TDU Chapter 133: Turn of Fate

Chapter 133 Turn of Fate

Guy Liang saw my indifference and became even more anxious. “Jin ge! There’s no place for you in the gang anymore. The one calling the shots now is Fatty Tong. He’s had past grievances with Boss Rong—your life won't be spared either!”

I grabbed a bottle of soda from the table and twisted off the cap. “Guy Liang, you should go.”

“Go…?”

“The matters ahead are between me and Boss Tong. Staying here will only drag you down.” I took a sip of the soda; it was lukewarm, barely drinkable.

Guy Liang stayed silent for a long moment, then slowly rose to his feet.

He paid the shopkeeper for the noodles, then turned and bowed deeply to me.

"Jin ge, you've helped me before. If you ever need me in the next life, just say the word..."

"Alright, go go." I waved him off.

Guy Liang paused, then reached into his pocket, pulling out a folding knife and placing it in front of me. "Jin ge, for self-defense."

"I don’t use knives in a fight." I shook my head. "Take it back."

"Keep it, Jin ge. I don’t have anything else to offer you."

Watching Guy Liang leave the noodle shop, glancing back every few steps, I couldn’t shake the turmoil in my chest. I could only blame it on my stupid brain. Just what the hell happened? I sat there quietly with the old man. He washed dishes, while I sipped my soda. Neither of us said a word.

Twenty minutes passed in silence. Then, the sound of vehicles broke the stillness. A dark convoy of more than a dozen cars came to a halt in front of the building.

A large group of solemn-faced men stormed into the shop all at once. Most of them were strangers, but the man at the front, I recognized instantly.

Chong ge, the White Paper Fan[1] of the triad. The long scar running from his left temple to his right chin was unmistakable.

He walked up to me, slowly sat down, and grabbed the other bottle of soda from the table.

"Room temperature," I remarked.

"It’s fine." He tore off the cap with his teeth and took several large mouthfuls, the sound of {gulping} ringing out in the quiet shop.

He then bit his lip, his expression revealing a silent bitterness.

"Chong ge, did you really need to bring this whole entourage to see me?" I maintained an indifferent expression as I scanned the room, taking in the dozens of men crowding around.

"Four years ago, you, the fiercest Red Pole, single-handedly took down thirty-seven men with nothing but your bare hands. How could we not bring this many people?" 

"Then... does Boss Tong have something to say to me?"

Chong ge paused, his gaze momentarily distant, then turned to the others. "You all wait outside. No one comes in without my say-so."

"Yes, Chong ge."

Once they had left, Chong ge let out a deep sigh, the weight of it hanging in the air. "A'Jin... tell me—why did you come back?"

"This is my home. Why shouldn’t I come back?"

Without warning, Chong ge grabbed my collar, his grip tight as his voice dropped to a low, restrained growl. "A'Jin! Boss Tong and I were both willing to let you go, but you stroll in here and start a fight. How is he supposed to handle this? You’re a traitor’s trusted right-hand!"

If Chong ge truly had a heart to let me go, I could understand that—he had always looked out for me in the past. But what reason did Boss Tong have to spare me?

"Boss Rong is not a traitor," I said firmly. "There’s been some kind of misunderstanding."

Chong ge sighed, his frustration clear as he listened to my words. He released his grip on me and pulled two items from his pocket: a plane ticket in his left hand, and a motorcycle key in his right.

"A'Jin, you choose. Go to Thailand—Boss Tong’s got work for you there, and he’ll make sure you’re set for life. Or, you can take the motorcycle out the back and disappear. Never show your face again."

It felt like Chong ge was meeting me for the first time, offering me a choice like this, as if our past hadn’t existed at all.

"I don’t want either," I said. "Chong ge, I’ll take a ride in your car." I stood up and walked toward the door.

Chong ge gave a resigned shake of his head, gathered the items from the table, and followed me out.

Just as I was about to step outside, a thought suddenly crossed my mind. "Chong ge, I don’t have any money. You’ll need to pay for those two bottles of soda."

...

Not much had changed in the gang, except that all the henchmen in the hall had been replaced by Boss Tong’s men.

I knew Boss Tong was temperamental—he’d been at odds with Boss Rong for years, and to him, I was undoubtedly the biggest thorn in his side.

"Boss Tong, A'Jin’s here," Chong ge announced, knocking on the door.

"Let him in."

Chong ge nodded and opened the door. I stepped into the room.

The space was shrouded in darkness, the air thick with smoke, and in the background, the rhythmic clicking of prayer beads filled the silence.

"Boss Tong, it’s A'Jin," I said.

"Offer incense to Yi Gor [2]," came Boss Tong’s deep voice from the shadows.

I nodded and moved to the side, approaching the statue of Guan Yi Gor. I raised three incense sticks to my forehead and bowed three times in reverence.

"Come," Boss Tong waved from the darkness.

I walked up and sat down in front of him. "Boss Tong."

"Mm, A'Jin..." Boss Tong leaned back comfortably on the sofa, his large frame almost spilling over, fingers twirling a set of prayer beads. "I’ve heard of you when you were working under that gambling addict Rong. You made quite a name for yourself."

"Boss Tong overpraises. I, A'Jin, am just a brute, good for nothing but fighting."

"Nonsense," Boss Tong coughed weakly, his voice laced with irritation. "I heard that gambling addict Rong sent you to learn the most popular international fighting techniques. If it weren't for these four years in the clink, you'd be a professional boxer by now."

"Yes, Boss Rong taught me how to survive. He’s my benefactor, and A'Jin will never forget that."

At these words, Boss Tong paused, his fingers stilling on the prayer beads. For a moment, the silence stretched between us, thick with unspoken weight. Then, he spoke again, his voice colder this time.

"But A'Jin, that gambling addict Rong violated the gang’s rules. Now tell me... how should we settle this score?"

I nodded and replied, "I don’t believe Boss Rong stole the money. Two million is no small amount—he wouldn’t be that foolish."

Boss Tong snorted coldly, tossing the prayer beads onto the table with a flick of his wrist. He straightened up from the shadows, revealing his bloated face.

"A'Jin, it's not about {stealing money}, it’s about {owing money}. He came to me for two million, and when it was time to pay up, he ran off." Boss Tong gritted his teeth, his voice dripping with venom. "That lan-joeng didn’t take gang money, he took mine..." 

"What—"

Boss Tong’s fury flared. His chest heaved as he took several deep breaths, attempting to steady himself. Once the storm passed, he glared at me, his teeth still clenched. "So, what do you think we should do?" His words were like a threat wrapped in a question.

"Is my life enough?" I asked.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he picked up the prayer beads once more, his eyes closing as his fingers continued to twirl them with practiced ease. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, as I waited for his response.

But he remained still, lost in the rhythmic motion of the beads. After several moments, I thought I understood. "Thank you for your mercy, Boss Tong." I stood up, my hand slipping into my pocket. I pulled out the folding knife, the cold metal feeling oddly comforting in my grip.

Taking two steps back, I pressed the blade to my own throat, ready to make the final cut.

But just as I was about to end it, two men lunged from the shadows, their hands gripping me with surprising strength. They slammed me onto the table, pinning me down.

I hadn’t realized they were there. Hidden in the corners of the room, waiting.

"Punk, you’ve got guts," Boss Tong said, nodding in approval. A dry chuckle escaped his lips, but it quickly faded into a cold, hard look. "A'Jin... what good is taking your useless life? What about my money?"

"Boss Tong, I’m useless. I can’t come up with two million," I gritted my teeth as I was held down on the table. "What is it that you want? What will it take to spare Boss Rong?"

"A'Jin ah... A'Jin, you're really something else," Boss Tong stretched out his hand, and someone beside him handed over a cigarette and lit it for him. He took a slow drag, exhaling the smoke in a lazy cloud. "You spent four years in the clink for that gambling addict Rong, and even now, you’re willing to put your neck on the line for him. Why go through all that, huh?"

"I’ve already said it—Boss Rong is my benefactor."

"But he's always used you as a tool, never cared about whether you lived or died." Boss Tong exhaled a plume of smoke, his gaze hardening. "That lan-joeng, Guy Liang—he’s neither my man nor yours. Why did he bring you to Mong Kok?"