Volume 1 / Chapter 62: The Debt Collectors
Almost every city has its own dark and grimy cornersâlike 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 wasnât 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 allâmost of these lowlifes wouldnât dare make a scene in broad daylight. During the day, theyâd generally hunker down in their filthy little hideouts.
But even during the day, there were some urban villages so infamously chaotic that ordinary people wouldnât dare set foot in them.
You probably wouldnât bump into a murderer there, but the odds of getting jumped by some bored street punk looking for a fight were quite high.
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The new principal of YÇkĹng 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 theyâd 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 YÇkĹng 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 âself-directed,â 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, YÇkĹng High had only ever hired two of them. For reasons no one quite understoodâŚ
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âIs this the place?â the principal finally asked as they reached the base of a shabby four-story self-built apartment.
âYeah,â replied the first-year P.E. teacher, Yè RĂĄn, with a nod.
The buildingâs owner didnât live here. He had partitioned it into numerous identical units and rented them out for cheap to people who couldnât affordâor werenât allowedâto rent anywhere else.
Of course, the landlord wouldâve loved to charge more, but with the surrounding environment in such a state, asking for high rent was a pipe dream.
âLetâs go,â the principal said, taking the lead.
The staircase was narrowâjust 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.
JÄŤn JiÄhuÄŤ, the second-year P.E. teacher, kicked a pile of trash out of annoyance. A swarm of cockroaches scurried out, making him jump. âDamn, this place is filthy,â he muttered.
No one respondedâthey 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 401ânot too soft, not too loud.
âWho the hell is it?â came a surly voice from inside.
âYou tell me,â the principal replied calmly.
âThe hell? Since when are debt collectors so damn cocky?â
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 furnitureâeveryone 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 didnât look like ordinary borrowers, the fat man tensed up. The others inside also glanced over warily.
âWhat kind of business are you folks in?â 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. âLending, collections, security for underground casinos, rigged gamesâyou name it, we do it.â
âSo⌠sometimes you lend people money?â
âHeh, of course. Though most of the time, weâre the ones collecting.â
âI see. Do you happen to know someone named LÇ KÄi?â
âThat guy? That bastard owes us money and wonât pay. Heâs gonna get whatâs coming to him!â
âHow much does he owe you? Iâm here to pay it off.â The principal smiled and clapped his hands. One of the suited men opened a briefcase, revealing neat stacks of 100-yuan bills.
âDamn, when did that bastard find a rich backer?â The fat man grinned greedily. âWeâre honest businessmen. He owes us 200,000. Not a cent more.â
âTwo hundred thousand? How much was the original loan?â
âTwenty grand. But we charge compound interest, like any real lending biz. We take risks too, yâknow?â the fat man said, trying to justify himself. âThat punk didnât pay for six months. Two hundred thousandâs a pretty fair rate in our line of work.â
âFrom twenty thousand to two hundred thousand, huh?â
âYou got a problem?â
âGot it.â The principal nodded and took a step back.
Yè RĂĄn and JÄŤn JiÄhuÄŤ stepped forward.
Just as the fat man sensed something was off and opened his mouth to shout, JÄŤn JiÄhuÄŤ punched him square in the face and dropped him instantly.
âHey, I thought I was supposed to go first,â Yè RĂĄn 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 generousâit 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 Rån yanked him back by the collar.
âYou wanna throw hands? Get through me first,â Yè RĂĄn said coolly before knocking the man out with one punch.
Within minutes, everyone aside from the principalâs group was moaning on the floor.
The beatings were preciseâpainful, 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:
âYou people live in the gray zones of the law. As long as you keep quiet, itâs hard to pin anything on you. Even if you do get caught, the punishment is light. But donât think that gives you license to act with impunity.â
âPaying back a debt is fair. But interest like this? That crosses the line.â
âMore importantlyâwhen collecting a debt, what gives you the right to lay a hand on a first-year girl?â
âWe⌠we didnât do anything to his daughter!â someone cried, eyes wide in protest.
âOh really?â The principal took another drag. âStill pretending, even now?â
The story had twisted through several mouths. Än RuòsĂš had finally broken down and told Yè WĂŠn . But she had gotten it slightly wrongâshe told the homeroom teacher that it was LÇ KÄi who hit LÇ WÇnyĂĄn .
Yè WÊn 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 âthe debt collectors tried to molest LÇ WÇnyĂĄn, and she fled, refusing to return home.â
Her parents were now missing, and even the police couldnât 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.
âWe really didnâtââ
âYou didnât?â The principal blew out a stream of smoke, then stepped aside.
Yè RĂĄn and JÄŤn JiÄhuÄŤ did the same.
The four suited men stepped forwardâand unleashed a fresh round of fists and fury. One manâs teeth flew out from the force of a blow.
âDo you know how many families youâve destroyed?â The principal shook his head. He looked around, spotted a dusty ashtray, and tapped his cigarette into it. âLet me make this clear. If you ever lay a finger on someone from my school again, youâll face far worse.â
âY-Your⌠your schoolâŚ?â one guy asked with a mouthful of blood, barely conscious.
He genuinely couldnât 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.
âDo you understand now?â
âYes! Yes!â the man frantically nodded.
âUnderstand what?â
âThat⌠we shouldnât mess with your people!â
âMy people?â
âY-Yes! Your, your⌠organization! The one called âSchoolâ!â
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.
âYouâre a YÇkĹng High graduate, arenât you? Class of â89.â
âUh⌠what?â
âHeh⌠Maybe I remembered wrong,â the principal muttered, shaking his head.
He removed his sunglasses and addressed everyone sprawled on the floor in a calm, even tone:
âRemember this. I am the principal of YÇkĹng High School. I am Mò KĹng, current head of the Mò family. If you touch anyone from my schoolâespecially the studentsâyou know whatâs coming to you.â
âY-Yes!â
âLetâs go.â Mò KĹng put his sunglasses back on, turned, and walked away without looking back.
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