Chapter 50: A Pile of Beer Bottles

Although it might not be entirely appropriate to invoke the old adages “armies at war spare the envoys” or “misfortune should not extend to wives and children” for the present situation, Lin Yu nevertheless felt that this gang had gone too far—far beyond the bounds of decency. A man may be slain, but not humiliated. It was one thing for them to fight, but now they had forced his brother to kneel on the ground—and not just on the floor, but on a bed of shattered beer bottles.

With great effort, Lin Yu managed to keep his hands from trembling with rage. Suddenly, he let out a laugh, ignoring the seventeen or eighteen young ruffians in the room, and called out to Tao Bo—who was crouched in a corner, drenched in beer and hugging his shoulders—“Mr. Tao, get up, help Zhi Long, and go home to tend to your wounds.”

“Are you out of your damn mind?” Zhang Hongkai spat out angrily as he saw Lin Yu calmly issuing orders to Tao Bo. He wanted nothing more than to start another fight, but Lin Yu’s reputation for physical prowess kept him in check.

Perhaps this was what they called presence.

Lin Yu’s presence eclipsed his own, and so, even with people backing him, Zhang Hongkai didn’t dare charge forward. Moments before, he’d smashed a beer bottle over Zhang Zhilong’s head without hesitation.

“As the saying goes, leave a thread when dealing with people, so you can meet again someday. Hongkai, let them go. Just keep Lin Yu here. He dared to come here alone, which shows guts—I like that.” Seated comfortably on the sofa, Zhang Yang sipped a margarita and spoke softly.

Next to him, on a single-seater, sat a young woman who looked utterly lost. She wore a long, low-necked knitted sweater over a fitted T-shirt, royal blue hot pants, and black stockings that radiated youthful energy. Yet her eyes were shadowed with sadness, lending her a fragile, pitiful air.

“So this is Ye Ruoshui, the heroine of that old story,” Lin Yu thought, sizing up the girl. He then glanced at Lian Jin, who stood before the bar, face flushed with anger, staring at Ye Ruoshui with a complex expression.

Lin Yu knew that, had events followed their natural course, Lian Jin would one day become a formidable figure—though a tragic one, respected and feared by all but never truly happy. Yet now, with his own unexpected rise, who knew how things might change?

“Lin Yu, right? I’ve heard of you. Sit.” Zhang Yang smiled serenely, making no move to rise—his words of admiration were nothing more than polite convention.

Zhang Hongkai looked displeased but didn’t dare object. Zhang Yang’s name was a household one among Bin City’s younger generation—easily in the top five. Lin Yu had heard of him in his previous life, but back then, he was just a nobody thug, never once crossing paths with this illustrious scion.

“I have something to do—wait a moment,” Lin Yu replied with a faint, easy smile. Facing a figure as renowned as Zhang Yang, he felt no disdain, only a touch of respectful awe.

“What the hell are you up to? Don’t you know where you stand right now?” Zhang Hongkai couldn’t hold back another curse, fearing Zhang Yang might be tempted to recruit Lin Yu, impressed by his composure and presence.

If that happened, Zhang Yang—who admired talent like Cao Cao and hid his ambitions beneath the surface—might resolve their conflict with a single word. The more calm Lin Yu appeared, the more anxious Zhang Hongkai became.

“Heh, Hongkai, don’t get so worked up. There’s twenty of us—where’s he going to run?” Zhang Yang murmured, watching Lin Yu head toward the bar. He then turned his gaze back to Ye Ruoshui, his tone playful: “So, campus beauty Ye, you don’t seem to think much of this useless playboy?”

“Not at all!” Ye Ruoshui forced herself to reply softly, suppressing her unease, though her eyes kept darting toward Lian Jin at the bar.

But today, Lian Jin had lost the heroic aura that once set him apart. Confronted by an elite scion, he was powerless, left only to hang his head and sigh. That sight filled Ye Ruoshui’s heart with sorrow.

“If you don’t think ill of me, why did you refuse the drink I offered?” Zhang Yang raised his glass elegantly toward Ye Ruoshui.

“She doesn’t drink, Brother Yang. Don’t force her—” Lian Jin, picking up on Ye Ruoshui’s silent plea for help, stepped forward nervously to intercede.

But before he could finish, Lin Lie kicked him hard in the chest, sending him groaning to the floor. Lian Jin, who was usually a formidable fighter in the bar scene, didn’t dare retaliate—he knew all too well that he was out of his depth with these sons of the rich.

Such was the tragedy of those at the bottom: swallowing their pain in silence, enduring humiliation without protest.

Seeing Lian Jin beaten, Ye Ruoshui covered her mouth in distress, tears streaming down her cheeks. Yet in her eyes there was a glimmer of gratitude, because even in danger, Lian Jin still tried to shield her.

“Don’t hurt him. I’ll drink.” After a pause, Ye Ruoshui, now in tears, picked up the glass and drained it in one gulp.

Watching her down the drink, Zhang Yang’s lips curled into a wicked smile.

He thought to himself, “Had you known it would come to this, why did you reject me three times before? Now you’ve drunk the wine laced with Spanish Fly—I wonder what sort of wanton spectacle you’ll make before the crowd when I take you next. Tonight is destined to be the night you lose your innocence.”

Having accomplished his main objective—Ye Ruoshui—Zhang Yang finally turned his attention back to Lin Yu, who was chatting and laughing with the barmaid as if nothing was amiss.

The effects of Spanish Fly would take ten minutes or so to manifest, so he planned to use that time to recruit Lin Yu as his follower—a small side dish to the main course.

Know your enemy and yourself, and you will never be defeated. Even before Lin Yu arrived, Zhang Yang had already asked Hu Bin about him. After learning more, he decided to do Lin Yu a favor and bring him into his fold.

After all, the director of the city’s Investment Promotion Office was a coveted position, and Lin Tiancheng—who might take up that post—could be a valuable ally to his own father, Zhang Kailai.

Lin Yu’s worth clearly exceeded that of Zhang Hongkai, whose only asset was his family’s wealth. Moreover, Zhang Yang admired Lin Yu’s air—it reminded him of himself.

Zhang Yang was undoubtedly the center of this group, and when his gaze fixed on Lin Yu at the bar, all the other young scions’ attention followed. Hu Bin’s own gaze was conflicted, his thoughts unreadable.

The bar’s patrons, who had come for music but found their plans disrupted by Zhang Yang, now watched the unfolding drama with growing interest. All eyes were on Lin Yu—he was undeniably the focal point now.

Yet everyone knew that Lin Yu was little more than meat on the chopping block, his situation dire.

But Lin Yu himself seemed blissfully unaware. With everyone’s eyes on him, he smiled at the pretty barmaid and said, “Miss, could I get twenty bottles of beer? The German Munich Strongman, that famous dark brew.”

She giggled, “You have a sweet tongue—and you’re so calm. You’d make a good diplomat.” Sensing something of the situation, she went off to fetch the beer. In her eyes, a man who remained composed at the center of attention was the very picture of charm.

“Lin Yu, are you buying us drinks?” Zhang Yang called from the sofa, a faint smile on his lips. Inwardly, he thought, “Knowing when to yield—what a promising fellow. So long as he isn’t completely untamable, I’ll take him in today.”

“Yes, I’m buying you all a drink!” Lin Yu replied with his own smile, then added, “I want you to see what happens when an opportunity meets a reason and a belief—what you get is a pile of beer bottles.”

The words were delivered with a playful air, and for a moment, the whole crowd of young men was caught off guard, momentarily puzzled by his meaning.