On any ordinary day, if he'd simply been checking in for a room with nothing weighing on his mind, he might have brushed off the offense with a laugh.
But these past days he'd been consumed with worry over his father's situation. These idiots, of all times, had to pick now to court disaster by provoking him.
That was more than enough to fan his wrath.
"Crawl out?"
"Son of a bitch, kid's got a big mouth on him!"
"Boys, get him! Bust him up!"
"Hold nothing back! Dead or crippled, it's on me!"
Steward Qiu knew these thugs were no saints. The old Flying Horse Inn had never had this kind of filth.
Over the past few months the inn had gone through all manner of upheaval, and its atmosphere had turned rotten. Now it had even devolved into open brawls with paying guests.
Steward Qiu was both pained and anxious. He called out, "Sir, take a step back and the world opens up. Why don't you retreat for now?"
He clearly wanted no trouble and no guest injured under the inn's roof.
As he spoke, he lifted his foot and actually strode ahead.
The six fighters exchanged savage grins and meaningful glances. In perfect unison they surged toward
Credit where it was due — these men clearly brawled together often. Their formation was polished the instant they moved, sealing off every escape route and boxing
A shadow so fast the eye could barely track it flickered across the room.
Then—
Slap, slap, slap, slap, slap, slap!
Six crisp sounds of palm meeting flesh rang through the hall in rapid succession.
The next instant six screams tore through the air as those fierce-looking fighters went flying out the hall door like sandbags.
Thump, thump, thump!
Sandbag bodies slammed into the ground hard. Some clutched their faces, some rubbed their backsides — every last one of them a picture of abject misery.
The sight left Steward Qiu dumbstruck. The moment those six had rushed forward together, he'd been bracing for blood and gore, maybe even a spray of crimson across the walls.
Instead his jaw nearly hit the floor. Those six ferocious bruisers had been swatted out the door one by one, like sandbags batted by a single palm.
Never mind fighting back — they hadn't even had time to react.
Something flickered through Steward Qiu's eyes. There was shock, there was wariness, and there was worry.
The errand boy Wang had gone deathly pale, his mouth tasting of bile. His face was a mask of disbelief as he stared at
Young Wang was, at heart, nothing more than a bully who crumbled the moment he met someone tougher. Seeing the unassuming
Call for backup?
There was backup to be had, but it wouldn't be enough to handle this guy.
Young Wang was torn between terror and silent cursing. Where the hell did this freak come from? Power like that, and he goes around looking like nobody? There's playing the pig to eat the tiger, and then there's just being ridiculous!
Young Wang was mortified. He'd finally gotten a chance to throw his weight around, finally a chance to show some swagger — and he'd slammed headfirst into a steel plate.
Stammering, face reddening with the effort of squeezing out words: "F-Friend, don't be hasty. I-I'm Young Wang — the proprietor's brother-in-law."
"The proprietor?"
"That's right — Proprietor Dong Sheng." Mentioning his brother-in-law, young Wang's chest involuntarily puffed out, as though the name carried a kind of magic that bolstered his courage, filled him with strength and resolve.
"You — you don't know Dong Sheng? Proprietor Dong, and you don't know him? How is that even possible?" Young Wang's eyes went wide, stunned by what seemed sheer absurdity.
You know the deputy proprietor Niu Wu-er, but you don't know the head proprietor Dong Sheng? Is there any greater insult than that?