Kidnapping

The mid-afternoon sun shone down at around three o'clock outside a Huaxia-style mansion, where an oversized bamboo chair was set up by the entrance. Boss Dao reclined in it, basking in the sun... Everywhere else felt fine; only his forehead was slightly feverish. Today, Boss Dao was not wearing maneuver gear. On his feet was a pair of Huaxia-style cloth shoes, and he wore a loose, soft silk shirt and matching trousers. Before knowing something was wrong with him, he hadn't felt a thing. But now that he knew, he suddenly felt like an invalid—and an invalid had to look the part. "If I go into that operating room tomorrow and don't make it out, our band..." Boss Dao squinted at the empty courtyard before him, his voice tinged with sudden sorrow. "That won't happen. Ah Jing and the others said Doctor Zhe is incredible. Don't worry, Boss," Filio offered from beside him in consolation. "True enough. By the way, where are they?" "Haven't seen them. Didn't Berick come by to borrow people yesterday? The five of them went along, so they might not have recovered their energy yet. Plus, they've got another gig tomorrow night... What's-his-name, Black Tooth, came around to borrow them again. Said the way those kids hold the formation is rock-solid," Filio explained. "Oh." Boss Dao nodded. He didn't want to admit it—doing so would feel petty—but he couldn't help the wave of unexplainable sourness that welled up in his chest. "How can those brats be so thoughtless?! I treated them like lucky stars, like my inner circle... yet the bastards act like social butterflies! Going with whoever calls, with zero sense of propriety." In truth, Han Qingyu had turned down offers; Filio simply hadn't mentioned it. Yesterday, when Liu Lang from the Shelvey band came to borrow men and singled them out by name, Han Qingyu had refused him right to his face. *If this keeps up, I wonder if they'll even still count as members of my band when I recover in two months,* Boss Dao brooded internally. To tell the truth, Boss Dao was genuinely worried and reluctant to let them go. Otherwise, he wouldn't have gone to check whether they had returned after drinking that night. And if he hadn't gone and hadn't eaten that 'dragon'... in two months, he would have been beyond saving. *So they really are my lucky stars!* Boss Dao thought. "Actually, Boss..." Filio spoke up, hesitating. "Yeah?" Boss Dao snapped out of his daze and looked up. "Go on." "I think going two months without taking jobs really won't work. First off, turning down all the work means the clients who booked us in advance will have a hard time finding other teams. Second, the momentum we built up recently will be broken. Third, I'm afraid everyone's loyalty will scatter..." Filio's eyes held deep concern. Over the past two days, not only had Ah Jing's group of five been joining outside bands on missions, but the other members had also begun looking for odd jobs elsewhere. Although they were nominally a freelance band, the current roster had gradually stabilized over the recent period. The stable presence and growth of a fixed core of combatants was an essential stage for any freelance band aspiring to become top-tier, and one of the most critical requirements. "Yeah." Boss Dao nodded. As the boss, he understood all of this all too well. They had originally been riding the best development trajectory, only for it to be cut short out of nowhere. Trying to regain that ground later would hardly be easy. Yet he had no choice. In a place like the City of Iniquity, how could anyone afford to fall ill?! But sick he was. "It's fine. Once I'm healed, we'll turn things around in one clean stroke..." Boss Dao forced himself to muster some spirit. "My thought is, I could lead the brothers and keep working for these two months. We can take fewer jobs, but we shouldn't shut down entirely," Filio said directly, meeting Boss Dao's gaze. "Don't worry, Boss. I can hold the line." "Bullshit! Without me around, sending you guys out is just sending you to die." Boss Dao rejected the idea flatly, slumping back into his bamboo chair and shaking his head. He muttered, "No way, absolutely not..." In every battle before this, Boss Dao knew precisely how many fatal gaps he had personally plugged. If he really let those men loose on their own, half of them would likely be dead after just two outings. *** A little later that afternoon, in the Third District. Wen Jifei sat behind the counter of a small shop—the very one where he had bought cigarettes on credit before. He hadn't paid that debt yet, and the proprietress hadn't pressed him for it either. At the moment, Plague Chicken was minding the counter while chatting with her. "Big Sis, let me ask you something. Is there anyone in the City of Iniquity who has a terrible reputation, is filthy rich, but only has mediocre strength?!" Wen Jifei asked in a low voice. The proprietress, a woman in her thirties with a flirtatious mole at the corner of her eye, lowered the melon seed she had just brought to her lips. She rolled her eyes at him, answering in a tart whisper: "None! Who in the City of Iniquity has money without the strength to back it up?! Anyone who dared to be rich without strength... would've died eight hundred times over." "Oh." "Let me warn you, don't go getting any crooked ideas. That sort of business isn't for you kids," the proprietress said, her gaze turning serious. "I don't want to come open up the shop one morning and find your corpses dumped in the street. Behave yourselves. Staying alive is good enough." "Right, got it," Wen Jifei replied obediently, nodding. The proprietress tossed him a pack of cigarettes. Wen Jifei tore it open, then set it down. A customer walked in, so he stood up to attend to them. Meanwhile, about a hundred meters away in another shop, He Tangtang was helping a noodle shop owner shave noodles. Over five hundred meters away, the Little Prince sat at the entrance of an alley, staring intently across the street at the women from various countries standing in front of the storefronts. By right, he should have had money, but the others wouldn't give him any. Wu Xu kept his head low, carrying a broom in his left hand and a dustpan in his right as he walked past him in complete silence. After another hundred meters, he reached the garbage truck and dumped the trash inside. "You done on your side?" Han Qingyu asked. "Yeah." Wu Xu hugged the broom handle to his chest and leaned against the truck door, nodding. "Then I got the raw end of the deal. I'm already on my second dustpan and still haven't finished sweeping." Han Qingyu gestured with the dustpan in his hand, then turned and walked toward the other side. The two of them had come out this afternoon to cover shifts for Qian Daofeng and Ao Yong. Those two fools had just gotten their new blades and maneuver gear yesterday and were far too excited. They started sparring in the courtyard... and because they were unfamiliar with the new gear, they lost control and ran each other through with their blades. Now both were lying flat on their backs. *Rusty Sister must be bored out of her mind at home,* Han Qingyu thought as he looked down, sweeping up a pile of broken glass. Would it be better to just let her come out directly from now on? Over the course of the afternoon, Han Qingyu had already seen four people in full armor walk past on the street, though their armor appeared far cruder than hers. Just as the thought crossed his mind—*screeech!* A red sports car sped past, whipped around without slowing down, and slammed on the brakes to a sudden halt. Han Qingyu tilted his head, looking blankly at the brown-haired girl inside the vehicle. "Do you remember me? Has your English gotten any better?" Lynne asked, hands gripping the steering wheel as she leaned over. Han Qingyu didn't remember her face, but a glance at her purse on the passenger seat jogged his memory. He nodded and replied in English, "Remember." From spending more than two months running around outside, his English was now barely serviceable. "Right, my name is Lynne." The brown-haired girl's gaze lingered on him, a hint of daze in her eyes... She quickly caught herself and offered a hasty excuse. "We didn't go back to that bar after that... Well, we went once, but we didn't see you." *So you do owe me money!* Han Qingyu thought, nodding. "I... I was just driving past and happened to spot you... I'm glad you're still alive, and that you found a new job. This job is quite nice," Lynne said, sounding slightly awkward. "Thank you." "Yeah." Lynne looked at him, hesitated for a moment, then turned to rummage through her bag. She first pulled out five hundred-dollar bills. After a brief pause, she added five more. Then, thinking again, she pinched two dead iron fragments, held them beneath the cash, and handed the bundle over. "It's not charity. Um... it's thanks for your silhouette." Han Qingyu didn't understand the word 'silhouette.' Still, *it probably doesn't mean she wants to sleep with me.* She said it wasn't charity? That hardly mattered to him. Happy to take the money, Han Qingyu smiled and accepted it. "Thank you." "You're welcome. I have to go." The sports car pulled away, and Lynne looked back with a smile, waving. "Stay alive! I hope to see you next time." "You too." For once, Han Qingyu offered a genuine smile and waved back. When he turned around, another car had pulled up not far ahead. Its door opened outward, and an empty cigarette pack was tossed out. Han Qingyu waited a few seconds, then walked over, bent down, and swept the pack into his dustpan. "Quite the lady-killer, aren't you?" As the voice drifted from inside the car, Han Qingyu glanced down at his chest. There, propped against the car door, was the tip of a blade less than five centimeters from his heart. "I'm guessing you're stronger than we gave you credit for, but it won't be enough. Don't even think about resisting—Mr. Jiva here is Grade A..." From the passenger seat, Liu Lang turned his head with a grin. "To be able to hand Ao Yong and Qian Daofeng each a set of new blades and gear, you don't seem so simple after all." "I don't believe I've ever offended you, though," Han Qingyu said earnestly, turning toward him. Liu Lang burst out laughing, as if finding the remark hilarious. "Oh, you have. Especially when you might be filthy rich, you've offended me plenty... Get in. Or die right here."