Chapter Twenty-Eight: A Life Governed by Intelligence and Devoid of Freedom

“Who’s with him…” Zhang Ya was both embarrassed and angry, but stopped halfway through her sentence.

Jiang Xiwen shifted into a more comfortable position, gazing up at the ceiling of the mud-brick house, and said leisurely, “As the old saying goes, the more you argue, the more likely there’s something going on…”

Zhang Ya tried her best to turn away, her eyes wide in fury. “Nonsense! We aren’t husband and wife to begin with, so what’s there to argue about?!”

Normally, Zhang Ya might have ignored Jiang Xiwen’s teasing, perhaps responding with a cold snort to show her aloofness. But now, all her coldness had been worn away by Jiang Xiwen’s antics, leaving only a bit of innate arrogance mixed with innocence.

Before Jiang Xiwen could speak again, the drifting driver interjected, “Blackie, Old Seven, keep an eye on them. If anything goes wrong, you two deal with it yourselves!”

He then softened his tone. “I’m leaving. I’ll bring you food tomorrow.”

“Yes, yes!” Blackie nodded repeatedly.

Old Seven habitually stood in the corner by the wall, answering in a gruff tone, fitting his image as a burly bodyguard.

Since Jiang Xiwen entered, he hadn’t stopped his rambling, but in truth he’d been secretly observing the room. He found no knives or guns anywhere, which reassured him. If things got physical, it would be a fair fight—the only potential weapons were several bottles of liquor standing nearby.

These were all things Wang Wu had taught him: how to prepare for counterattacks in unfavorable conditions. Jiang Xiwen’s analytical mind made it easy to put theory into practice.

When the driver boss was about to leave, Jiang Xiwen felt secretly pleased. Old Seven was reckless and fierce, Blackie was lecherous, but only the driver was inscrutable—his words steady and cold, his gaze frightening. Strangely enough, though he was called “boss,” he was the one driving and delivering food.

As soon as the drifting driver stepped out, Blackie grabbed a bottle of white liquor, uncapped it with his teeth, took a swig, and grumbled, “Damn it, Old Seven. Those bastards are feasting while we’re stuck in this hellhole, freezing. Really sucks.” He passed the bottle to Old Seven.

Old Seven gulped down half the bottle, breathed out heavily, and replied, “Boss Nine said, if we pull this off, we each get fifty thousand. So what if it’s cold? That’s nothing.”

“I’ve been hustling since I was a kid, parents God knows where. Everyone says Boss Nine is like a second father to us, but he never shows his face—might even be a young lady for all we know.” Blackie seemed to recall the unfair treatment, sighed, then turned to look at Zhang Ya, who had started listening intently at some point, and said, “At least there’s booze and chicks. Makes the fifty grand worth it, even if we have to tough it out for a few days.”

“Brother Blackie, you’re right. Booze and chicks. But I’m just dead weight here, a real eyesore. Why don’t you let me go?” Jiang Xiwen laughed, tossing out a few lines now and then to draw attention away from Zhang Ya and lessen her risk.

No matter how arrogant Zhang Ya was, she was still his classmate—and their conflict was internal. The urgent task now was to unite against outsiders. A man should protect a woman; a hero even more so. Jiang Xiwen always had a hero complex, and never more than now.

“Cut the crap! You were the one who jumped onto the van, now you want to leave?” Old Seven strode over, raising his arm to get rough. Jiang Xiwen had messed up his plans twice and just kicked his shin, which was still throbbing—he hadn’t forgotten.

His words made Zhang Ya pause. She remembered being thrown onto the van, hearing Jiang Xiwen shout, “Quick, call the police!” Then he jumped onto the van himself.

Could it be… he did it to save me? Zhang Ya’s glare softened as she looked at Jiang Xiwen.

But no matter how gentle her gaze, it couldn’t stop Old Seven.

With a sudden “thud!” Old Seven kicked Jiang Xiwen square in the chest. Jiang Xiwen grunted, baring his teeth in pain.

Damn it, I’ll remember this—a slap and a kick. Forced to swallow this humiliation, I’ll pay it back tenfold. Jiang Xiwen thought furiously. This Old Seven never forgets a grudge…

Another “thud!” This time Jiang Xiwen dodged quickly, rolling to the side but purposely leaving his arm for Old Seven’s foot. He groaned again, this time exaggerating the pain a little.

Old Seven’s two kicks revealed his temper. Jiang Xiwen immediately recalled the most reliable plan from the seven he’d made in the van. He’d meant to use it on Blackie, but now he’d deal with Old Seven first.

“Stop hitting him!” Zhang Ya couldn’t bear to see Jiang Xiwen beaten and hurried to intervene.

Blackie laughed. “Old Seven, since you’re getting rough, I won’t be left out. I won’t ruin the girl, but I can at least cop a feel.” He moved closer to Zhang Ya as he spoke.

“Get lost, Old Seven! Come on, give me another kick—feels great!” Jiang Xiwen shouted maniacally, startling everyone and stopping Blackie’s advance as he turned to look.

“Damn it, I’ll kill you today!” Old Seven, enraged, charged like a mad bull, raising his foot and stomping down with all his might.

“Stop…” Zhang Ya screamed.

“Old Seven, you’re crazy! Don’t kill him…” Blackie knew how hard Old Seven could kick when angry. If he’d used full force just now, Jiang Xiwen might not even be able to speak.

Old Seven was just a small-time gang leader, but since Boss Nine tasked him with dealing with a ruthless opponent—he’d once broken a man’s chest with a kick—he’d been promoted above veteran Blackie.

Blackie was jealous. If this job succeeded, Old Seven would get a personal meeting with Boss Nine, while Blackie had no idea how long he’d have to keep hustling.

Both their shouts failed to stop Old Seven’s kick. Everyone, including Old Seven himself, thought Jiang Xiwen was done for.

Only Jiang Xiwen was hoping Old Seven would use all his strength. Only then could he use the force to strike back—a kill shot.

At the crucial moment, Jiang Xiwen’s lips curled into a cold smile. In the stories he read, only the hero could wear such an expression. Now, he couldn’t help but flash it himself.

Perhaps this was what Wang Wu meant—a confidence that surfaces from the heart at the moment you destroy your enemy.

Old Seven, in the final moment, clearly saw Jiang Xiwen’s smile and felt something strange. Unfortunately, there was no time to think. Jiang Xiwen’s hands, once tied behind his back, had somehow slipped to the front. Using the slack in the rope between his wrists, he hooked Old Seven’s foot, pulling with all his might toward the top of his head.