical expenses."

Ghost Shadow pulled out another stack and tossed it casually onto the yellow-haired guy, as if he were shooing away a beggar. "Take it for treatment. Remember, the person who beat you today is someone you can't afford to offend. If you want revenge, feel free to come to Longwan No. 1 and find the Chen family."

Longwan No. 1. The Chen family.

Once these words were spoken, anyone with even a little bit of common knowledge gasped.

That was the most elite residential area in Jiangcheng; those who lived there were either wealthy or powerful, and they were definitely not people these street thugs could mess with.

Su Muyang stood up, swaying slightly.

The wound on his waist was still oozing blood, but he couldn't feel the pain.

He walked over to the girl who was still sitting on the ground.

Lin Wanqiu was curled up, her oversized sales apron stained with grime, her ponytail disheveled, and tear tracks still lingering on her face. She looked at Su Muyang as if he were a monster who had descended from the heavens, yet also as if he were her only lifeline.

"Get up."

Su Muyang reached out a hand. His hand was still bloody, the skin on his knuckles broken.

Lin Wanqiu hesitated for a second, then reached out her rough little hand and placed it in his palm.

In that moment, two souls struggling at the bottom of society connected through this blood-stained hand.

Su Muyang pulled her up, picked up a jacket from the ground—he didn't know whose it was—and draped it over her.

"I paid for the beer."

Su Muyang pointed to the crate of broken beer on the ground, his tone stiff but carrying a hint of awkward tenderness. "You don't need to pay for it."

After saying this, he didn't wait for Lin Wanqiu to say thank you and turned to leave.

At this moment, he didn't need thanks, nor did he need pity. He just wanted to leave this noisy place and let the wind cool his burning head.

Ghost Shadow followed silently behind, blocking the onlookers for them.

"Hey... you..."

Clinging to the jacket that smelled of sweat and tobacco, Lin Wanqiu chased after him for two steps and called out to the thin but upright back, "What's your name?"

Su Muyang stopped.

The night wind blew his torn, cheap T-shirt, revealing a lean waist.

He didn't turn around, just waved his hand with his back to the girl.

The streetlights stretched his shadow long, casting it onto the greasy road, making it look exceptionally lonely yet exceptionally tall.

"Su Muyang."

The three words drifted into Lin Wanqiu's ears along with the wind.

Immediately after, that figure ducked into the dilapidated-looking taxi by the side of the road and disappeared into the vast night.

Lin Wanqiu stood where she was, chewing over the name repeatedly.

"Su Muyang..."

She lowered her head and looked at her palm. The scalding temperature of the boy's palm seemed to still linger there, far warmer than the cool breeze of this autumn night.