Chapter 27: Outlaws

People who run successful businesses aren’t dumb. A little thinking, and you can weigh the pros and cons in a heartbeat. This deal’s a no-brainer.

Wang Xiaoqiang picked up the gun, ejected the magazine, and with the boss watching, pulled out each bullet one by one—fifteen rounds total.

“This gun, fifteen bullets—swap it for your five refrigerators and five rice cookers.”

The boss paused, then said, “Too few bullets.”

“Hahahaha…” Xiaoqiang suddenly burst out laughing. “Boss, seriously? You’re supposed to be a businessman?” He held up the pistol. “This thing’s valuable.” Then he set it down and picked up the bullets. “But *these*? These are priceless.”

At first, the boss didn’t get it. But after a second’s thought, it clicked: the gun could be reused. The bullets couldn’t. And right now? No one was making bullets anymore. One shot, one gone. Forever.

“You’ve gotta give me at least twenty more bullets. With so few, the gun’s just a paperweight.”

“Looks like this deal’s off,” Xiaoqiang said, starting to tuck the gun away. He turned to leave.

The boss panicked. “Hey, kid! Wait! Wait a sec—let’s talk!”

“Seriously, boss, are you even a real businessman? In peacetime, this gun would cost enough to buy you twenty or thirty of those ice chests. Now? In this chaos? It’s life-or-death stuff. If you feel like you’re losing out, fine—let’s call it friendship. Business fails, but we still keep our honor, right?”

The boss saw the deal slipping through his fingers. “Alright, alright—you’re a straight shooter. Deal.”

Xiaoqiang smirked. “You’re getting the better end of this, but acting like you’re doing me a favor.”

The boss just chuckled. Didn’t say a word.

As they say, never hit a smiling face.

“The orphanage in town—know it?” the boss asked quickly, grinning.

“Yeah, I know it.”

“Just deliver the fridges there. When can you get them there?”

“I’ll have my guys load it up right now. You’ll have them within an hour.”

“Fine,” Xiaoqiang said. Then he shoved the gun into the boss’s hands.

The man stared at him, stunned. Xiaoqiang just grinned. “Go ahead—test-fire it somewhere. I’m not worried you’ll stiff me.” Then he opened his jacket. There, lying inside, was a full-sized submachine gun.

The boss’s face went pale green. This guy had probably robbed the security depot. A damn outlaw.

“Brother, you’re kidding,” the boss stammered. “We do business on trust. I won’t let you down.”

“Good. Get it done fast. I’m out.”

Outside the shop, Xiaoqiang climbed back into the car.

“We’re heading to the repair shop on Back Street. Time to meet your girl,” he said.

Cheng Ying turned and gave him a huge eye-roll.

After another half-hour of bumpy driving, the car finally stopped in front of the garage.

“How’s the car coming along?” Xiaoqiang asked Zhou Dafu, whose face was smeared with grease.

“Nothing major. Take it for a spin. If anything feels off, I’ll fix it.”

“Dad, let’s go home first, grab what we need, then head to the city,” Old Wang nodded and disappeared inside to换 clothes.

“Yingzi, stay with Dafu—practice driving. That’s your main job these days,” Cheng Ying said quietly. “Mm-hmm,” she mumbled, her face turning pink.

Xiaoqiang didn’t care about their shy glances. He grabbed Old Wang and walked out.

This time, he was going into the city because he’d realized something: the sniper rifle had made him suspect the security depot still held other valuable gear he hadn’t found yet. Plus, he needed more sniper ammo. He knew firsthand—great shooters aren’t born. They’re fed bullets.

They drove straight toward the city center. The streets were busier than before—broken doors, smashed locks, fights breaking out over nothing. A group of tough-looking thugs chased a man with knives, yelling curses, vanishing around a corner in seconds.

The urban security depot was surrounded by bodies—inside and out. Xiaoqiang checked the radiation detector. Reading was normal.

He stepped inside. Same old routine. But this time, there was something new. In the firearms room, stacked high, were dozens of restricted knives.

Truth was, the city was safer now. No big gang battles. Finding this many illegal blades? That was impressive. Probably some old mob stash.

Old Wang got back to work—his old trade. Xiaoqiang started sorting through the pile.

Hundreds of knives, maybe more. Short ones—cleavers, kitchen knives, daggers. Long ones—wakizashi, curved swords, sabers. He’d only ever seen these in martial arts movies. Real-life versions hit harder than expected.

Then his hand dropped. Most knives were light. Even the heavy ones weighed maybe 3–4 pounds. But this one? Definitely heavier. At least ten kilograms.

His interest spiked.

He lifted it. The blade was about 1.2 meters long. Black leather sheath. Drawn out, it had a square tip, wide at the front—about eight centimeters—and narrowed to seven at the hilt. The grip was roughly 20 cm, wrapped in black striped cord. The blade hadn’t been sharpened. Clearly custom-made—a collector’s piece.

But whoever designed it must’ve lost their mind. So heavy? Most people couldn’t lift it. Even if they could, the weight would wreck their wrists.

For Xiaoqiang? Perfect.

He was strong. Regular knives felt flimsy—like toys. This one? Felt like it belonged in his hands.

He stood, swung it twice. Too awkward. Needed space. Just about to step outside when—

A loud creak. The front door opened.

Footsteps rushed in—clumsy, chaotic. Then the sound of kicking doors, smashing furniture.

Xiaoqiang frowned. He stepped out of the weapons room, into the hallway.

They were coming up. Not looking for anything useful—they’d already failed downstairs. Now they were moving upstairs. Heavy footsteps. A lot of them.

The first guy at the top spotted Xiaoqiang standing in the middle of the hall.

“Boss! There’s someone up here!”

Then a wave of over ten men flooded the stairs, blocking the way. Among them—those same knife-wielding thugs from earlier.

A bald, beefy man pushed forward. Thick face, wearing a loose T-shirt with buttons undone, revealing a grotesque tattoo of a demon across his chest.

He locked eyes with Xiaoqiang.

“Kid,” he growled, “we’re just doing our job. Can you make this easy on us?”

Xiaoqiang didn’t answer. Just stared.

The man shifted uncomfortably. One of his skinny sidekicks snapped, “He’s talking to you, idiot! What’s wrong with you?”