A Society Big Brother doesn't keep idle mouths.
Chen Qiang took a liking to me because I was ruthless enough. The first time I made a move, I blinded Chen Xiang in one eye. After that, while doing time in the "university" (prison), I went straight for the kill against the people Liu Zi sent in.
Once I got out, I charged into battle for him—flattening the fish farm, handling Wang Hai, kidnapping Hunchback, blocking Xu Muye, handling Liu Zi, and intercepting Old Yu at the train station.
One job after another, I never messed up.
That was why, in less than a year, I became a core figure in Chen Qiang's organization.
Jiang Qingbo had only sent people to Liu Xiang Town to check my background; he wasn't clear about my methods.
Collecting this forty thousand yuan gambling debt would be the first thing I did for him.
If I botched the very first job, I would lose any chance of becoming part of Jiang Qingbo's core circle.
Let alone getting close to that important guest from outside the border.
So even if the King of Hell owed this forty thousand, I had to get it back.
I took a motorcycle taxi to the address Liang Chuang gave me.
Lincang was chaotic, and this was the southern corner of Lincang City, very close to the border, making it the most chaotic part of Lincang.
Drug mules, ruthless men making a living in illegal trades across the border, fierce bandits roaming between two countries, and spies for armed factions in Myanmar.
Let's put it this way: if you lined everyone here up and shot them, maybe one out of ten would be wrongly accused.
For the remaining nine, shooting eight of them would be a waste of bullets; Heaven should just strike them dead with a bolt of lightning.
I didn't know the name of the guy who owed Jiang Qingbo money. Liang Chuang only told me his nickname was Big Kuizi.
He was from Chencheng in Southern Hunan. In his early years, he was a ruthless hustler too. Before the Crackdown of '83, he ended up in Lincang by a twist of fate and escaped death by fleeing across the border.
Otherwise, given the things he'd done, he'd probably be reincarnated and starting elementary school by now.
I tossed ten yuan to the motorcycle driver. Without waiting for him to say if it was enough, I pulled out the newspaper-wrapped pistol tucked under my armpit.
With a clack, I chambered a round, but left the safety on.
Seeing this, the driver pulled a slick drift to turn around, slammed the gas, and vanished without a trace.
Cigarette dangling from my mouth, I kept the loaded pistol in my chest pocket, covered by my jacket, my hand never leaving the grip, ready to draw at any moment.
Liang Chuang said Lincang wasn't like Guizhou, that people hustling here weren't to be trifled with.
But I, Chu Shanhe, wasn't someone to be trifled with either. With a gun in hand, I had the guts to kill.
As soon as I walked into the southern part of the city, a group of sneaky-eyed teenagers, around fifteen or sixteen, fixed their eyes on me.
Your environment shapes your aura. Just one look, and I knew these kids were like Changlin—living off pickpocketing.
They had marked me, a fresh arrival, as a fat sheep.
I didn't dodge or avoid them; I walked straight toward them.
I pulled four hundred yuan from my pocket, flashed it before their eyes, then opened my jacket to let them see the pistol in my chest pocket.
"I'm looking for someone. Whoever can take me to him gets this four hundred. Whoever lies to me eats a bullet."
These little pickpockets had no fixed abode, roaming the streets all day to steal for a living. They were definitely the most informed.
They didn't even look at the gun in my pocket; their eyes were glued straight to the four "Red Suns" (100-yuan bills).
Sure enough, people scraping a living here weren't impressed by guns.
The leader of these little pickpockets was a boy with curly hair, thick lips, and dark skin.
Looking at his face, he was likely from one of the ethnic groups on the Myanmar side.
"Give me three bills first. As long as the person you're talking about is in the south city, I can take you to him."
I let out a cold laugh and threw all four Red Suns right in front of him. Just as he reached out to grab them, I stomped on his hand.
The pickpockets beside him immediately stood up, various daggers and military spikes appearing in their hands.
I pulled out my gun and pressed it against the curly-haired boy's head, saying flatly, "Think carefully. Don't talk big now and then take the money without finding the person."
"Or this money will be the price of your life."
This was my first time holding a gun to someone's head. To be honest, I was nervous inside, afraid the safety might fail and an accidental discharge would actually blow this kid away.
But the boy held at gunpoint showed no fear. He said very calmly, "As long as the person you're looking for, Big Brother, is in the south city, I'll definitely know where he is. If I can't find him, you can shoot me then."
Looking at the boy's calm eyes, a sudden fire of rage rose in my heart. I flipped the safety off directly.
"You think I don't dare? Tell these little bastards to put away their scrap metal, or I'll blow you away right now."
I wasn't joking. My finger was already on the trigger.
This was Lincang, the border. Anyone hustling here, no matter their age, wasn't an honest soul.
If this kid really thought I wouldn't dare shoot him, I might end up getting played to death by him before I even found Big Kuizi.
Seeing me flip the safety off, the curly-haired boy's pupils contracted. He was clearly scared now.
"Big Brother, who are you looking for?"
As he spoke, he signaled the others to drop their daggers and spikes.
I nodded in satisfaction. I wanted his submission; I didn't want him trying to play games with me.
Whether he had thought about playing games or not, I had to snuff out that idea first.
"Big Kuizi. From Southern Hunan. Missing a section of his ring finger on his left hand."
The curly-haired boy thought for a few seconds, then nodded confidently. "Then follow me. At this time, he should be gambling at Old Ghost's place."
I picked up a military spike from the ground, pressed it against his lower back, picked up the four hundred yuan, blew off the dust, folded it, and put it in his pocket.
He was smart enough to wave off the people behind him, telling them not to follow.
Just like that, he walked in front, and I followed, pressing the spike into his back as we walked slowly deeper into the south city.
Maybe some friends will say I'm just padding the word count, writing so much detail about a little pickpocket, making a big fuss over nothing.
Or maybe friends will say I'm making a mountain out of a molehill—throwing four hundred yuan wasn't enough, I had to threaten a teenager with both a gun and a knife.
Actually, over the years, I've seen plenty of Big Brothers capsize in the gutter, surviving great storms only to die at the hands of someone they wouldn't even bother to look at twice.
If I weren't naturally suspicious, cautious, cautious, and cautious again about everything, I wouldn't be sitting here safe and sound typing on a keyboard right now.
My bones would probably be drumsticks by now.
Big Brothers who can make it in the underworld trust no one but themselves.
Actually, it's not just the underworld; it's the same for many things. Let this be a warning to all friends: do not easily trust anyone.
Curly-hair led me through the maze of complex alleys, twisting and turning for quite a while, until we finally arrived at the place where he said Big Kuizi was gambling.
Under a few large trees, several square tables were set up. A dozen or so people, men and women, were gathered in small circles, shouting constantly.
As if shouting louder could change the cards in their hands.
Big Kuizi was easy to recognize. Nicknames might be wrong, but the wrong nickname is never given.
He lived up to the "Big" in his name, standing a full 1.8 meters tall, a head taller than me.
With his left hand missing a ring finger, he grabbed a pair of Pai Gow tiles, carefully sliding them open just a crack to peek at the hand.
I waved my hand, signaling the curly-haired guide that he could leave.
I waited until that round of Pai Gow was finished and the money on the table was divided up before quietly walking up behind him.
Just as he extended his left hand—the one missing a section of the ring finger—to grab the tiles, I seized the moment and drove the military spike down.
The spike pierced through his palm, went through the wooden table, and nailed his hand to the wood.