Volume 1 / Chapter 62: The Debt Collectors

Almost every city has its own dark and grimy corners—like mold creeping along the seams of civilization.

Even if they aren't literally in the sewers, they might as well be.

Not even the most advanced and bustling cities are exempt, let alone a still-developing place like Hangzhou.

Such places might be unfinished commercial districts, or chaotic urban villages where all sorts of people are crammed together.

The year was 1999, and it wasn’t exactly an era known for law and order.

Late at night on the city streets, you might run into human traffickers, belligerent drunks, or even thieves speeding by on stolen motorcycles.

Petty thugs stirring up trouble around neighborhood shops were all too common.

Of course, this was China after all—most of these lowlifes wouldn’t dare make a scene in broad daylight. During the day, they’d generally hunker down in their filthy little hideouts.

But even during the day, there were some urban villages so infamously chaotic that ordinary people wouldn’t dare set foot in them.

You probably wouldn’t bump into a murderer there, but the odds of getting jumped by some bored street punk looking for a fight were quite high.

---

The new principal of Yǔkōng High School hailed from a century-old family bearing the surname Mò.

He wore dark sunglasses, exuding the kind of upper-class aura that kept the riffraff in this sketchy urban village from even thinking about picking a fight.

Of course, the six burly men following behind him probably had more to do with it.

Four of them were dressed in suits and wore shades that completely hid their eyes. With the principal in the lead, they looked like they’d just walked off the set of a Hong Kong gangster film.

The two men walking closest to the principal, however, seemed more relaxed. They wore casual shirts and slacks, and although they also had on sunglasses, they lacked that threatening edge.

Anyone from Yǔkōng High might have recognized them: the P.E. teachers for the first and second-year students.

As for third years… well, their P.E. classes were essentially “self-directed,” with the two teachers occasionally helping out when they had time. So there was no need to hire a dedicated P.E. teacher for them.

Even though P.E. teaching had the lowest threshold for qualifications, Yǔkōng High had only ever hired two of them. For reasons no one quite understood…

---

“Is this the place?” the principal finally asked as they reached the base of a shabby four-story self-built apartment.

“Yeah,” replied the first-year P.E. teacher, Yè Rán, with a nod.

The building’s owner didn’t live here. He had partitioned it into numerous identical units and rented them out for cheap to people who couldn’t afford—or weren’t allowed—to rent anywhere else.

Of course, the landlord would’ve loved to charge more, but with the surrounding environment in such a state, asking for high rent was a pipe dream.

“Let’s go,” the principal said, taking the lead.

The staircase was narrow—just wide enough for one person at a time. If someone came down from above, one side would have to back up to the landing so the other could pass.

Furniture had to be hoisted up using a pulley system.

The stairwell reeked of mildew and rotting garbage. Rats darted past every so often, and despite the humidity, cockroaches clung stubbornly to life.

Jīn Jiāhuī, the second-year P.E. teacher, kicked a pile of trash out of annoyance. A swarm of cockroaches scurried out, making him jump. “Damn, this place is filthy,” he muttered.

No one responded—they were already halfway up the stairs behind the principal.

They climbed all the way to the fourth floor, the top level of the building.

This floor had only two rooms, one on each side. The person they were looking for lived here.

Knock knock.

The principal tapped the door of Unit 401—not too soft, not too loud.

“Who the hell is it?” came a surly voice from inside.

“You tell me,” the principal replied calmly.

“The hell? Since when are debt collectors so damn cocky?”

The door flung open to reveal a chubby man in skimpy clothes. Inside, more than ten people were huddled around a small fire pit in the living room. There was barely any furniture—everyone sat directly on the floor, watching a black-and-white TV perched on a broken chair. Princess Pearl was playing.

When he realized the group at the door didn’t look like ordinary borrowers, the fat man tensed up. The others inside also glanced over warily.

“What kind of business are you folks in?” the principal asked with a faint smile, looking more like a businessman than a troublemaker.

The fat man quickly counted heads. His side had more than double their number. His tension eased. “Lending, collections, security for underground casinos, rigged games—you name it, we do it.”

“So… sometimes you lend people money?”

“Heh, of course. Though most of the time, we’re the ones collecting.”

“I see. Do you happen to know someone named Lǐ Kāi?”

“That guy? That bastard owes us money and won’t pay. He’s gonna get what’s coming to him!”

“How much does he owe you? I’m here to pay it off.” The principal smiled and clapped his hands. One of the suited men opened a briefcase, revealing neat stacks of 100-yuan bills.

“Damn, when did that bastard find a rich backer?” The fat man grinned greedily. “We’re honest businessmen. He owes us 200,000. Not a cent more.”

“Two hundred thousand? How much was the original loan?”

“Twenty grand. But we charge compound interest, like any real lending biz. We take risks too, y’know?” the fat man said, trying to justify himself. “That punk didn’t pay for six months. Two hundred thousand’s a pretty fair rate in our line of work.”

“From twenty thousand to two hundred thousand, huh?”

“You got a problem?”

“Got it.” The principal nodded and took a step back.

Yè Rán and Jīn Jiāhuī stepped forward.

Just as the fat man sensed something was off and opened his mouth to shout, Jīn Jiāhuī punched him square in the face and dropped him instantly.

“Hey, I thought I was supposed to go first,” Yè Rán muttered, mildly annoyed.

Chaos broke out in the room.

The others scrambled to their feet, demanding to know what was going on. One guy grabbed a chair and charged.

Everyone except the principal dove into the fight.

Calling it a fight would be generous—it was more like a one-sided beating.

Someone tried to take advantage of the chaos to tackle the principal, assuming he was the leader, but Yè Rán yanked him back by the collar.

“You wanna throw hands? Get through me first,” Yè Rán said coolly before knocking the man out with one punch.

Within minutes, everyone aside from the principal’s group was moaning on the floor.

The beatings were precise—painful, but calculated. Bruised bodies, but no broken bones.

Once things settled, the principal lit a Zhonghua cigarette and casually walked in.

He glanced down at the beaten men, speaking mildly:

“You people live in the gray zones of the law. As long as you keep quiet, it’s hard to pin anything on you. Even if you do get caught, the punishment is light. But don’t think that gives you license to act with impunity.”

“Paying back a debt is fair. But interest like this? That crosses the line.”

“More importantly—when collecting a debt, what gives you the right to lay a hand on a first-year girl?”

“We… we didn’t do anything to his daughter!” someone cried, eyes wide in protest.

“Oh really?” The principal took another drag. “Still pretending, even now?”

The story had twisted through several mouths. Ān Ruòsù had finally broken down and told Yè Wén . But she had gotten it slightly wrong—she told the homeroom teacher that it was Lǐ Kāi who hit Lǐ Wǎnyán .

Yè Wén reported it to the disciplinary director, who said it was debt collectors who attacked her.

By the time the story reached the principal, it had morphed into “the debt collectors tried to molest Lǐ Wǎnyán, and she fled, refusing to return home.”

Her parents were now missing, and even the police couldn’t locate them.

So for the safety of his students, the principal had chosen to step in personally.

Because if things really continued as the director described, someone could end up dead.

And that would be far worse.

“We really didn’t—”

“You didn’t?” The principal blew out a stream of smoke, then stepped aside.

Yè Rán and Jīn Jiāhuī did the same.

The four suited men stepped forward—and unleashed a fresh round of fists and fury. One man’s teeth flew out from the force of a blow.

“Do you know how many families you’ve destroyed?” The principal shook his head. He looked around, spotted a dusty ashtray, and tapped his cigarette into it. “Let me make this clear. If you ever lay a finger on someone from my school again, you’ll face far worse.”

“Y-Your… your school…?” one guy asked with a mouthful of blood, barely conscious.

He genuinely couldn’t figure out what any of this had to do with a school.

The principal ignored him. Instead, he turned to another man whose face was swollen and bruised.

“Do you understand now?”

“Yes! Yes!” the man frantically nodded.

“Understand what?”

“That… we shouldn’t mess with your people!”

“My people?”

“Y-Yes! Your, your… organization! The one called ‘School’!”

The principal froze for a moment, visibly stunned. He lowered his head slightly, letting his sunglasses slip just enough to reveal a pair of tired, weathered eyes. He stared silently until the man began to tremble.

Then, with a sigh, he straightened up.

“You’re a Yǔkōng High graduate, aren’t you? Class of ’89.”

“Uh… what?”

“Heh… Maybe I remembered wrong,” the principal muttered, shaking his head.

He removed his sunglasses and addressed everyone sprawled on the floor in a calm, even tone:

“Remember this. I am the principal of Yǔkōng High School. I am Mò Kōng, current head of the Mò family. If you touch anyone from my school—especially the students—you know what’s coming to you.”

“Y-Yes!”

“Let’s go.” Mò Kōng put his sunglasses back on, turned, and walked away without looking back.