113: Chapter 113 Lu Zheng

He wasn't particularly tall, around 1.78 meters, but his physique was lean and tough to the extreme.

A faded black short-sleeved shirt clung tightly to his body, outlining the muscle lines on his back and arms that looked as if they were carved by a knife and chisel; every muscle contained explosive power.

Unlike the other workers, he didn't wear gloves; his bare hands directly gripped a rusted I-beam over two meters long.

His knuckles were rough, and his veins were prominent; with a single surge of strength, he forcibly dragged the steel out from deep within the scrap pile and then steadily hoisted it onto his shoulder.

His steps were steady, and his spine was straight, like a sharp blade wrapped in dust and mud.

But only upon getting closer could one see the bloodshot in his eyes and the dark circles beneath them—marks left by long-term sleep deprivation and overwork.

Jiang Chen didn't step forward immediately; instead, he stood not far away and observed quietly for a moment.

Lu Zheng stacked the I-beam from his shoulder onto the steel pile in the designated area, his movements clean and efficient, without the slightest hesitation.

As he turned around, his gaze happened to meet Jiang Chen's.

For just an instant, a flash of alertness flickered through those eyes filled with exhaustion.

It was a near-instinctive scrutiny, like a cheetah catching a strange scent and subconsciously judging whether the newcomer was friend or foe.

Jiang Chen didn't dodge his gaze; instead, he walked toward him with a composed pace and a calm expression.

"Are you Lu Zheng?"

Lu Zheng's brow furrowed imperceptibly. He raised a hand to wipe the sweat from his forehead, his voice deep and raspy, carrying the heavy breathing that follows physical labor: "Who are you? What do you want with me?"

Jiang Chen pulled the scrap disposal agreement from his document bag and flashed it before his eyes.

"My name is Jiang Chen. I just signed for the scrap disposal rights for this construction site from Manager Zhang Lei."

He pointed at the mountain of scrap steel piled around them. "In other words, from now on, this scrap area is under my management."

Lu Zheng's gaze lingered on the agreement for a second. The alertness in his eyes hadn't faded, and his tone remained indifferent: "So? What do you need me to do?"

"Don't misunderstand."

Jiang Chen put the agreement back into the document bag. His tone softened, carrying a deliberate, restrained easygoingness. "I'm not here to give you more work."

He paused, looking directly into Lu Zheng's eyes, and said word for word: "Lu Zheng, your mother is in the ICU at Affiliated Hospital of Jiangcheng University with acute pancreatitis and organ damage. You're still four hundred thousand short of the surgery fee, right?"

The moment the words left his mouth, Lu Zheng felt as if he had been struck by a bolt of lightning.

His pupils contracted suddenly, his back snapped straight, and the muscles on his shoulders stiffened visibly.

In that instant, the exhaustion and alertness in his eyes were entirely replaced by a much stronger emotion.

Shock, wariness, and a sharpness that was nearly out of control.

"Who exactly are you?"

Lu Zheng's voice was pressed extremely low, like a blade slowly being unsheathed. "How do you know about my mother?"

Jiang Chen didn't retreat half a step, still calmly meeting his gaze.

"How I know isn't important."

His tone was neither hurried nor slow, but every word was clear. "What's important is that I can cover this four hundred thousand for you. Not just the four hundred thousand—I'll cover all of your mother's subsequent treatment and rehabilitation costs."

Lu Zheng's breathing suddenly became heavy.

His chest heaved violently a few times, and his Adam's apple bobbed as if he were desperately suppressing something.

A storm of emotions surged in his bloodshot eyes.

There was doubt, struggle, and wariness, but more than that, there was a near-desperate longing—the kind a drowning person feels when they see a piece of driftwood.

He stared fixedly at Jiang Chen, his throat tight: "What's the condition?"

Jiang Chen didn't answer directly but asked instead: "Working seventeen hours a day as manual labor at this site, how much do you earn?"

Lu Zheng was silent for a moment. "Daily pay, three hundred."

"Three hundred yuan."

Jiang Chen repeated the number. There was no contempt in his tone, only a calm statement of fact.

"For a four-hundred-thousand gap, you'd have to carry I-beams for over thirteen hundred days without eating, drinking, or sleeping. And your mother's surgery can't wait that long."

These words accurately pierced Lu Zheng's most vulnerable nerve.

His jawline tightened suddenly, his teeth clenched hard, and his hands at his sides unconsciously balled into fists, his knuckles turning white.

Jiang Chen looked at him, his tone turning from calm to solemn: "Stop carrying steel here. Work for me."

"I need someone I can trust to help me handle some business and security matters. The monthly salary is thirty thousand, with room and board included. I will personally advance all of your mother's treatment costs."

He paused, delivering the most crucial sentence last: "If you're willing, right now, immediately, I'll drive you to the hospital to pay the fees so your mother can be scheduled for surgery right away."

Lu Zheng's pupils shook violently.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.

This Soldier King, who hadn't even blinked when facing a hail of bullets on the battlefield, now felt as if his throat were tightly blocked by something.

He subconsciously waited for a moment.

Waiting for Jiang Chen to take out a contract, for him to state additional terms, for him to hand over a promissory note for him to sign.

In these past eleven days, he had seen too many people.

Some were willing to lend money but wanted his ancestral home as collateral; some were willing to help but wanted him to sign a five-year contract of indentured servitude; some spoke words of sympathy but turned around and found all sorts of excuses to back out.

He had already grown accustomed to it.

Behind every act of providing help in a time of need, there was a price tag.

But Jiang Chen took out nothing.

No contract.

No promissory note.

Nothing for him to sign or fingerprint.

He just stood there, quietly looking at him, waiting for his answer.

As if several hundred thousand in medical fees were just a small amount of money not worth fussing over with black and white ink.

As if Lu Zheng himself was inherently worthy of this trust.

Lu Zheng's eyes suddenly burned.

It wasn't a slow-building moisture, but a hot, sour sensation surging up from deep within his chest, catching him off guard and clogging his throat.

Since his mother collapsed, he had begged everyone he could beg and borrowed all the money he could borrow.

The brothers he once shared life and death with each had their own difficulties, so he couldn't bring himself to ask; the soldiers he once led were scattered everywhere, and he was even less willing to reach out to them.

He had set aside all his skills and bent his back to carry steel for seventeen hours a day. Blood blisters formed on his shoulders, scabbed over, and were rubbed raw again; every night when he lay down, his bones felt like they were falling apart.

During those days, he hadn't shed a single tear.

But now, a young man who was a complete stranger stood before him, without a condescending air of charity, without taking advantage of his situation with threats, and without even a single piece of paper to bind him.

Lu Zheng took a sudden, deep breath, as if trying to push all his surging emotions back down to the deepest part of his chest.

But that sourness couldn't be suppressed; instead, it spread with his breath, forcing his eyes to turn bright red.

He looked up, and the alertness and doubt were gone from those bloodshot eyes, replaced only by a determination that reached his very marrow.

"Mr. Jiang."

His voice was extremely raspy, yet as steady as a stake driven into the ground. "You didn't ask about my background, you didn't ask what I did before, you didn't even make me write a promissory note... you're just paying the money like that."

He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing heavily.

"This debt of gratitude, I, Lu Zheng, will remember for a lifetime."

Jiang Chen looked at him, his tone plain yet earnest: "Since I came to find you, it means I trust you. Someone I trust doesn't need a promissory note."

Lu Zheng's jaw clenched hard, his jawline as tight as tempered steel.

He didn't say any more words of tearful gratitude; he simply gave a forceful nod.

That movement was clean and decisive, like accepting a military order on the battlefield.

"Let's go. To the hospital."