Chapter 5: Chapter 5 A single spark can start a prairie fire
One month later. (Like those TV dramas that skip ten or eighteen years, showing a child grown up—better to gloss over, since we're writing about "miserable days," not cozy home life. Oops... too much rambling, sorry!)
Room 210.
"Hu Han San is back!" Yep, that rough voice belonged to Lord Wu. The others had already arrived, waiting for him to complete the gang.
Chuanchuan took Lord Wu's bag. Lord Wu eyed Chuanchuan like a CEO appraising a staff member, then turned: "Brats, did you miss Lord Wu?"
"Yes!" we chorused. Lord Wu grinned slyly: "Knew it, haha."
Chuanchuan grumbled: "F*ck, he brought all sorts of snacks..."
"Pfft, as if!" We scattered to our beds.
"Knew it—you ungrateful bastards. You only miss my snacks! F*ck. When my package arrives, see if you dare touch it." Lord Wu feigned anger.
At this, Xiaohua returned: "Lord Wu, want some water?"
Little Di: "Lord Wu, have a smoke..."
Me: "Lord Wu, need a massage?" Chuanchuan ignored these "sycophants."
Little Di smiled obsequiously: "What package hasn't arrived yet, Lord Wu?"
"Specialties mailed by a classmate."
"What kind?"
"Nothing special."
"Come on, spill it!"
"Horse milk wine..." We all nearly collapsed! After that last drinking debacle, no one wanted that "gut-poisoning potion" again.
"Shall we go eat, go eat, or go eat?" Xiaohua proposed. This meal was mandatory—with new semester money, how could we not splurge?
Lord Wu interjected: "Xiaohua, that's the wrong question."
"How so?"
"You should ask: 'Shall we drink, drink, or drink?'" Lord Wu chuckled wickedly.
"We'll all 'lou' you! (Local dialect for 'beat') Choose: fight us one-on-all or let us gang up on you?" Spit said, pinning Lord Wu down.
"What's the difference?" Lord Wu struggled, voice less... 嚣张 (arrogant) than usual.
"Of course there is! First, you initiate; second, we do—different initiative!" Shunzi, usually quiet, stunned us with this.
"Fine, I give up!" Lord Wu pleaded.
"Where should we eat?" I meant "what to eat," but words often betray thoughts.
"Not that place again—it breaks my heart," Chuanchuan pouted.
"Alright, let's switch. Oh right, we need to elect a dorm leader. Democracy's great, but too many opinions s*ck," Xiaohua brought up the real issue.
"Who's fit? No one here can rein him in," Spit noted, now speaking without spit—progress.
"We need someone respected who can keep us in line..." Chuanchuan searched, and all eyes landed on Lord Wu. True, he had the credentials, but would we survive if he led?
We voted. The result shocked us: Lord Wu, Chuanchuan, Xiaohua, Mouse, Little Di, Spit each got 1 vote; Shunzi got 2—because I voted for him. Clearly, they'd all voted for themselves! I was too naive. So 郁闷 (depressed)!
Respecting the vote... we revoted. This time, each wrote two names. Finally, Shunzi became dorm leader! Perfect choice—quiet, honest, mysterious.
"Shězhǎng (dorm leader), where should we eat?" Little Di asked.
"Let's decide outside—pick a place that looks good," Shunzi said.
"Good idea."
※※※
We hit "Home-style Cuisine" next to Dazhong Fast Food, entering a private room. Food and drinks arrived as usual.
After a few rounds, we were tipsy, voices rising. Our neighbors couldn't take it—someone yelled for quiet. Lord Wu exploded; no one had talked to him like that. He stormed next door, flinging it open:
"Who the f*ck said that? F*ck your mother!" Lord Wu was no pushover. His bulk alone spooked them—who could take him in a fight?
A rowdy guy stood, forcing a smile: "Bro, let's talk civilly. No swearing."
About swearing—I see it as a crutch for us common folk, not malice. Like in Records of the Grand Historian: "Alas, what an unfortunate time!" I'd say: "M*th*rf*ck*r, born at the wrong time!" Same sentiment.
"I was having a good time, then heard a dog bark—ruined the mood! Know what ' 扫兴 ' (扫兴,扫兴,扫兴) means? Disappointed! Feel that?" Lord Wu was truly p*ss*d, rambling as he did when angry.
Their ringleader stepped up: "Watch your mouth, *ssh*l*! We're not pushovers." This lit the fuse—disrespecting Lord Wu, though he had been rude. We blocked their doorway.
"Want a fight? Bring it! Don't be a p*ssy," Xiaohua declared, as bold as "The wind howls, the Yi River freezes—once a warrior leaves, he never returns."
"F*ck, think you're tough? Didn't ask whose turf this is!" The guy who'd told Lord Wu to watch his mouth grabbed a wine bottle and charged. Lord Wu didn't flinch, delivering a flying kick that sent him and the bottle sprawling a meter away.
Watching Lord Wu's move, he seemed truly trained. It took the others a moment to react. Their leader stood silently, followed by a yellow-haired guy: "TMD, getting cocky! Let me tell you, we're not to be messed with."
We jumped in. Their leader faced Lord Wu, while Yellow Hair charged us. Chuanchuan and Spit led the frontline. I thought Yellow Hair was done—an old saying goes: "Two fists can't fight four hands." Unless he was Xiao Feng from Demigods and Semi-Devils, master of the Eighteen Dragon Subduing Palms, able to fend off thousands (though he died betrayed by scoundrels... off-track again).
Yellow Hair swung a punch; Spit dodged neatly, but Chuanchuan wasn't quick enough—the fist landed square on his face. Enraged, Chuanchuan charged, executing a "Sweeping Strike," slamming Yellow Hair's face into the floor. Spit followed up, stomping on Yellow Hair's back—reminding me of those TV dramas where villains get tortured.
Meanwhile, Lord Wu took a fierce kick but shrugged it off, swinging a meaty fist. The guy stepped back, dodging, but slipped on a chopstick, teetering. A seasoned brawler, he braced against the wall, but Lord Wu didn't let him recover, kicking him in the chest and sending him down again.
Both fights ended within a minute. Seeing their guys defeated, the others helped their wounded, losing all will to fight.
A voluptuous middle-aged woman entered—slightly plump, gaudily dressed, still attractive, likely a former beauty. She sauntered in, unsurprised by the scene, having heard the commotion.
Glancing at us and the fallen men, she purred: "Oh, if it isn't Young Master Qiu! What's going on here?" Her tone was artificial but laced with genuine worry.
"Sir, I'm the 老板娘 (madam). How did they offend you? For my sake, let it go." So she was the manager. Lord Wu, slightly sobered, snorted.
"Wu's my name. These clowns ruined my mood, so I taught them a lesson. Got a problem?"
"Lord Wu, forgive and forget. They're drunk. Don't stoop to their level. For my sake, let them off." The madam smiled obsequiously. At her smile, Lord Wu held his tongue and returned to our room. D*mn lech—goes soft for pretty women... (I'll stop here; Lord Wu might be reading this novel—my life depends on it.)
Seeing her beauty trick work, the madam helped up Young Master Qiu: "Young Master, a wise man doesn't fight when outnumbered. For my sake, let's not escalate. Go to the hospital—anything, I'll cover."
With that, lackeys helped Young Master Qiu downstairs, madam trailing. Our appetite gone, we waited for Lord Wu's call.
Soon, the madam reappeared, smiling: "Mr. Wu, don't be angry. That's a local hoodlum, bullying us because his dad has money. He always dines here on credit, but when we collect at year-end, they prevaricate. We're a small shop, can't afford to offend them." Seeing Lord Wu's expression soften:
"But you stood up for us today. To make up for ruining your meal, let me buy you a drink as thanks. Tonight's on me!" Free food? We perked up.
"This glass is to thank you for teaching that ruffian a lesson. I'll drink first!" She downed it. Lord Wu followed.
"This glass is for all of you, for honoring me." Another gulp.
"Madam has an impressive tolerance—we're in awe!" Lord Wu led us in drinking up.
"Alright, I must attend to other guests. Eat and drink your fill!" She left with a final coquettish glance—truly "a smile that launched a hundred charms." Lord Wu's eyes glazed for 0.358 seconds—definitely daydreaming.
The madam handled it masterfully—resolved with a few words. I truly admired her.
After she left, we regained our spirits, toasting each other. Only Chuanchuan sat nursing his cheek, likely hurt badly by Yellow Hair...
We were all tipsy by the time we returned to the dorm at 8 PM, crashing immediately. Chuanchuan went to the hospital with Little Di for his cheek.
Looking back, I still felt 后怕 (uneasy). Their fighting was brutal—I realized I'd lived in relative peace before this.