Chapter Sixteen: A Thorny Problem

Outside Baxian County, the night was deep and heavy.

Inside the lakeside wooden cabin, the light was dim. The three Yang siblings sat around a wooden table.

On the table lay two packs of cigarettes, three glasses, two bottles of white liquor, a plate of peanuts, and a pile of sunflower seeds.

Yang Yongli was smoking, the rising haze shrouding his face.

Yang Yonggui was drinking, emitting a sizzling sound; his face was red as a monkey's behind.

Yang Yongfang was cracking sunflower seeds, one after another, the crisp sound echoing.

“If things go on like this, it’s going to be difficult,” Yang Yonggui said, burping and exhaling a breath of alcohol.

“What do you want to do?” Yang Yongfang replied. “At this point, what else can we do?”

“Maybe we should just let it go…” Yang Yonggui took another sip, crossed his legs, and tried to sound wise. “If we take a step back, they’ll probably do the same. It’s good for both sides. Otherwise, it’s mutual destruction.”

“What if they don’t back down?” Yang Yongfang countered. “Sometimes, the more you retreat, the more they advance. Then it’s all over.”

“But if we just sit here, do nothing, say nothing, isn't that letting ourselves be slaughtered?” Yang Yonggui poured himself another glass, gulped it down, and grumbled, “That Yan Ming is nothing but a troublemaker! If it weren’t for him, we’d have won already. He’s meddling in things that have nothing to do with him! He’s not even a cop, just a lawyer, poking around crime scenes. And that presiding judge, clearly biased toward their side—where is the promised fairness? And Yu Weiran, too, a real fraud, only knows how to scold us, acting tough at home!”

“Enough with the complaints,” Yang Yongfang tossed the sunflower seed shells at Yang Yonggui’s feet. “Yu Weiran told us to stay put and behave, so let’s just do it.”

“I think you’re the one with too much drama,” Yang Yonggui shot her a look. “Who told you to dye your hair red?”

“What nonsense!” Yang Yongfang threw a handful of seeds at Yang Yonggui. “Are you drunk and talking nonsense?”

“Who’s drunk?” Yang Yonggui retorted, cheeks flushed. “Did I say anything wrong?”

Yang Yongfang was furious now, grabbing more seeds to throw at him. At that moment, Yang Yongli, who had been silently smoking, suddenly barked, “Knock it off!”

Yang Yongli fixed his gaze on Yang Yonggui. “If you can’t speak properly, keep your mouth shut. If you really can’t, stitch it up.”

Yang Yonggui pointed at Yang Yongfang. “She started it…”

Yang Yongli frowned. “I’m sitting right here—don’t you think I can hear?”

Yang Yonggui drained his glass—it might have been the alcohol boosting his courage, or genuine anger—and snapped, “If you’d listened to me at first, things wouldn’t have gotten this bad. You never saw me as your big brother!”

Yang Yongli paused while lighting his cigarette, looking at Yang Yonggui. “What did you say?”

Yang Yonggui stuck out his chin. “Should’ve listened to me, not you.”

Yang Yongli’s mouth twisted, the scar on his face writhing slowly, his gaze turning sharper. Yang Yonggui felt uneasy, his drunkenness fading, but still stubbornly stuck out his chin. “It’s good to talk things over more. My wife says so, too. We were too hasty.”

Yang Yongli clenched his teeth, the muscles on his jaw standing out. “You talked to your wife about this?”

Yang Yonggui’s face flitted with anxiety. “Just mentioned it generally, didn’t say any details…”

Suddenly, Yang Yongli stood up and slapped Yang Yonggui on the head. “Are you stupid or pretending? Can you talk about this everywhere?”

“But she’s my wife…”

“Doesn’t matter!”

“But I already said it, what can I do…” Yang Yonggui rubbed his head, frowning, clearly displeased with the slap.

“From now on, nobody says a word about this except the three of us. Not a single word, understand?!”

Yang Yonggui bowed his head, drinking silently.

“Do you hear me?” Yang Yongli raised his hand to hit Yang Yonggui again, but Yonggui blocked it.

Yang Yonggui stood up and shoved Yang Yongli, catching him off guard. Yonggui was big and strong, pushing Yang Yongli into a stumble.

“Don’t lay hands on me!” Yang Yonggui glared. “I’m the eldest brother. My wife said, after Mom died, you’re supposed to listen to me!”

Yang Yongli’s face darkened as he stepped forward, but Yang Yongfang pulled him back. “Yonggui’s just drunk. Don’t stoop to his level. Look at him—all bark, can’t even control his own wife, and he’s shouting at us. Tomorrow when he sobers up, he’ll be embarrassed.”

“Who can’t control their wife?!” Yang Yonggui shouted.

Yang Yongfang snorted, turning away.

Just then, Yang Yongli’s phone rang—it was Yu Weiran calling.

“Don’t say anything,” Yang Yongli glared at Yang Yonggui.

“She said I can’t control my wife, I—” Yang Yonggui kept protesting.

Yang Yongli suddenly picked up a basin of water and splashed it in Yang Yonggui’s face, then grabbed his neck and kicked his leg, forcing him onto the stool. He growled, “Shut up!”

Yang Yonggui, drenched and stunned, nodded blankly.

As the ringtone was about to end, Yang Yongli answered the call.

During that conversation, Yu Weiran hinted, in a veiled manner, that Yang Yongli needed to personally deal with Yan Ming—the troublesome opponent—provided they had indeed done those things.

“You two stay home,” Yang Yongli said, putting on his coat with a grim expression. “I’m going to handle this.”

“How?” Yang Yongfang asked. “Want me to come with you?”

“Too many people will attract attention,” Yang Yongli replied. “Watch Yonggui, don’t let him wander around or talk nonsense. We’re at a critical moment; a single misstep could bring big trouble.”

“Then take care,” Yang Yongfang said. “Let me know if anything happens.”

Yang Yonggui sat on the chair, head down, water dripping off him, his drunkenness mostly gone.

“Yonggui,” Yang Yongli went over and patted his shoulder. “You are truly our eldest brother—always have been. But when it comes to tricky matters, it’s better I handle them. Understand?”

Yang Yonggui slowly looked up at him. Yang Yongli managed a smile—a twisted, fierce thing thanks to his scar—but at least it was a smile.

“Go change your clothes, or you’ll catch cold,” Yang Yongli said, then walked out.

Yang Yonggui bowed his head, silent, water dripping onto the floor, paying it no mind.

“What’s wrong, sulking?” Yang Yongfang continued cracking sunflower seeds.

Yang Yonggui’s hand trembled, uncertain if it was from cold or anger.

“Yongli’s just anxious, not targeting you,” Yang Yongfang said.

Suddenly, Yang Yonggui grabbed the liquor bottle and smashed it against the wall. Alcohol splattered everywhere, fragments flew.

“Are you crazy?!” Yang Yongfang shouted.

“Son of a bitch!” Yang Yonggui cursed bitterly, storming out.

By the time Yang Yongfang chased after him, she only saw Yang Yonggui charging into the woods like a bull, disappearing.

The night was thick. On the deserted road outside town, only a lone Buick moved through the darkness.

Yang Yongli, cigarette in mouth, drove while making phone calls.

“Third Brother, help me check someone. Yan Ming—strict Yan, inscription Ming. The more details, the better.”

“Old Dao, are you in the city? I’ll be there soon, need your help. Two hours.”

“Xiangzi, I have things to handle these days. Keep an eye on the site. I’m not running, I’ll take care of it when I get back, trust me!”

“Wife, I won’t be home tonight. Something’s up. Don’t worry. I’ll sort things out when I return.”

When Yang Yongli finished his round of calls, Third Brother had already sent over the information: Yan Ming’s personal details, workplace, home address—all thoroughly compiled.

“Yan Ming…” Yang Yongli flicked his cigarette out the window, muttering to himself, “Why are you so persistent?”

The burning tip traced a purple-red arc in the night, swiftly swallowed by darkness.