Chapter Nine: The Supermarket Incident

After equipping the items from his inventory, Liang Jing took a mountaineering backpack whose brand name he couldn’t recall. He’d heard from others that it was quite good—comfortable to carry and waterproof—so he decided to use it for odds and ends in the future. He stuffed some seasonings, a stainless-steel pot, a toothbrush, toothpaste, and other daily necessities into it from the storeroom, then grabbed a woven sack and filled it with food.

Meanwhile, Yang Yuyuan and his companions encountered an enemy. In haste, they set down what they were holding, took up their short blades, and quickly exited the supermarket storeroom to see what was happening.

In the main sales hall of the supermarket, two groups stood in confrontation. On one side were Yang Yuyuan and the young man with acne; on the other, four people dressed in thick canvas clothing. Two of them held machetes over a meter long—one with a wooden, vacant face, another with very dark skin. The remaining two were familiar to Liang Jing: they were warehouse managers from his own factory, Liu Nengtian and Guo Qingyu, shivering as they gripped steel pipes as thick as wrists and fishing nets.

At the fringes, several more people lingered at a distance, clearly others who had arrived after Liang Jing’s group, looking for food.

Between the two groups was a funnel-shaped pit over half a meter wide, still emitting wisps of blue smoke; a burnt odor hung in the air. Yang Yuyuan had used the Fireball Spell. The opposition dared not act rashly, seemingly intimidated by Yang Yuyuan’s magical fireball; after all, the floor was tiled with concrete underneath, and even that had been blasted apart. None of them had ever witnessed such terrifying sorcery.

At that moment, Yang Yuyuan’s face was flushed an unhealthy red, staring intently at the man with the vacant face and clouded eyes ahead of him, evidently furious.

Liang Jing knew Yang Yuyuan to be naturally cheerful—a man who rarely quarreled or lost his temper. To see him this enraged was unprecedented.

Yang Yuyuan worked at Xinghui Moulding, and was close friends with one of the security guards there, a fellow villager who had even introduced him to the job. That guard was honest and straightforward, not given to scheming, but half a year ago someone had crippled his right leg. In modern society, where the cost of living was high, being disabled made it nearly impossible to survive, let alone support a family; marriage was out of the question. His entire life had been ruined, and Yang Yuyuan had suffered from guilt ever since. He knew from inside sources that the culprit was none other than the man with the vacant face standing before them.

Even so, given his temperament, Yang Yuyuan would not have resorted to violence if not for the other side’s outrageous bullying. Upon entering the supermarket, they tried to snatch the acne-faced youth’s woven sack; when he wouldn’t let go, they simply swung a machete at him. There was plenty of merchandise still on the shelves—was it really necessary to be so domineering and violent? Did human life mean nothing to them?

Had the youth not pulled back his hand quickly, it would have been far worse than a mere flesh wound; he might have lost his entire arm. Such ruthless, casual aggression ignited all of Yang Yuyuan’s anger—old grudges, new affronts, all at once.

“Hey, let’s talk this out,” said the tall, lean, dark-skinned man, his voice trembling at the memory of the magical, explosive display. “We apologize for the misunderstanding. There’s plenty of stuff in the supermarket—let’s each take our share and not interfere with each other. Otherwise, none of us will come to a good end.”

“Fine. We’ll keep to ourselves and not bother each other,” Yang Yuyuan replied, still glaring at the wooden-faced man, his chest heaving, face shifting through a spectrum of emotions before he finally bit out his agreement.

Not far away, Liang Jing watched, then glanced at the acne-faced youth clutching his bleeding arm. He shook his head with a wry smile. Yang Yuyuan was still too soft-hearted, and that was not a good thing. Wasn’t there a saying that good men die young?

Especially now, when the restraints of law and order were all but gone, and the naked law of the jungle reigned, weakness and retreat would only invite further encroachment. If others could provoke him without consequence, endless trouble and eventual destruction awaited him.

Of course, had Liang Jing known of the relationship between the Xinghui security guard, Yang Yuyuan, and the other party, he’d probably have laughed in exasperation—no hope for this lot.

Liang Jing, carrying his mountaineering backpack and dragging a woven sack stuffed with food in his right hand, emerged from the storeroom into the hall, instantly attracting everyone’s attention. Of course—there was still the storeroom inside, brimming with supplies, far more than the paltry offerings on the shelves.

“Ha! Liang Jing, didn’t expect to see you here. You’ve got nerve, sneaking into the storeroom and finding all this stuff by yourself. Hand it over and maybe, if you please me, I’ll let you go today.” Liu Nengtian’s face twisted as he spotted Liang Jing, ashamed of having been frightened by Yang Yuyuan’s fireball earlier, and now eager to vent his humiliation by making a show of authority at Liang Jing’s expense.

Clearly, some people never learn their lesson.

But Liu Nengtian felt confident. He had backers now, and surely there couldn’t be another magician lurking in their midst.

He turned and, bowing obsequiously to the two thugs known as Blackie and Big Tree, pointed at Liang Jing. “Blackie, Big Tree, help me teach this guy a lesson and I’ll take you to find some pretty factory girls. I know where they live, and as long as they’re still alive, I guarantee at least two each for you. There are plenty of them in Qingshui Bay.”

The two thugs’ eyes lit up. Now, with no police to stop them, robbery and murder were unchecked. They looked Liang Jing over, weighing their options.

“Blackie, Big Tree, Liang Jing is from our factory—a migrant worker from G province, just an ordinary laborer,” Liu Nengtian hastened to explain, seeing their hesitation.

With their approval and now being under the protection of Brother Hongbin—a local gangster—Liu Nengtian felt yet more emboldened, his expression all the more smug and arrogant.

His grudge against Liang Jing wasn’t new. Though they’d never had much conflict, Liang Jing was the only one in the entire factory who wouldn’t even look at him, let alone acknowledge him. That was contempt, an insult. Coupled with his recent disgrace, his hatred for Liang Jing soared.

Liang Jing heard all this and knew this loudmouthed braggart of a colleague bore him a deep grudge, but he didn’t care. Let people think what they like; you can’t control their thoughts. But when he heard that these two were notorious gangsters, rumored to be killers, his interest was piqued. He flashed a subtle signal to Yang Yuyuan and the acne-faced youth: Don’t worry, I can handle this.

Yang Yuyuan and his companion, knowing Liang Jing’s capabilities, relaxed at his cue.

“Oh? You want this? Then come take it yourself.” Liang Jing’s face was calm, but his eyes were cold as ice. He couldn’t control what others thought of him, but outright insult would not go unanswered. Moreover, he’d overheard Liu Nengtian’s promises to the two gangsters—he had resolved not to let Liu Nengtian and his ilk off lightly. One malicious schemer, two murderous thugs—why not kill them if necessary?

“I said bring it over here! Hurry, and crawl between my legs, and I’ll let you off. Otherwise, I could kill you right here and no one would care!” Liu Nengtian was now thoroughly excited, feeling truly powerful for the first time, a real gangster with backers. He spread his legs and shouted, deliberately provoking Liang Jing.

He intended it—to enrage Liang Jing into attacking, so that, with Blackie and Big Tree’s help, he could humiliate him thoroughly, both physically and mentally. He smiled darkly at the thought.

“Liu, isn’t this a bit much? Liang Jing hasn’t done anything to us. There’s more stuff inside—we can just go get it ourselves,” Guo Qingyu interjected. Though he liked to show off alongside Liu Nengtian, at heart he wasn’t a bad man. After all, they were colleagues; there was no real enmity.

“Shut up! I’ve had enough of him. Today I’m going to teach him a lesson. The world’s gone mad—what’s killing someone now? If the authorities ever investigate, we’ll just blame it on monsters.”

Guo Qingyu, timid to begin with, was cowed into silence.

“Liang Jing, did you hear me, you bastard? Are you looking to die?” Liu Nengtian snarled, striding toward him.

Liang Jing was already furious—a feeling he hadn’t experienced in nearly a year. The humiliation and provocation might have ended in a savage beating, but not the insult to his mother. That was an absolute line. Liu Nengtian had to die.

“You deserve death.” Liang Jing’s expression was calm, his eyes as cold as a bottomless abyss. He struck, reaching for Liu Nengtian.

Liu Nengtian, seeing Liang Jing move, was secretly pleased—this was exactly what he wanted. He tried to dodge back toward Blackie and Big Tree, but he was nowhere near fast enough, even with Liang Jing holding back.

Liang Jing seized Liu Nengtian’s right hand with his left, yanked him forward, and kicked his knee.

Crack—the sound of breaking bone.

“Aaah! The pain!” Liu Nengtian could no longer stand, remaining upright only because Liang Jing gripped his arm. His left kneecap had been shattered by the kick, sweat streaming down his face as he screamed in agony and struggled.

But his struggles were as futile as an ant trying to shake a mountain.

It all happened so quickly that the others barely had time to react.

“Let him go! Don’t do anything foolish, or it won’t end well for you!”

“Let him—”

“Liang Jing, don’t be reckless, let’s talk this out!” Yang Yuyuan shouted.

“Are you insane? Why would you insult my mother?” Liang Jing ignored the pleas, his eyes cold as he looked at Liu Nengtian.

“If you have the guts, kill me! I’m with Brother Hongbin now—you kill me and you’ll die a miserable death, a very miserable death. Do you dare?” Liu Nengtian, sweating profusely, stared defiantly at Liang Jing, desperate to drag them all down. He thought Liang Jing wouldn’t dare.

But he had underestimated Liang Jing. Liang Jing, his face impassive, ignored the threats. With his right hand, he gripped each of Liu Nengtian’s fingers in turn and bent them back against the hand.

Crack! “Aaah! The pain!” Liu Nengtian had never imagined such cruelty—ten fingers linked to the heart, the agony piercing his very soul. His screams became inhuman wails, yet they could not relieve his suffering.

Liang Jing, as if deaf to his cries, snapped Liu Nengtian’s fingers one by one to the sound of breaking bones, amid Liu Nengtian’s shrieks and the desperate shouts of the onlookers.