I couldn't take it anymore; when I went home for Chinese New Year, the family genealogy book ha

The sound of motorcycle engines echoed through the narrow alley, as harsh as sawing sheet metal.

Three modified motorcycles burst out from the depths of the alley, their front wheels raised high, their tires kicking up clouds of dust as they rolled over the gravel road.

There were three people in the car. They had dyed blond hair, their arms were covered in tattoos, and the one in front had an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth.

When the nearby residents saw the three motorcycles, they all shrank back.

The few locals who had been curiously peering out the door vanished in an instant. The woman selling coconuts pushed her cart straight into the alley, not even turning back to pick up the coconuts that had fallen.

Jiang Ming's face turned pale instantly.

"It's all over, it's all over..."

He subconsciously moved closer to Jiang Yaohua, his voice extremely low: "Grandpa, it's Awang's man."

Jiang Yaohua stopped wiping away his tears. His expression changed from joy at the reunion to fear in an instant.

He quickly released Jiang Wanshan's arm and pushed the old man behind him.

"Big brother, you guys go first, don't worry about me—"

He hadn't finished speaking.

Three motorcycles were already parked in front of the soy milk stall.

The blond-haired leader jumped off the motorcycle, tucked an unlit cigarette behind his ear, pulled out a steel pipe about the thickness of a thumb from behind his waist, and patted it twice in his palm.

He tilted his head and glanced at the group of people who had suddenly appeared next to the soy milk stall—wearing black vests and work pants, all of them burly and strong—but he clearly didn't take them seriously.

In this area, he was the boss's henchman. The boss said he was in charge of collecting protection money on this street. No one could stop him.

Huang Mao walked up to the soy milk stall and banged the iron pot three times with a steel pipe.

"You old geezer, it's time to pay your protection money this month."

He spoke in the local dialect, but mixed in a few Chinese words—clearly to make these Chinese people understand.

"The price has gone up. 1000 yuan."

Jiang Yaohua trembled with fright, bending his back even lower. He shielded Jiang Wanshan behind him, then shakily pulled a handful of crumpled coins from his pocket.

The banknotes and coins were mixed together, greasy, and smelled of soy milk.

"Sir, I just paid three hundred two days ago, why are you asking for more?" Jiang Yaohua's voice trembled. "I really have no money left..."

Yellow Hair glanced down at the handful of loose change.

Then he knocked it down in one go.

Loose change was scattered all over the ground. A few coins bounced twice on the gravel road and rolled into the stinking ditch next to it with a "clink-clink".

"No money?"

Huang Mao raised his foot and kicked the iron pot used for boiling soy milk.

The iron pot tipped off the brick stove and crashed to the ground with a loud bang.

Half a pot of freshly boiled soy milk spilled out, the scalding white liquid spreading across the gravel road and rising into the air.

A few drops of soy milk splashed onto Jiang Yaohua's instep. He winced in pain but didn't make a sound.

Huang Mao took a step forward, pointing the steel pipe at Jiang Yaohua's nose.

"If you don't have money, you Chinese pigs should go back to your hometown! You occupy our land and dare to complain?"

Jiang Yaohua dared not retort.

He bent down, squatted on the ground, and began to pick up the scattered coins one by one.

A 96-year-old man knelt amidst the spilled soy milk and pebbles, his trembling fingers searching for one-yuan coins in the sewage.

His back was hunched over like a fully drawn bow.

But he never looked up at Jiang Wanshan standing next to him, for fear that this group of people would also hurt his newly recognized elder brother.

Jiang Ming squatted down beside him to help pick them up, his hands trembling.

Wang Dagou's eyes reddened. Not the kind of red from being moved, but the kind of red from a surge of murderous intent.

The six security guards took half a step forward in unison.

But no one moved.

Because they saw Jiang Chen move.

Jiang Chen handed the hand that was supporting the old man to Attorney Zhou.

He turned around and strode towards the blond-haired man.

His steps were slow, but each step was firm and steady. The gravel under his feet crunched under his military boots.

When Huang Mao saw the young Chinese man walking towards him, he was stunned for a moment, then grinned, revealing a row of not-so-clean teeth.

He hoisted the steel pipe onto his shoulder and tilted his head to look at Jiang Chen.

"What? You want to stand up for this old man?"

Jiang Chen didn't stop.

He walked directly in front of Huang Mao and blocked Jiang Yaohua, who was still squatting on the ground picking up coins.

The distance between the two people was less than one meter.

Jiang Chen looked down at the overturned iron pot on the ground and the spilled soy milk.

Then he looked up and stared into the blond-haired man's eyes.

"Watch your mouth."

The sound wasn't loud, but everyone in the alley heard it.

"Lick the pot you just kicked over clean."

There was silence for about two seconds.

Then the blond guy laughed.

He laughed loudly, and his two henchmen behind him laughed along with him.

"Hahaha! Who do you think you are? You're asking for it!"

After laughing, the blond-haired man's face darkened.

The steel pipe was lifted from his shoulder, whistling through the air, and swung down towards Jiang Chen's head.

Fast. Ruthless.

For ordinary people, the mildest effect of this injection is a cracked scalp.

But the steel pipe hadn't even touched Jiang Chen's hair yet—

Jiang Chen moved.

He didn't even wait for the steel pipe to fall.

Lift your right leg. Straighten it. Perform a front kick.

The kick landed squarely on the blond-haired man's chest.

How strong was it?

The blond-haired man, who was a little over 1.7 meters tall and weighed 140-150 kilograms, was lifted into the air.

The steel pipe flew out of his hand and bounced against the iron wall with a "clang".

The blond-haired man's body drew an arc in the air and flew backward for a full five or six meters.

"thump--!"

It landed precisely in the foul-smelling, green ditch next to the alley.

Water splashed up to waist height. The green sewage and the mud at the bottom instantly covered the blond-haired man from head to toe.

The alleyway fell silent for a moment.

Then everyone paused for a moment.

The other two henchmen were completely dumbfounded. They didn't know whether to hold the steel pipes up or put them down.

They saw their eldest brother half-submerged in a stinking ditch, his head and face covered in blackish-green mud and rotten vegetable leaves, with a worn-out slipper hanging from someone's hand on his tattooed arm.

"Big...Big Brother!"

The two henchmen scrambled over, each grabbing an arm, and after a lot of effort, they finally managed to pull Huang Mao out of the ditch.

Yellow Hair spat out two mouthfuls of foul-smelling water, choking and coughing several times. His face—or rather, the face beneath the layer of mud on his face—was contorted in pain and fear.

But he remained stubborn.

He pointed at Jiang Chen, his voice hoarse and shrill from choking on water: "You just wait! I'll get my men to kill you all!"

After saying that, he grabbed his two henchmen and limped away into the depths of the alley.

The three motorcycles were left standing there, with the keys still in the ignition.

Throughout the alley, several local residents who were peeking from behind doors were utterly astonished.

People who have lived in this area for decades know that these three blond-haired men are members of the "Bald Gang" in the North District. The Bald Gang is a local tyrant in this area, and even the local police don't dare to mess with them.

Today, I was actually kicked into a stinking ditch by a young man from China.

Jiang Chen pulled his leg back, turned around and squatted down to help Jiang Yaohua, who was still kneeling on the ground picking up coins, up.

"Uncle Yaohua, get up. I'm here, you don't need to pick it up anymore."

Jiang Yaohua was helped to his feet, his hands covered in sewage and mud. He stared blankly at Jiang Chen, his lips trembling as he couldn't speak.

Jiang Ming also stood up, his eyes wide open, looking at Jiang Chen as if he were looking at Superman.

Jiang Wanshan walked over, leaning on his cane, his face ashen. He wasn't afraid, he was heartbroken.

His younger brother's son, 96 years old, was bullied like this by a group of thugs in a foreign land, and he didn't even dare to speak loudly when picking up coins.

The old man's copper pipe was burning hot from being gripped in his pocket.

Attorney Zhou calmly pulled a palm-sized voice recorder from his briefcase, then flipped through a thick legal document. He adjusted his glasses and walked over to Jiang Chen.

"President Jiang, I recorded the whole thing."

He opened the document and pointed to a particular page.

"According to Section 382 of the Malaysian Penal Code, he is involved in extortion and intimidation; Section 324, intentional hurt; and under the Race Relations Act, his remarks just now also constitute racial discrimination."

Attorney Zhou raised his head, his eyes behind his glasses as calm as a still lake.

"Should we file a lawsuit locally or go through an international court?"

Jiang Chen moved the ankle of the leg that had kicked the person and twisted his neck.

"No procedures are required."

He looked in the direction of the alley where the blond-haired man had disappeared. The words "I'll call someone to kill you all" still echoed in the air.

"I use physical methods to promote legal education."

Wang Dagou rubbed his hands together and chuckled, "Brother Chen, I've been wanting to stretch my muscles for a while now."

Ding Xiu screwed the lid of the thermos onto the back of the cup and spoke calmly.

"Don't kill them all. Leave two who can walk; someone needs to go back and report."