Jiang Luo pushed past Zhang Ningfu’s wife, skirted around his son, and hurried to Zhang Ningfu’s side. His head had been shaved, wrapped tightly in bandages, clothes removed and partially covered with the hospital’s green antiseptic sheet. Electrodes clipped to his chest monitored his heart, and he remained unconscious.
Jiang Luo’s face darkened further.
He wished it were just an accident—a normal traffic incident.
But deep down, he knew with near certainty that it was deliberate.
Leaving Xiao Lu and a management colleague behind, Jiang Luo turned and headed to Huashan Hospital to check on Accountant Xue.
Zhang Ningfu’s wife and son chased after him.
“You’re the boss! He got hit—aren’t you responsible?”
“This happened at your factory entrance. You have to take responsibility!”
“You’ll pay!”
“If my father dies, you’ll pay with your life!”
Jiang Luo ignored them entirely, not in the mood to console anyone.
As he stepped outside, Zhang Ningfu’s wife reached to grab him, just as Wang Junqing, waiting at the entrance, saw her.
“What are you doing?! Let go!” Wang Junqing barked.
Only then did Zhang Ningfu’s wife and son stop pursuing him.
Jiang Luo gestured to Wang Junqing. “Let’s go to Huashan.”
Wang Junqing motioned warningly at the couple, then followed Jiang Luo.
Zhang Ningfu’s wife could only scream after him, voice hoarse: “If you don’t take responsibility, you’ll pay with your life!”
Xiao Lu ran out, calling, “Auntie, don’t shout—Jiang Zong won’t ignore this.”
Once in the car, Jiang Luo took out his phone and dialed Li Fengrui.
Beep—beep—beep. No answer.
Expressionless, Jiang Luo redialed. This time Li Fengrui picked up. “Hello?”
Jiang Luo’s voice was icy: “Li Fengrui, was it you?”
“Jiang Luo.”
Li Fengrui chuckled. “So, do you realize your mistake now?”
“If I wanted to get to you, I could get to you—one deputy factory director, one old accountant. How does that feel?”
He added casually, “Though, I guess it doesn’t matter much to you, does it? Not your father, not your relatives—just employees in your hands.”
Li Fengrui’s tone turned ominous. “You should consider yourself warned. Next time…”
Jiang Luo interrupted calmly: “Li Fengrui, just wait.”
He ended the call.
Soon at Huashan’s orthopedics ward, Accountant Xue’s injuries were not as severe as Zhang Ningfu’s. He lay on the bed, one leg in plaster with layers of bandage, colleagues at his side.
“Jiang Zong.”
“Jiang Zong.”
Seeing Jiang Luo, they all called out.
Xue tried to sit up, but Jiang Luo strode over, expression tense, frowning. “Lie down. Why get up?”
Xue smirked. “I’m paying my respects.”
Jiang Luo’s expression softened slightly.
Xue lay back, still smiling. “Don’t worry—I’m not going to die.”
“Relax.”
Jiang Luo added teasingly, “What’s with the face—like your father just died.”
“Alright, alright, I’m fine, really. I’m fine. Some lowlife hit me from behind, handlebars twisted—I fell, that’s all. Not a big deal.”
Later, Jiang Luo returned to Zhang Ningfu, who had been moved from the ER to intensive care, where no one could stay except doctors and nurses. It was late; his wife and son had left. Only Xiao Lu and another colleague were there.
“Jiang Zong.”
Seeing him, Xiao Lu stood from a chair by the ICU door.
“How’s he? Awake yet?” Jiang Luo asked.
Xiao Lu nodded. “He’s woken up. The doctor says he’s fully conscious. The danger period has passed. He’ll stay under observation here for now. If nothing else, in a couple of days he can move to a regular ward.”
“Don’t worry, Jiang Zong.”
Jiang Luo responded with a brief “Mm,” unable to see Zhang Ningfu himself. He instructed Xiao Lu, “Use the best water, the best medicine. If money’s tight, tell me.”
Handing over a yellow envelope filled with cash, he said nothing more.
Back in the car, Jiang Luo sat silently, deep in thought. Wang Junqing drove.
Jiang Luo had arranged a meeting at Huating, going upstairs alone while Wang waited below.
Time passed; Jiang Luo didn’t come down. At eleven, the phone left in the front seat rang. Wang Junqing picked it up.
Huo Zongzuo’s voice was calm: “Where’s Jiang Luo? Didn’t bring his phone? Called his cell—he didn’t answer.”
Wang Junqing glanced at the lit Huating building upstairs. “Jiang Zong is there, meeting some people. He came around 8:30 and hasn’t come out. I’m waiting. Zhang Ningfu and Accountant Xue got hurt too.”
Huo Zongzuo: “Understood. Wait for him and ensure he gets home safely. If anything happens, call me immediately.”
Upstairs at Huating, the private room was thick with smoke. Several men sat or stood, smoking.
Jiang Luo stood by the window, hands in pockets, his reflection impassive.
After a moment, he turned to the men. “Gentlemen, what’s the discussion?”
After midnight, Jiang Luo descended Huating, stepping into the night, signaling Wang Junqing.
“Back to Wukang Road,” he said.
Wang opened the rear door. “Mr. Huo called.”
“I know. I just got the call,” Jiang Luo replied, getting in.
The car stopped slowly. The villa’s lights were bright; Huo Zongzuo stood under the porch.
Cold night air, white shirt, sleeves rolled.
Jiang Luo got out; Huo Zongzuo walked down to meet him.
Before he spoke, Jiang Luo waved him off. “Don’t. I don’t feel like hearing it.”
He continued inside, tone flat: “It’s late—sleep early.”
Huo Zongzuo said nothing. “Hungry?”
“No. Can’t eat.” Jiang Luo changed shoes at the door, crossed the living room, and went upstairs.
Huo Zongzuo followed silently.
Jiang Luo entered the room, pulled at his collar, tossed his coat on the bed, and headed straight for the shower.
Huo Zongzuo knew he was in a foul mood, didn’t press, just went to his own room, hung his clothes.
Soon, he heard the water stop, then a click—Jiang Luo had turned off the lights and gone to bed.
Huo Zongzuo, about to sleep himself, saw Jiang Luo return holding a pillow silently, toss it, wrap around the bed, pull the covers, and lie down. “Sleep.”
Seeing him, Huo Zongzuo understood—Jiang Luo was deeply unsettled. He had never seen a man so quiet.
Huo Zongzuo slid an arm next to Jiang Luo’s pillow. “Don’t be mad. I’ll vent for you.”
“No need,” Jiang Luo replied, eyes closed.
“I’ve arranged everything. He starts on the first, I’ll finish on the fifteenth. He dares touch my people, I’ll make sure he doesn’t get away. Not dealing a few blows, the name Jiang Luo will be written backwards.”
The next day, Li Fengrui arrived at the office as usual, in good spirits, reviewing materials. Suddenly, a male colleague responsible for managing the commercial building ran in, out of breath.
“Bad news! Li Zong!”
Li Fengrui, calm, flipped through his papers. “What happened? Be specific.”
The colleague pointed to the door. “Several counters and brands on the lower floors are emptying out—won’t operate for the next few days. They want a statement from us.”
“Lots of people outside watching the commotion.”
“What?!”
Li Fengrui went downstairs. Indeed, multiple counters were empty, and a crowd had gathered, shouting:
“Why should Pacific make us discount? Make us join mall activities without care for our brands?!”
“Why?!”
“No answer, no reply—we refuse to operate!”
“Yes! Refuse to operate!”
Seeing the crowd, Li Fengrui quickly returned upstairs to command from the office:
“Close all mall entrances. No one in, only clearing out.”
“Tell customers the mall is closed today.”
“Call up those causing trouble—they want answers? Let them come and talk to me!”
Soon, Pacific displayed closed signs, security blocked entrances, and customers were cleared out.
Yet before long, a group of young people gathered outside, holding signs: “Boycott malicious mall management!”