In 2014, a new industry emerged called "telecom fraud." Some people rode this east wind to immense wealth, while others ended up in chains.
Most of the telecom fraud dens were located in Southeast Asian countries like Vietnam, Myanmar, and Laos, bordering our country.
(Now they've moved to Dubai. If someone offers you a high-paying job in Dubai, friends, remember to keep your wits about you.)
Most people who went over there took the same path I did back then: bypassing border checkpoints, crossing deep mountain forests, and walking all the way.
Along this journey, forget about signs of human life; it was so desolate even a ghost could get beaten to death.
We walked mountain paths for nearly a day. The wounds on my body hadn't fully healed, and as sweat ran over them, they burned with pain.
Just when I thought we had another day or two of walking, Jiang Qingbo stopped.
He said to the others, "You guys wait here. Number Two, Liang Chuang, you two come with me."
When calling my name, Jiang Qingbo clearly hesitated for a moment, but in the end, he brought me along.
Liang Chuang and the others seemed accustomed to this; without a second word, they did exactly as he said.
Jiang Qingbo led the way forward, and Liang Chuang supported me the whole time. None of the three of us spoke.
Until the latter half of the night, when looking up revealed nothing but dense leaves. Even someone like me, who didn't fear ghosts, felt a bit of eerie chill.
Jiang Qingbo suddenly stopped, his voice grave.
"Number Two, no matter what happens in a moment, do not resist!"
Jiang Qingbo's voice had just fallen, and before I could understand what was going on...
a dozen figures popped up around us, and gun barrels were pressed against the back of my head.
Jiang Qingbo obviously knew these people and shouted loudly, "Go easy! My brother here is injured."
But Jiang Qingbo's words were clearly like the sun in winter—completely useless (useless like a dick).
My hands were twisted behind my back, and a kick to the back of my knees sent me kneeling directly on the ground. A hand pressed on my head, forcing my face into the dirt.
My wounds tore open, and I couldn't help but cry out in pain.
Let me go on a tangent here: there aren't many people in the real underworld who are actually great fighters. At most, they're just a bit tougher than ordinary people.
When underworld figures fight, it all comes down to ruthlessness. Once you see red and the adrenaline spikes, you don't even feel pain.
So those who can make it in the underworld are either fierce enough to kill their way out or smart enough to avoid big battles.
I've never seen anyone who dares to fight back and subdue someone while a gun is pressed to their head. Of course, if you're a retired special forces soldier mixing in the underworld, don't argue with me.
Those guys are cultivating immortality to reach the Golden Core stage later on.
Xu Rang was one of the fiercest men I've ever seen. In Yangcheng, wielding dual knives to clear a path for me, he literally carved out a bloody road to save my life.
But that's a story for later.
Back to the main topic. When my head was pressed into the ground, I didn't have the slightest thought of resisting.
I was even worried the gun against my skull might misfire and blow my cap off.
The big men pinning me down chattered a bunch of bird language; I couldn't understand a word.
After about ten seconds, a black cloth bag was thrown over my head, blocking my vision. Only then did the surroundings quiet down.
"Brother Jiang, you just bring random people to see me. Do you know what kind of behavior this is?"
"You're playing with our lives!"
The person who spoke had very fluent Mandarin, with a slight accent from the Jiangsu-Zhejiang region.
Although he called him "Brother Jiang," his tone was extremely rude.
Almost scolding Jiang Qingbo.
Jiang Qingbo was equally unpolite. "Xu Biao, don't teach me how to do things. This is my brother. He was hacked thirteen times, and the person who hacked him is in your hands right now. If I don't bring him here to see that guy get handled, how can I lead my brothers?"
I pricked up my ears and listened carefully. This Xu Biao was, nine times out of ten, the drug trafficker connected to Jiang Qingbo.
But with the black bag over my head, I couldn't see what this Xu Biao looked like.
Xu Biao's voice was still full of dissatisfaction. "I already caught the guy for you. You just had to come and pick him up. Bringing someone along—is this unnecessary, or do you have ulterior motives?"
One was a long-established society Big Brother; the other was a drug trafficker who had roamed the border for years, doing a business that could cost him his head.
The dialogue between the two smelled heavily of gunpowder. I started to worry if they'd decide to use me as a sacrificial offering before they finished arguing.
"Xu Biao, don't try to press me with that bullshit. If you get caught and sent to the execution ground, can I sit at home drinking tea? Or will I take one less bullet than you?"
"This is my brother, Jiang Qingbo's brother. I trust him!"
Xu Biao let out a series of cold "heh-heh" laughs. Then I heard a dull thud, like something heavy being thrown on the ground.
"Fine, Old Scarface, Brother Jiang. You're the Big Brother; I won't argue with you."
"I brought the person to you. Take the hood off your brother only after we leave. Otherwise, if he sees my face, he'll either have to kill a constable as a pledge of loyalty, or I'll bury him right here."
Rustling sounds erupted around me—clothes brushing against leaves and branches.
The hands pinning me down were gone, but I didn't take off my hood. I was genuinely afraid of seeing Xu Biao's face.
That line about killing a constable as a pledge of loyalty was definitely not a joke.
Only after a while did I ask softly, "Big Brother, can I take the hood off now?"
Jiang Qingbo gave a muffled "Mm-hmm." I could tell he was very unhappy.
Xu Biao and his group had already walked far away. Big Kuizi, tied up like a twist of dough, was thrown in front of the three of us.
Jiang Qingbo didn't mention who those people were just now, and I tactfully didn't ask.
I was close, very close. At least I had heard Xu Biao's voice and knew his name.
The more critical the moment, the less I could rush. Actively asking questions would only arouse suspicion; the more I asked, the easier it was for people to doubt me.
Big Kuizi was tied up like a pig for the New Year slaughter, unable to move an inch.
Jiang Qingbo kicked him in the face and said hatefully, "You bastard, daring to hack my man right outside my venue. In nearly ten years in Lincang City, you're the first."
Big Kuizi grinned and spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto Jiang Qingbo's face.
An old hustler who had been in the underworld for years—he really wasn't afraid.
Liang Chuang stepped forward and stomped on Big Kuizi's head, pressing his face into the dirt.
Jiang Qingbo stood up with a dark face and gave Liang Chuang a look.
Liang Chuang immediately understood. He pulled a gun from his pocket and chambered a round with a clack.
"Number Two, you do it."
I looked at the pistol Liang Chuang was handing over, Jiang Qingbo's gloomy eyes, and the "I don't give a fuck" expression on Big Kuizi's face on the ground.
My mouth tasted bitter, and I cursed inwardly.
Jiang Qingbo was forcing me to kill.
It wasn't that I didn't dare to kill, but there was no need.
Once you carry a murder case on your back, you'll never sleep soundly for the rest of your life. Who knows when the constables might kick down the door and throw you in jail?
I swallowed hard with difficulty, raised my head, and said to Jiang Qingbo, "Big Brother, sometimes you don't necessarily have to kill someone."
"Not handling him to death might be more effective than handling him to death."
Jiang Qingbo gave a questioning "Oh?" I pulled a dagger from Liang Chuang's waist, swallowed again, and slowly walked toward Big Kuizi.
...
Society and the jianghu—everyone has their own way of hustling.
The Beggar Gang—everyone is familiar with them.
The Beggar Gang in reality is different from the one in novels, where people are poor but spirited, heroic, and full of chivalrous warriors.
Their methods are more vicious than those of underworld hooligans.
Years ago, it was easy to see children with missing hands or feet, or physical deformities, kneeling on the street begging while sad music played.
These children were the masterpieces of those animals in the Beggar Gang. Many abducted children weren't sold to families who wanted kids.
Most abducted children had their limbs broken or severed by the Beggar Gang. They made them look as miserable as possible, then put them on the street to beg for money.
Most, maybe even 99%, of what you see are money-making tools controlled by the Beggar Gang.
I know a bit about the Beggar Gang, but it's too dark, so I won't describe it much.
After the first lunar month of 1997, a big man, 1.8 meters tall, appeared in Lincang City. He had only half a tongue left, and the tendons in his hands and feet had been severed and cauterized. He could only move by crawling on a scooter board using his hands and feet to beg.
This was not a masterpiece of the Beggar Gang.
Rumor had it he offended a Big Brother in Lincang, fled across the border, was caught and brought back, handled into this state, and thrown onto the street, forced to piss and shit in his pants for the rest of his life.