Maybe the military spike was too sharp, or maybe Big Kuizi simply never expected that at my young age, I would truly possess such ruthlessness.
Ruthlessness comes in different forms. It doesn't mean that someone who has killed is necessarily ruthless.
In many street brawls, fifteen or sixteen-year-old middle schoolers might accidentally kill someone. Can you call them ruthless?
No, you can't. That's just adrenaline spiking and losing their heads in the moment; they never actually intended to kill anyone.
Anyone dares to kill in a fit of rage.
True ruthlessness is knowing exactly how much pain your actions will cause the other person, yet doing it anyway without batting an eye.
I didn't hesitate in the slightest. After slicing off two fingertips, I flipped my hand and rested the blade of the military spike against Big Kuizi's thumb.
"I can't bear to watch you suffer, so I won't slice it knuckle by knuckle. I'll just chop them off one finger at a time."
Many friends might think that losing a finger isn't a big deal.
Actually, that's a huge misconception. Of the five fingers, you can't afford to lose a single one.
The thumb, index, and middle fingers work together to provide grip strength. The ring and pinky fingers provide hold strength.
Once you lose one, that hand is effectively half-useless.
Big Kuizi's left hand was slick with blood, and I was having trouble holding onto it.
He roared, "You little bastard, kill me! If you have the guts, kill me!"
I slapped him across the face. "You're the old bastard here. What are you shouting for? Always 'kill me, kill me'—do you think your life is worth that much?"
Many hooligans in the underworld love to say, "If you have the guts, kill me, because if you don't, I'll definitely kill you."
In my opinion, that sentence is boring as hell.
If I could fucking kill you right now, would I give you the chance to say that?
Killing someone can indeed solve the person creating the problem, but it doesn't mean the problem they created disappears if you kill them.
Not only does the problem remain, but you also get saddled with a murder charge, creating new problems.
So, unless it's absolutely necessary, a true heidao boss won't kill casually.
It's not worth it.
Although I wasn't a heidao boss yet, I knew I couldn't burden myself with a murder case just for forty thousand yuan while trying to fulfill a pledge of loyalty to Jiang Qingbo.
After slapping Big Kuizi, I didn't go soft. With one stroke of the spike, I sliced off his left thumb.
"That sentence where you asked me to kill you counts for two thousand yuan. Those two joints of your thumb were cut for nothing. So, you still owe thirty-eight thousand."
I moved the military spike, placing it between Big Kuizi's index and ring fingers.
I wiggled the blade back and forth, as if considering whether to cut the index or the ring finger.
Looking at Big Kuizi, whose face now showed fear, I smiled faintly.
"Want to spend two thousand to buy two knuckles? Don't wait until I finish cutting your fingers and start on your toes to decide you can handle paying back the money. Otherwise, wouldn't your fingers have been cut for nothing?"
Big Kuizi's lips trembled. I wasn't in a rush; I just looked at him with a smile.
I honestly don't know how I could smile at a time like this, facing a man with half his body stained red with blood.
It's a good thing I joined the underworld. Otherwise, if I encountered some setback in regular life, I probably would have become an antisocial, perverted serial killer.
After about half a minute, I sighed helplessly.
"It seems you value money more than your life."
I wasn't going to consider whether he really didn't have the money or was just faking it. I was just here to collect a debt.
Even if you have no money, you have to conjure it up for me.
The military spike slowly moved toward Big Kuizi's ring finger. This time, I didn't choose to slice it off in one go.
Cutting off all of Big Kuizi's fingers wasn't my goal. Even if I chopped him into mincemeat, if I didn't get the money back, I would have botched the job.
It was meaningless. What was I going to do with his fingers, stir-fry them?
I needed Big Kuizi to know fear, to make him pay me back even if he had to sell his asshole.
Cutting his fingers was the method; getting back the forty thousand yuan was the goal.
Just as the blade of the spike touched the skin of his ring finger, Big Kuizi shuddered violently.
"Stop! Stop! Wait a minute."
"I'll go borrow it. I'll go borrow the money for you."
I put away the military spike and immediately helped him up from the ground.
"Aren't you just a cheap bitch? When I tried to reason with you to pay up, you wanted to play the hooligan and asked if I had the guts to take your life."
"Now that I'm playing the hooligan—not taking your life, just your fingers—you want to reason and pay me back."
"Was this really necessary? Right?"
This big man, standing 1.8 meters tall, trembled uncontrollably as I supported him.
In his eyes, I was probably a psychopath. One moment I was slicing his fingers with a knife, the next I was helping him up with a smile.
If that's not a psychopath, what is?
I nudged Big Kuizi's stomach with my elbow. "Let's go. Go over there and borrow the money for me!"
Big Kuizi didn't say a word, leading me toward Old Ghost's venue.
This time, the way everyone looked at me had changed.
Big Kuizi had been taken away by me for less than a few minutes, but when he came back, he was practically a bloodman.
Half the fingers on his left hand were gone, and his calf was still bleeding profusely, leaving a shallow bloody footprint with every step.
Big Kuizi broke free from my grip, walked up to Old Ghost, and fell to his knees with a thud.
Old Ghost sighed, got up, and went to a wooden shack not far behind. When he came out, he was holding a bankbook.
Old Ghost came up to me and handed me the bankbook with a complicated expression. "There's forty-one thousand yuan in here. I hope you can tell Old Scarface about the rest. Consider it selling me a favor."
Old Ghost didn't dare act high and mighty in front of me anymore; he called me "little brother."
Perhaps he realized that I wasn't one of those usual punks who think they're gangsters after a few group brawls.
I was someone who truly dared to handle business with a knife and handle people with a gun.
I took the bankbook and checked; there was indeed forty-one thousand yuan inside. I shook my head gently.
I counted out three thousand yuan from my own pocket. I had brought two thousand when leaving home, Sir Niu gave me four thousand, and later I gave Old Man Li one thousand, so I still had three thousand left.
I handed the three thousand yuan to Old Ghost. "Brother Old Ghost, forty-one thousand is too much. Thirty-eight thousand is enough. I rounded it down for him, and he paid two thousand with his fingers."
Old Ghost looked at the three thousand yuan in his hand, seemingly at a loss for words, and could only accept it numbly.
I put Old Ghost's bankbook into the lining of my jacket, carrying the bloody military spike in one hand, while the other hand felt for the gun and flipped the safety off.
This was the south city. Nothing was plentiful here except desperadoes.
Forty thousand yuan was a huge sum. In Yangcheng in '96, you could buy a human life from a Vietnamese hitman for just three to ten thousand.
Money in hand, I couldn't relax; I had to be even more vigilant.
Without wasting a second, I went back to the alley, cut a piece of cloth from my clothes, and wrapped up the fingers I had cut off Big Kuizi.
Finding my direction, I left without looking back.
Fortunately, along the way, even if I ran into sneaky-looking characters, they were wary of the loaded pistol in my hand and didn't dare to try anything.
I managed to leave the south city smoothly.
Once out, I straightened my clothes. I tossed the military spike into a roadside latrine and tucked the pistol under my armpit.
Carrying Big Kuizi's fingers and the bankbook with forty-one thousand yuan, I found a motorcycle taxi and went straight to Wentong Tea Tower.
From leaving the tea tower to now, less than three hours had passed. Alone, with one military spike and one gun, I had successfully handled the first task Jiang Qingbo gave me.
Not only that, but this incident spread through Lincang, giving me a small reputation.
Everyone in the underworld knew that Old Scarface of Wentong Tea Tower in Lincang had recently taken in a very ruthless little brother.
Apparently, he was a fellow townsman, surnamed Chu, named Shanhe. Known in the underworld as Chu Lao Er.