Chapter Seventeen: Ignoring the Rules, Setting Fires Recklessly

The sudden appearance of Da Zhuang sent a jolt of panic through Zhang Qinglin’s heart. If Da Zhuang had been captured and brought here, then what about Grandmother? Where was she now?

Zhang Qinglin gripped Da Zhuang’s shoulders, steadying him, urging him to calm down.

“Da Zhuang, who brought you here? Where’s Grandmother?…” But seeing Da Zhuang’s eyes darting wildly, his soul not yet returned to his body, Zhang Qinglin realized that questioning him was pointless.

He needed to come up with a plan, to figure out where they were and who these people truly were.

Cheng Che leaned in, his face inches from Da Zhuang’s nose, and asked menacingly, “How did you get here?”

“Ah! Grandmother… wuh…” Suddenly, Da Zhuang, struck by terror, scrambled to his feet and bolted. Cheng Che, quick as a whip, reached out to grab him, but only managed to seize his calf.

Da Zhuang lost his balance and crashed to the floor with a thud. As he fell, his hand snatched a burning straw from the ground, and in a frantic motion, he kicked at Cheng Che’s hands, flinging the flaming straw in all directions. The dry straw caught fire at once.

In less than a minute, they found themselves encircled by creeping flames.

In this moment of crisis, Zhang Qinglin hurriedly grabbed some damp straw and threw it onto the flames. He saw both Cheng Che and Da Zhuang sprawled beside the burning pile.

“What are you doing? Get up! Quickly, get away from there! Cheng Che, your hair’s on fire…” Zhang Qinglin ran over and pulled Da Zhuang up, but to his surprise, Da Zhuang’s strength was astonishing. He shoved Zhang Qinglin away, his expression turning frantic and agitated as he stared at the spreading flames, utterly at a loss.

Cheng Che sat on the ground, slapping at his scalp, the acrid smell of scorched hair rising into the air.

The fire inside the room grew fiercer, thick smoke curling out through the cracks in the door.

Just then, someone outside began shouting, “Hurry! Fire! Someone help, put out the fire…” Moments later, the door of the dark room was kicked open, and a blast of flames surged out.

Someone rushed in with a bucket and splashed water, then another hosed the room down directly. Fortunately, there was no wind, or the fire would have been impossible to control.

“Which son of a bitch started this fire?” Old Wu bellowed from the doorway.

Zhang Qinglin, Cheng Che, and Da Zhuang stumbled out, coughing and covered in soot, each looking more battered than the next. Zhang Qinglin and Cheng Che, almost choked by the smoke, broke into violent fits of coughing. Da Zhuang, meanwhile, kept shaking his head in bewilderment.

“You may have been sent here by Boss Xiao, but that doesn’t mean you can run wild on my turf. Speak up—who started the fire?” Old Wu sat in a battered chair, glaring fiercely at the three crouched before him.

Of the three, none looked worse than Cheng Che. His hair was burnt to a crisp, his face smeared with ash, and his clothes were torn open—his own mother would scarcely recognize him.

Zhang Qinglin fared slightly better; his clothes were peppered with singed holes, his face streaked with soot, and his hair dripped with water. Da Zhuang, aside from some grime on his face, seemed largely unscathed—though slow-witted, he was nimble, and had been the first to dart for the door when it opened.

All three remained silent, giving no answer to Old Wu’s question.

“So, no one wants to talk? Don’t think that just because you’re Boss Xiao’s people, I won’t lay a hand on you. On your very first day here, you try to burn down my house? I can’t swallow that. Fine, if you won’t speak, don’t blame me for what happens next. Xiaomi…” Old Wu’s face hardened as he slapped the table and shot a meaningful glance at the man beside him.

Xiaomi, a short man with a scar on his face, clenched his fists and strode menacingly toward Zhang Qinglin, who stood at the front.