Chapter 28: Xiong Ge from the West City (With Illustration)

Xiao Qiang stayed silent.

The boss, known as Xiong Ge, frowned. Most people who saw them acted terrified—except for security guards, whose eyes gave it away. He’d been to prison more times than he could count, a seasoned veteran of the underworld. But this young man in front of him? There was something off. A blankness in his expression, like he didn’t quite know what was happening.

One of the other thugs stepped forward with a knife, taking two steps toward Xiao Qiang. “Boss, why waste words on this guy? Probably just a dumbass.” He reached out to shove Xiao Qiang aside.

Xiao Qiang stood about seven or eight meters away. The moment the thug took his first step, Xiao Qiang’s hand moved instinctively to the small of his back.

Xiong Ge’s eyes narrowed instantly. That motion—he knew it too well. It was the telltale sign of someone reaching for a gun. The thug froze, unsure what to do.

But at that moment, Xiao Qiang wasn’t even focused on them. His mind was somewhere else entirely.

Since the war, societal collapse had been inevitable. He’d never figured out how to handle it. He’d just been a ride-share driver before all this. These guys? Clearly not good people. If things went south between them, what then? He had a gun—but killing someone? That wasn’t in him. Not yet. So he was stunned. The hand on his waist was pure reflex, a survival instinct kicking in.

At first, Old Wang hadn’t heard anyone coming downstairs. The sound of the cutting tool was loud enough to drown out most noise. But once the voices started up, he caught it. He set down his tools, stood up, and prepared to step out and see what was going on.

Then, suddenly, Xiao Qiang snapped back to reality.

These guys weren’t here for a friendly chat. If things went bad, he and Old Wang were likely to get beaten senseless—or worse, slashed open. He didn’t care about himself. But Old Wang? That old man was no match for this kind of violence.

Back when he drove for rideshare, Xiao Qiang had endured every kind of abuse: passengers glaring at him like he was dirt, demanding impossible things, deliberately removing their shoes and stinking up the center console, screaming and threatening lawsuits over nothing, drunk ones spewing filth all over the car. He’d swallowed it all. Why? Because if there was a dispute—even if it wasn’t his fault—he’d get no compensation. And he’d lose time. His service rating would drop from malicious complaints. Low ratings meant fewer rides, less money. At the bottom of the pile, workers like him had no rights. No one spoke for them. When shit hit the fan, the blame always landed on you.

But that didn’t mean he’d let anyone hurt his family.

Family was his sanctuary. His safe harbor. No one crossed that line.

His feet were his boundary. And he wouldn’t take one step back.

Xiong Ge’s crew wasn’t here by accident. Last week, several gamblers had been scammed out of hundreds of thousands after getting sucked into a rigged game. They’d reported it. The Security Bureau followed the trail straight to Xiong Ge’s hideout and wiped it out. Xiong Ge escaped—fast. Now he was back, hoping to recover the confiscated knives. And maybe, just maybe, grab a couple guns.

That’s how he ended up crossing paths with Old Wang and Xiao Qiang.

“This place is ours,” Xiao Qiang said flatly, face expressionless. He raised a hand toward the building, signaling Old Wang to stay put.

“You think you’re tough, huh? You want to die?” The thugs roared. In an instant, they drew their knives. Others pulled out chains and steel pipes. Xiao Qiang didn’t move. His eyes narrowed.

Xiong Ge felt uneasy. He’d seen every kind of lowlife in his day. If Xiao Qiang had shouted, cursed, thrown a punch—he wouldn’t have worried. But this quiet, still presence? That was harder to read.

“Brother,” Xiong Ge said, voice smooth, “I run the west side. Give me some respect.”

Xiao Qiang didn’t answer.

Then, from downstairs, three heavy footsteps pounded up the stairs. Xiao Qiang glanced over—recognized them immediately. The same three street punks who’d robbed the orphanage.

They froze. Then exchanged glances. One leaned close to Xiong Ge and whispered something in his ear.

At first, Xiong Ge’s brow furrowed. But after hearing the words, his expression relaxed. His eyes lit up with something strange—cold, calculating, almost hungry.

They say eyes are the windows to the soul. Xiao Qiang had spent years reading people—understanding them, surviving among tens of thousands. And now, in Xiong Ge’s gaze, he saw it: cruelty. Malice. For the first time, Xiao Qiang’s face shifted. His brows knitted together.

Xiong Ge turned to his men. “Since there’s someone here already, let’s find another spot. Move out.”

He led the way down the stairs. The others grumbled behind him, waving knives at Xiao Qiang. “Next time you’re in our hands, don’t expect mercy.”

Xiao Qiang watched them go. Heard the door slam shut.

Then, without hesitation, he followed.

Outside the Security Office, he saw them piling into their SUV, ready to leave.

Xiao Qiang quickened his pace. “Xiong Ge! Wait up!”

Xiong Ge turned, smirking. “Well, well. We meet again. Good thing we didn’t come to blows. Life’s too short. Mountains remain green, rivers flow forever. I just wanted to ask—this whole thing… is it really over?”

“You talkin’ to Xiong Ge like that? You wanna die?” The thugs surged forward.

Xiong Ge raised a hand to stop them. “What’s this? You want to draw a line?”

Xiao Qiang didn’t reply. Instead, he turned his head—locked eyes with the three punks, only three or four meters away.

“What did you just whisper to Xiong Ge?” he asked, voice calm. Just like he had at the orphanage gate.

The three looked at each other. One spat, “Mind your own business. You’ve got no right to be involved.”

Xiao Qiang nodded—then, without warning, drew his gun.

*Bang.*

The bullet struck the thug who’d spoken, right in the leg. He dropped to his knees, stunned at first—numb. Then the pain hit. He screamed, “Aaahhh!”

Xiao Qiang stepped forward. “Shut up.”

The punk couldn’t obey. He kept howling.

*Bang.*

Another shot. This time, the thug’s eyes bulged. He fell silent—not because he stopped hurting, but because he *dared not*. The second leg had taken a bullet too.

Xiong Ge’s stomach twisted. This guy wasn’t playing by any rules. No warning. No buildup. Just fire.

Silence fell. Then—*creak*—the car door opened.

A woman sprinted out of the SUV, wrists tied behind her back, mouth gagged, hair wild. She ran three steps, then collapsed into Xiao Qiang’s shadow.

Xiao Qiang’s brow twitched. He wasn’t here to play hero. He didn’t look at her.

Instead, he fixed his gaze on the thug on the ground. “What did you tell Xiong Ge?” he asked. “Tell me.”

The thug trembled. Xiao Qiang lowered the gun slightly.

“Don’t—don’t shoot! I’ll tell you! I told him you’re strong. Dangerous. Hard to mess with!”

“Ah…” Xiao Qiang dragged the word out, slow and cold.

*Bang.*

The bullet tore through the thug’s right arm. He screamed—raw, gut-wrenching, like a man being torn apart from the inside.