# Chapter 133: Turn of Events
Gun Youliang saw that I remained unmoved, and he became even more anxious.
"Brother Jin! There's no place for you in the gang anymore. The boss now is Fat Tong. He's always had a grudge against Uncle Rong, and he'll have you killed!"
I picked up a bottle of cola from beside me and opened the cap.
"Gun Youliang, you go."
"Go...?"
"What happens next is between me and Uncle Tong. If you stay here, you'll only get yourself into trouble."
I took a sip of cola. Room temperature. Not good.
Gun Youliang was silent for a long time before slowly standing up.
He paid the shop owner for the noodles, then turned back and bowed to me: "Brother Jin, you helped me before. If there's a next life and you need me, just say the word..."
"Alright, go." I waved my hand.
Gun Youliang thought for a moment, then pulled a folding knife from his pocket and placed it in front of me: "Brother Jin, for self-defense."
"When I fight, I never use a blade." I shook my head. "Take it back."
"Keep it, Brother Jin. There's nothing else I can do for you."
Watching him leave the noodle shop, looking back every few steps, my heart still couldn't settle.
I'm really so stupid. What exactly happened?
The old noodle shop owner and I stayed there quietly—he washed dishes, I drank cola. Neither of us spoke.
Twenty minutes passed. The sound of cars came from the street outside the door, and a dark mass of more than ten vehicles stopped outside the shop.
A large group of grim-faced men rushed in all at once.
I didn't recognize most of these people, but I knew the man leading them.
Brother Chong—the White Paper Fan of the gang.
On his face was a long, narrow scar stretching from the left side of his forehead to the right side of his jaw. Very noticeable.
Brother Chong came up to me, slowly sat down, and picked up another bottle of cola.
"Room temperature," I said.
"It's fine." He bit open the cap with his teeth and drank several big gulps, gulping loudly.
He bit his lip, looking like he had a lot to say but couldn't.
"Brother Chong, did you need this big a show just to come see me?" I glanced at the dozens of people crowding the room, expressionless.
"The most vicious Red Stick from four years ago—the one man who could take down thirty-seven people with his bare hands. How could I not bring this kind of show?"
"So... does Uncle Tong have something to tell me?"
Brother Chong thought for a moment, then turned to the crowd: "You all wait out on the street. No one comes in without my orders."
"Yes, Brother Chong."
After everyone left, Brother Chong let out a deep sigh.
"Ah Jin, why did you have to come back?"
"This is my home. Why can't I come back?"
Brother Chong grabbed me by the collar, his voice low and strained: "Ah Jin! Both Uncle Tong and I were willing to let you off. But you swagger back here and beat someone up? How is he supposed to handle this matter? You're the right-hand man of a traitor!"
I could understand Brother Chong wanting to let me off—after all, he'd looked out for me before.
But what reason would Uncle Tong have to let me off?
"Uncle Rong isn't a traitor," I said. "There must be some misunderstanding."
Brother Chong sighed helplessly after hearing this. He released his grip and pulled two things from his chest.
On the left, a plane ticket. On the right, a motorcycle key.
"Ah Jin, choose for yourself. Go to Thailand—Uncle Tong has a job for you there, guarantees you won't starve for the rest of your life. Or take the motorcycle from the back door and disappear. Don't show your face again."
Brother Chong acted like he'd just met me today, actually letting me choose.
"I choose neither, Brother Chong. I'll ride in your car." I stood up and walked toward the door.
Brother Chong shook his head, picked up the items from the table, and followed behind.
Just as I was about to leave, something occurred to me.
"Brother Chong, I don't have any money. You pay for those two bottles of cola."
...
The gang headquarters hadn't changed much, but all the lackeys passing through the hall had been replaced by Uncle Tong's men.
I knew Uncle Tong was unpredictable. He'd been at odds with Uncle Rong for years, and to him, I was undoubtedly the biggest thorn in his side.
"Uncle Tong, Ah Jin is here," Brother Chong said, knocking on the door.
"Let him in."
Brother Chong nodded, opened the door from outside, and I stepped into the room.
The light inside was dim, thick with smoke. I could faintly hear the sound of prayer beads being turned.
"Uncle Tong, it's Ah Jin," I said.
"Light incense for Lord Guan," came Uncle Tong's low voice from the shadows.
I nodded, went over to Lord Guan's statue, raised three incense sticks above my forehead, and bowed respectfully three times.
"Come here," Uncle Tong called, gesturing from the darkness.
I walked over and sat down in front of Uncle Tong. "Uncle Tong."
"Mm, Ah Jin..." Uncle Tong leaned back on the sofa, his big belly prominent, turning a bracelet of beads in his hand. "I've heard of you from when you worked under that bastard Rong. You've got quite a reputation."
"Uncle Tong flatters me. I'm just a brute, good only for fighting."
"Nonsense." Uncle Tong coughed weakly. "I heard that bastard Rong sent you to learn the most popular international fighting techniques. If it weren't for those four years in prison, you'd be a professional boxer by now."
"Yes, Uncle Rong taught me how to make a living. He's my benefactor. Ah Jin will never forget that."
Hearing this, Uncle Tong's fingers paused in turning the beads, then he continued: "But Ah Jin, that bastard Rong broke the gang rules. Tell me... how should we settle this account?"
I nodded and said, "I don't believe Uncle Rong stole the money. Two million isn't a small amount. He wouldn't be that foolish."
Uncle Tong snorted coldly at this, threw the bead bracelet onto the table, then straightened up from the darkness, revealing his bloated face.
"Ah Jin, it wasn't 'stealing'—it was 'owing.' He asked me for two million, and when it came time to repay, he ran off." Uncle Tong gritted his teeth. "That bastard didn't take the gang's money—he took my money..."
"What...?"
Uncle Tong looked furious. He took several deep breaths to slowly calm down, still grinding his molars as he asked: "So tell me, how should this be settled?"
"Can my life cover it?" I asked.
Uncle Tong said nothing, simply picked up the beads again, closed his eyes, and continued turning them.
I waited a few seconds. Uncle Tong still didn't speak. I thought I understood his meaning.
"Thank you, Uncle Tong, for granting this."
I stood up, pulled the folding knife from my pocket, stepped back two paces, and pressed it against my own throat.
But before I could cut, two people suddenly rushed out from behind me and pinned me hard against the table.
I hadn't expected anyone else to be hiding in the room.
"Good lad, you've got real guts." Uncle Tong nodded, let out a dry laugh, then immediately darkened his expression. "Ah Jin... but what use is taking your worthless life? Where's my money?"
"Uncle Tong, I'm useless. I can't come up with two million." Pressed against the table, I gritted out the words. "How do you want to settle this? What will it take for you to let Uncle Rong go?"
"Ah Jin... Ah Jin, you really are too stupid." Uncle Tong reached out, and someone beside him lit a cigarette and handed it to him. "You spent four years in prison for that bastard Rong, and now you still want to take a knife for him? What's the point?"
"I told you, Uncle Rong has been good to me."
"But he's always used you as a weapon, never caring whether you lived or died." Uncle Tong took a drag on his cigarette and asked sternly, "That bastard called Gun Youliang—he's neither my man nor yours. Why did he insist on bringing you to Mong Kok?"