Flip the table and divide the family property! Take his wife and daughter into the mountains and eat

The car door was pushed open with a bang.

Zhao Shanhe stepped onto the soft yellow earth with heavy leather boots, making a crisp cracking sound.

His overcoat with a lapel collar was buttoned up tightly, the collar was neat and there wasn't a single frayed edge.

The person standing there seemed to be separated from the abandoned brickyard filled with broken bricks and tiles by a layer of separation.

Scarface, who had been lounging in his chair, felt a chill run down his spine the moment Zhao Shanhe stepped out of the car, and his hand, which had been holding the woman, involuntarily loosened.

He's been living a life of constant danger for so many years, and his eyesight is the most ruthless.

The Zhao Shanhe before me had shoulders as broad as a door panel. He walked with a powerful stride, his steps were extremely steady, and his center of gravity was very low. It was the kind of gait that suggested he could strike someone's throat at any moment.

What alarmed him most were Zhao Shanhe's hands, with thick calluses on his thumbs and knuckles, the result of years of handling gun barrels.

This time.

This idea is a real pain.

Scarface was the first to react, a dry laugh appearing on his face. He took two steps forward, crowbar in hand.

"Director Zhao? You're here fast!"

Zhao Shanhe didn't even lift his eyelids; his gaze swept right past him, like two boning knives, piercing straight into the shadows deep within the warehouse.

"Mr. Liang, are you still alive?"

In the corner, Liang Jiajun, who had been slumped against the pillar, suddenly shuddered upon hearing the sound, as if pricked by a needle. A series of rapid whimpers escaped from the tattered cloth stuffed in his mouth, and tears mixed with sweat streamed down his face as he desperately twisted his body forward.

When Scarface saw that Zhao Shanhe didn't respond at all, his smile froze for a moment, and the corners of his mouth twitched violently twice.

He's used to running rampant in this area; when has anyone ever left him hanging like this?

But seeing Zhao Shanhe's unwavering composure, he could only swallow his anger, take another half step forward, and chuckle.

"Director Zhao, he's here. No problem, everything's easy to discuss—"

Zhao Shanhe then slowly withdrew his gaze, lingering for half a second on that fleshy face:

"Who are you?"

Scarface choked on the question, but managed to maintain his composure, putting one hand on his hip and chuckling with his neck tilted to the side.

"My name is Wang Li. I've been around this area for a long time, and my friends in the underworld have given me a nickname, Scarface. Director Zhao can just call me Scarface; I'm a man of principle."

Zhao Shanhe exhaled a puff of smoke, the sparks flickering in the darkness, casting an unpredictable shadow on his cold, hard face.

"Rules? Okay, then let's follow your rules. What are the requirements? Explain clearly, I'm in a hurry."

Scarface's eyelids twitched twice.

Last night, Zhao Shanhai stirred things up, and he did have his own thoughts about it.

Liang Jiajun is a man worth more than two thousand dollars to begin with, and since he also has the director of the Red Star Factory behind him, he can naturally take another bite out of the price.

But when they met face to face, the greed that had just begun to swell in Scarface immediately vanished.

Zhao Shanhe's eyes were so cold.

It's not a coldness that's just bluffing, nor is it a coldness that uses one's status to intimidate others.

It's the kind of coldness that comes from a sharpened knife, ready to be plunged into the very bones at any moment.

Scarface has been out in the world for so many years, he knows better than anyone who can be bullied and who cannot be touched.

This person in front of me is not to be touched.

At the very least, don't go too far.

Thinking of this, his desire to raise the price immediately subsided by a chill.

He chuckled dryly twice and rubbed his hands together.

"Director Zhao is a straightforward person. Actually, it's nothing serious. It's just that Mr. Liang went into the wrong room last night and slept with my wife. It wouldn't sound good if word got out. We won't ask for much, just the two thousand yuan we agreed on last night as a service fee. As long as the money is there, you can take him away now, and from now on, our two families will keep to ourselves. What do you think?"

After listening, Zhao Shanhe seemed to have heard a joke and snorted with his head down.

The next second, he took a step forward, his leather boots making a crisp cracking sound as they stepped on the broken bricks.

After he stopped, he raised his eyes and looked down at Scarface as if he were looking at a pile of stinking mud.

"A worthless scoundrel who relies on his mistress to set traps and catch cheaters, who only knows how to do despicable things, actually dares to lick his boots and ask me for money? A piece of trash like you who only knows how to hide in the shadows and live off women, does he even deserve to talk to me about the rules of the underworld?"

Zhao Shanhe exhaled a thick cloud of smoke, which almost reached the tip of the scarred man's nose.

"Every penny my Red Star Factory pays is earned through the sweat and toil of our workers. Using that money to feed a brothel-dwelling scoundrel like you is beneath me. Do you really think you can act like a big shot here just because you've fenced off some land in this wasteland south of the city?"

Scarface's face turned a deep purplish-red, and the iron bar in his hand creaked as he gripped it tightly.

He has been running rampant in this area for so many years, relying on his arrogant and domineering attitude that he doesn't respect anyone.

But today, in front of so many brothers, Zhao Shanhe stripped him bare of his local bully persona with just a few words.

Logically speaking, the more troublesome this problem is, the more he should endure it.

A person lives for their reputation, just as a tree lives for its bark.

Zhao Shanhe's words were tantamount to throwing his shame on the ground and trampling on it.

The fear that had been suppressed was forced back by this anger, and the fire in his chest suddenly surged up.

"Zhao Shanhe, don't push your luck..."

Before he could finish speaking, the monkey next to him couldn't hold back any longer.

Ma Houzi made his living off his scarred face and was used to swaggering around in the south of the city. Zhao Shanhe's completely disregard for others had really ignited his anger, and the veins on his forehead were throbbing like live snakes.

In his eyes, even if Zhao Shanhe was a factory director, in this desolate old brickyard, he was nothing more than a fat sheep that was a bit stronger.

"Fuck your mother! You're already here and you still dare to pretend? Go to hell!"

Before the cursing had even subsided, Ma Houzi had already pounced on Zhao Shanhe, swinging his iron rod in a wide arc, bringing a fierce gust of wind with it, and smashing it down hard on Zhao Shanhe's temple.

This was clearly intended to crack open someone's skull; it was ruthless to the extreme.

But just as the iron rod was two inches from Zhao Shanhe's head, Zhao Shanhe moved.

He didn't even throw away his cigarette; in that split second, he suddenly sidestepped, dodging the powerful blow.

Immediately afterwards, his right hand gripped the monkey's wrist with the precision of a vise and pulled it back sharply.

Ma Houzi felt as if his wrists were locked tightly by a red-hot iron band, unable to move an inch. He was pulled forward by that terrifying force, leaving his vulnerable area exposed.

Zhao Shanhe's eyes flashed with anger, and all the pent-up rage in his heart over the past few days erupted through his right hand.

He clenched his left fist into a fist, creating a rapid gust of wind, and slammed it down hard on the monkey's twisted mouth.

boom.

It was the dull thud of flesh being brutally crushed, so heavy it made your teeth ache.

Zhao Shanhe's punch was extremely powerful. Ma Houzi's front teeth shattered on the spot, and half of his head snapped back, with a mouthful of bright red blood gushing out from the corner of his mouth.

The monkey couldn't even let out a scream. It went limp like a snake whose bones had been removed, lying on the broken brick floor like a lump of mud, only exhaling and no longer inhaling.

"Fuck your mother!"

"The monkey is completely ruined!"

"Kill this bastard surnamed Zhao!"

The thugs at the warehouse entrance were stunned for a second, then they all panicked and rushed out with their weapons.

But just as they rushed halfway there, the doors of two cars at the entrance of the abandoned brickyard were suddenly kicked open one after another.

Dazhuang was the first to jump out of the passenger seat, holding an old five-shot rifle with its barrel sawed off.

Following closely behind, Da Niu, Er Ga Zi, and the others all got off the bus.

After landing, these people didn't waste any words and all rushed to Zhao Shanhe's side.

Click. Click.

That was the crisp sound of a bullet being chambered, which sounded particularly startling in the desolate, abandoned brickyard.

The flashlight beam, the iron bar, and the dark muzzle of the rifle were all suddenly illuminated, gleaming with a chilling, predatory light under the headlights.

The thugs who were about to charge forward suddenly froze in place, as if their feet had been nailed to the ground.

The man at the very front, holding a cleaver, had the tip of the knife less than three meters from Zhao Shanhe, but he froze in mid-air.

He stared at the gun barrels with gunfire at the top, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down several times, but he didn't dare take another small step forward. His hand holding the knife even began to tremble involuntarily.

The warehouse entrance suddenly became eerily quiet, with only the whistling sound of the wind whistling through the cracks in the broken bricks.

The monkey on the ground wasn't quite dead yet; it lay there, gasping for breath, and with each gasp, blood and foam spurted from its mouth down its chin.

Scarface's face twitched violently twice.

He had initially thought Zhao Shanhe would only bring a few strong workers from the factory to bolster his reputation, but now, upon seeing this, his anger was instantly extinguished by a bucket of ice water.

Scarface's throat was dry, and his palms, gripping the iron bar, were slowly sweating.

"Don't move!"

Scarface suddenly raised his hand and pressed down, letting out a low growl at his gang.

Those thugs were already intimidated by the guns on the other side, and when they heard their boss speak, they froze on the spot. Some even secretly hid their weapons behind their backs.

Erga Zi didn't withdraw his fire either; he simply straightened the homemade gun on his shoulder slightly, pointing the muzzle at the people in front of him.

Scarface stared at the dark gun barrels, his Adam's apple bobbing with difficulty. He was about to stubbornly try to get back at them:

"Director Zhao, is this all just a fuss? I tried to reason with you, and you just crippled my brother and brought so many guns. Are you really the head of the Red Star Factory, or some kind of thug instigating trouble...?"

Before he could finish speaking, Zhao Shanhe had already moved.

Zhao Shanhe expressionlessly spat out the red plum cigarette he had been holding in his mouth. The cigarette butt, still glowing with embers, fell to the ground with a thud and was crushed into fine black ash by his heavy leather boots.

"I only have one question."

Zhao Shanhe interrupted him directly, his voice muffled like a thunderclap about to explode.

He took a half step forward, and the overwhelming stench of blood made Scarface involuntarily shrink back, causing the iron bar in his hand to sway slightly.

"I'm taking this person with me today."

Zhao Shanhe stared at the scarred man's flickering eyes and said, word by word:

"Will you give way or not?"

These words, spoken plainly, caused an eerie silence to fall over the entrance of the abandoned brickyard; even the sound of the wind seemed to be abruptly cut off by the murderous aura emanating from them.

Erga and Dazhuang took a step forward, raising the muzzles of their guns, which were still holding fire, by half an inch, their dark eyes fixed on Scarface's forehead.

Scarface's eyelids twitched, and a mixture of fire and coldness rose up from his chest.

He knew that if he were to actually say "no" at this moment, the entrance to this abandoned brick and tile factory would surely become a morgue.

But he couldn't swallow his pride and back down in front of his brothers.

Just then.

From the shadows of the warehouse, a faint voice drifted over:

"Brother, how have you been?"