Gangster heir? Please call me a legitimate entrepreneur.

A cold wind swirled snowflakes, pelting the peeling paint on the "Qihang Adult Accounting Training Night School" signboard.

At eight o'clock at night, the streetlights cast a dim yellow glow.

The heating was on full blast in the tiered classroom on the second floor of the teaching building.

At this time of day, there are usually only a dozen or so white-collar workers scattered around the classroom preparing for certification exams, with half of them still dozing off.

But tonight, this large classroom, which can hold 150 people, is packed to the brim.

Even the aisles have been fitted with small plastic stools.

These freshmen are all burly and strong.

They were all dressed in black suits, and although their ties were askew, they couldn't hide the raw masculine energy they exuded.

The large gold chain dazzled the eyes under the incandescent light, and the faint tattoos crept up the rolled-up sleeves.

The entire classroom was filled with a mixture of the smell of sweat and cheap tobacco.

On the podium, Professor Zhang Guodong adjusted his thick-soled reading glasses.

The chalk in his hand was trembling.

Having taught tax law for thirty years, this was the first time he had ever faced such a situation.

This isn't a class; this is clearly a bank robbery attempt to learn some financial knowledge on the side!

"Um, that..."

Professor Zhang swallowed hard, his voice weak and shaky, like a broken kite being pulled taut in the cold wind.

"Today we'll talk about... the input tax deduction for value-added tax..."

"teacher!"

Right in the middle of the first row.

Lei Hu suddenly stood up, the movement was so big that his knee hit the wooden tabletop with a dull thud.

He winced in pain, but managed to refrain from cursing.

The scarred face looked particularly ferocious under the light.

"Teacher! Speak louder! The guys in the back can't hear you!"

Lei Hu yelled in his hoarse voice, so loudly that several female students in the front row dropped their pens.

Professor Zhang was so startled that he shuddered and the chalk snapped in two.

"Okay, okay, student."

He quickly moved closer to the microphone, cleared his throat, and unconsciously raised his voice by eight octaves.

"Um... regarding the VAT deduction, please refer to page 32 of the textbook..."

Professor Zhang hadn't finished speaking.

A series of synchronized "whoosh" sounds came from below.

More than a hundred burly men appeared to be performing some kind of mysterious ritual.

He roughly flipped open the thick, brick-like textbook on tax law.

The sound of pages turning in the hands of these burly men somehow evoked a chilling, warlike atmosphere.

"Tiger, Brother Tiger..."

Er Lengzi sat next to Lei Hu, scratching his buzz cut with a worried expression.

Short, stubby fingers poked around on the pages of the book, with bits of engine oil still stuck in their fingernails.

"What does 'tax exemption, deduction, and refund' say on this? I can't understand a single word of it!"

He lowered his voice, his tone filled with deep grievance.

"I used to settle all my debts in one lump sum. Why are you returning this? Isn't this a losing proposition?"

"Shut up!"

Lei Hu lowered his voice and slapped Er Lengzi on the back of the head, making a crisp sound.

"Brother Su said! This is called legal tax avoidance! You don't know anything!"

His eyes widened as he stared intently at the words in the book, his eyes bloodshot.

"If you say another word, I'll tell Brother Su to deduct half of your share of the profits tomorrow!"

Upon hearing the words "profit sharing".

Er Lengzi immediately straightened his back as if he had been injected with chicken blood.

He grabbed the red and blue pencil and drew a heavy wavy line on the book, almost tearing the paper.

"I'll study it! Even if I have to devour this book today, I'll make sure I fully understand this 'exemption, discount, and refund' policy!"

Fatty Liu, sitting in the third row, was on the verge of a breakdown.

He was slumped in a chair, his body covered in fat, clutching a quiz paper that had just been handed out.

His chubby face was covered in glistening beads of sweat.

"Why are there so many tricky multiple-choice questions?"

Fatty Liu was so anxious that he started pulling at his hair, tearing out several strands from his already sparse hair.

He turned to look at the crow beside him, his eyes filled with despair.

"Crow, what did you choose? What exactly does 'deemed sale' include? I'm distributing company rice to my colleagues, and I have to pay tax for that?"

The crow was biting the pen handle, the veins on its neck bulging as it thought hard.

He irritably loosened his tie, revealing half of a tiger tattoo descending a mountain.

"How would I know! I used to only hand out machetes, who cared about handing out rice!"

The crow slammed its fist on the table, making the exam paper float in the air.

"This question is flawed! It's my own stuff, I'm sharing it with my own brothers, why should I pay the tax bureau? That's not honorable conduct!"

"Bang!"

Lei Hu turned his head and shot a dagger at him.

"Crow! You dare to yell again?"

The bald, burly man spoke in a low, menacing voice.

"Have you forgotten Brother Su's rules? Making a scene in class, 500 yuan deducted! Do you want to be a street sweeper?"

The crow shuddered in fright.

He quickly pressed the test paper back onto the table, forcing a smile.

"Brother Tiger, please calm down. I just haven't quite figured it out yet."

He swallowed hard, picked up his pen, and continued to struggle with those tadpole-like characters.

Professor Zhang, standing on the podium, watched this magical scene unfold.

My heart was pounding in my chest.

In all his years of teaching, he's seen students skip classes and even sleep in.

But I've never seen it before.

A group of thugs who looked like they had just been released from prison.

To understand a tax law question, they might argue heatedly in class, even to the point of almost coming to blows.

This thirst for knowledge is terrifying.

It was so terrifying that he didn't even dare to cough loudly, for fear of interrupting the big shots' train of thought and bringing about his own demise.

"Ahem... Let's continue with the reversal of input tax for 'abnormal losses'."

Professor Zhang took a piece of chalk and drew a large circle on the blackboard.

The circle I drew because my hand was shaking looked like an oval potato.

"For example... if poor management causes goods in the warehouse to become moldy and spoiled, then they have to be transferred out."

"teacher!"

A man sitting in the fourth row with a red stick suddenly raised his hand.

His arm was thicker than Professor Zhang's thigh, and it was wrapped in bandages.

"What if another gang... uh, another rival set it on fire?"

Red Stick stood up and asked for advice with a serious expression.

"Our old warehouse on South Street was burned down once by the grandsons of the Sanlian Gang. Wouldn't that be considered an abnormal loss?"

All eyes in the room immediately turned to Professor Zhang.

More than a hundred pairs of eyes, like those of wolves and tigers, were fixed on him with an intense thirst for knowledge.

Professor Zhang's legs went weak.

He could barely stand by holding onto the lectern.

He swallowed hard, his mind racing through tax laws, afraid that if he answered incorrectly, these people would kill him on the spot.

"This...this..."

Professor Zhang stammered, a fine layer of sweat appearing on his forehead.

"If it was vandalized intentionally, and a police report has been filed with the police, then...that's considered normal loss and doesn't need to be transferred out..."

His voice grew softer and softer, and he himself seemed to lack confidence.

"Okay! Write it down!"

Lei Hu waved his hand.

"Listen up, everyone! If the warehouse catches fire, call 110 (the police) first and get a report! Don't be stupid enough to go and fight people! You have to pay taxes for that!"

"Splash—"

The men below quickly lowered their heads and frantically scribbled notes in their notebooks.

The scene was even more devout than brainwashing in a pyramid scheme.

10 PM.

The bell finally rang, signaling the end of get out of class.

Professor Zhang slumped in his chair, feeling like he had never taught such a tiring class in his life.

The back of my shirt was completely soaked and felt icy cold against my skin.

Lei Hu closed the book.

He strode to the front of the stage.

Professor Zhang was so startled that he kept backing away, stammering, "This...this student, get out of class is over..."

"Thank you for your hard work, teacher!"

Lei Hu grinned, the scar on his face writhing.

He pulled out two beautifully packaged packs of Zhonghua cigarettes from his pocket and forcibly stuffed them into Professor Zhang's bag.

"Our group of brothers has a weak foundation. Please bear with us."

Lei Hu leaned closer, lowered his voice, and spoke with sincerity.

"Prepare more practical questions for tomorrow night. We're not afraid of doing questions, we're just afraid of not getting our share of the profits next year and having to sweep the streets."

After saying that, Lei Hu turned around and shouted down to the crowd.

"Stand up! Bow to the teacher!"

Goodbye, teacher!

More than a hundred burly men in black suits stood up in unison.

Their movements were synchronized and uniform.

He bowed deeply at a ninety-degree angle, his shouts were deafening, and his large gold chain swayed in front of his chest.

Professor Zhang watched as the group of people walked out of the classroom in a grand procession.

He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

Looking at the two packs of Zhonghua cigarettes in his purse, he then glanced at the potato ring he had drawn on the blackboard.

Suddenly I realized...

These gangsters are much easier to teach than the college students he used to slack off.

……

Downstairs at Sihai Building.

The Maybach was parked on the side of the road.

The car window was lowered halfway, and cold air rushed into the car.

Shen Qinghan sat in the passenger seat, holding a tablet computer and reporting to the back seat.

"President Su, the feedback from the night schools has arrived."

She pushed up her glasses, her voice filled with disbelief.

"The attendance rate of the security department and all branches is 100%. Not a single person was late or left early. Class discipline... is exceptionally good."

She bit her lower lip. "Well... a few teachers were intimidated by the way they were asking questions and applied for a raise in their hourly rates."

Su Ye leaned back in the leather seat.

He was holding that silver thermos in his hand.

He took a slow sip of water, his Adam's apple bobbing, and a hint of a smile flashed behind his gold-rimmed glasses.

"Satisfy them. Double the tuition fee."

Su Ye put the lid on the cup, making a soft click.

"These illiterate people have finally realized that knowledge is money."

He turned to look out the window, where the streetlights cast long shadows of pedestrians.

"Tomorrow afternoon, invite Principal Chen Jianjing from the Provincial Police Academy."

Su Ye's voice turned cold, revealing a deep cunning and calculating nature.

"They've learned accounting, but they're missing a political and ideological education class."

"This is a matter that the old principal himself needs to break through."