Chapter 61: The Tender Trap at the Banquet of Doom (Part II)

“I assure you, before you pull the trigger, you'll see your own end first.” Yang Changfeng held a teacup between his fingers, smiling as he looked at the triumphant Wang Hu, his elbows resting leisurely on the table. “You should know by now, I’m not someone you can take down. Stop wasting your effort. Try something else—perhaps make an offer, ask me to let you go, or something like that. What do you think?”

Wang Hu snapped angrily, “I’ve never seen someone as arrogant as you still breathing.”

“I’m speaking reasonably, why won’t you listen?” Yang Changfeng shook his head, patting the two women in cheongsams beside him. “Please, stand up. Don’t just sit there. Isn’t it hot? Can’t you feel it?”

The two women were terrified. They knew Wang Hu had a gun. In Jiangzhou, a place teeming with all sorts of people, firearms and ammunition from unknown origins were everywhere. Wang Hu had one, and so did any gang with some power.

Bodies sunk in the river weren’t all from the 1930s and 40s; some might be thrown in even today. It took real nerve to do such things, and that kind of person never went unarmed. In modern society, any law-abiding citizen who went missing would certainly draw police attention. So, those who fought and killed now were mostly underworld figures—criminals whose disappearances would go unnoticed.

As for the two women, they were the property of these gangs. Citizens by law, but stripped of the most basic right of all—to live.

“Are you scared?” Yang Changfeng grinned, though his eyes were cold. “Then I’m sorry. I do sympathize, but if you don’t even dare move, there’s nothing I can do to save you.”

Frightened, the two women jumped to their feet. In a blur, Yang Changfeng, chair and all, flipped through the air. Still airborne, he kicked a stool into one of the gunmen, smashing the man’s head open in a gush of blood. The man collapsed wordlessly, dead on the spot.

The second fared even worse. Almost simultaneously, Yang Changfeng delivered a crushing kick followed by a jab to the eyes. Before he even landed, the man had dropped his gun, clutching his groin and eyes, writhing on the floor in agony.

This wasn’t Yang Changfeng’s first time launching a surprise attack under the muzzle of a gun. After all, this was China—these gunmen were far from competent, nowhere near the level of foreign guerrillas in war-torn lands.

Once, in a border town in Afghanistan, with his finger already on the trigger and five or six meters from his target, Yang Changfeng had not only eliminated his mark and two gunmen without a scratch but even wrested the weapon from his target’s hand. Of course, that scene had been bloody—when Yang Changfeng took the gun, the man’s arm came with it.

Compared to that, Wang Hu’s men were mere amateurs. Idiots, he thought, they hadn’t even released the safety. Who are you threatening?

With a faint smile, Yang Changfeng calmly picked up the two pistols, flicking the safeties off with a nudge of his heel.

“Italian-made pistols. Not genuine, but still rare to see around here. Captain Wang, you’ve got quite the connections.” Yang Changfeng extended his arm slightly, and Wang Hu’s remaining men dared not move.

This man was truly formidable—no easy opponent.

But Wang Hu was unafraid. Instead, he burst out laughing and addressed his men, “Now you see how powerful he is? Admit it and accept your place. Go on, you can leave.”

Finally, they were getting down to business. Good.

Yang Changfeng tossed the pistols onto the table, his tone cool and indifferent. “Alright. The stage is yours.”

Wang Hu’s voice dropped. “Alright, you two can go as well.”

The two women exchanged glances, then looked at Yang Changfeng in unison.

“Go on. From this day forward, the name Wang Hu will disappear from the underworld. You no longer need to worry about his people coming after you.” Yang Changfeng waved them off, his expression turning stern. “Work honestly. Stop dreaming of latching onto some sugar daddy. There’s no such thing as a free lunch. Your jobs are respectable, better than most.”

Again, the two women glanced at each other—did he even know what they did for a living?

“You’re both still young. After a few more years, whether you become directors or hosts, it will be better than being a field reporter. But if I ever see you mixing with gangsters again, don’t blame me for killing women.” Yang Changfeng’s eyelids fluttered as he barked coldly.

Wang Hu snorted, “Yang, aren’t you even giving me a chance to negotiate?”

Two guns pointed at Wang Hu’s head. Yang Changfeng replied calmly, “I don’t mind using your head as an example for them. Do you really think everyone will follow you just for some petty benefit? Remember this, kid—there are people in this world you cannot afford to provoke.”

That was exactly what Wang Hu needed to know.

“So, who exactly are you? I’d like to know. If you’re someone I can’t afford to offend, I’ll know what to do.” Wang Hu’s face was solemn. He set down his teacup, seemingly giving up on using tricks against Yang Changfeng.

He laced his fingers together, glancing at the dark muzzles of the two pistols. He showed no fear.

Wang Hu had weathered enough storms in the underworld to have that much courage.

Yang Changfeng knew Wang Hu had investigated his background. The reason Wang Hu hadn’t dared retaliate after being beaten up at the company was precisely because he was wary.

Think about it—a government record only showing a name and photo, with an address so ordinary yet impossible to verify or match. What kind of person is that?

Wang Hu knew only one answer: this man belonged to a special unit, or at least had served in one—perhaps some highly secretive military force.

How could someone named Yang have such a powerful background? What was his purpose in coming to the company? Wang Hu didn’t believe he himself was valuable enough for the authorities to send someone special after him.

Could the company be hiding some extraordinary secret?

Or had his own illicit deeds crossed into matters of national security?

As these thoughts flashed through his mind, Wang Hu’s legs began to tremble. He wanted to settle this quietly.

There are people you simply cannot provoke. Pushing your luck is suicide.

Yang’s formidable skills alone were a deadly warning. Coupled with a background even the police couldn’t unearth, Wang Hu couldn’t help but feel terrified.

Still, he refused to sit and wait for death. Whether through negotiation or threats, as long as he could settle things with this man, there was nothing he wouldn’t try.

For that, he played his trump card.

Expert in hand-to-hand combat, master with firearms, and an attitude this arrogant—who would believe he had no powerful connections?

“So, are you going to give up all your illegal gains and turn yourself in?” Yang Changfeng narrowed his eyes, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Wang Hu waved his hand. The two women, as if granted amnesty, hurriedly fled the room. They quietly hoped this brazen and powerful stranger would finish Wang Hu off, so they could finally be free.