Chapter 39: Yang Pao Appears

My sweat was practically flooding the Yangtze River.

Zhong Li trembled with rage and cursed, “You pervert, how dare you take advantage of me!” She poured her drink on the little monk’s face, then turned on her heel and stormed back without another word.

The little monk wiped the alcohol from his face, muttered a couple of “Amitabhas,” and didn’t seem angry at all. He simply clasped his hands together, pulled his flipped-up hood over his head, and stood motionless as if intently waiting for someone. It was as if the Buddha himself resided in his heart, making him a statue amidst the bustling crowd.

The bar was a place where failed pickups, drink-throwing, and jealous brawls happened every day. People were used to it—flirting with girls, eyeing fishnet stockings, or trying to attract guys.

It struck me that the bar’s atmosphere was the complete opposite of Chen Tucha and Zhong Li’s usual demeanor. Faced with the inevitability of death, people always needed a place to vent their frustrations. Those drowning in luxury sought temples, while the lonely and bitter came here. This environment somehow filled the void in their hearts, satisfying their longing for a normal life.

But what about me? What kind of person was I, and why was I here?

Zhong Li sat down furiously, still seething. “What a damn pervert pretending to be pure. Let’s just drink and play dice.” Gao Mo and Chen Tucha kept it simple—playing liar’s dice instead of games like “Big Watermelon, Little Watermelon” or “Five Champions.”

My hand was injured, so I couldn’t drink rum or wine. I ordered two bottles of Tsingtao beer and joined their game. Chen Tucha was sharp and observant, Gao Mo could read people like a book, and Zhong Li was no pushover either. More often than not, I ended up losing and drinking half a glass.

*”Truth is, I’m not really unhappy—it’s just that I’m the only one who hasn’t noticed…”* The bar singer’s melancholic voice suddenly filled the air, and my hand froze mid-motion.

Chen Tucha, slightly tipsy, snapped impatiently, “Hey, hey, Master Xiao, you lost—drink up!”

I turned to look. The singer on stage was Ji Qianqian, wearing light makeup, a dark blue dress, her hair elegantly pinned up. Her gaze was distant, avoiding eye contact with anyone as she sang quietly, like a serene blue lotus in the midst of the bar’s chaos.

*”Goodbye, Nichōme”* was Ji Qianqian’s favorite song. I’d heard her sing it many times before.

*Whoosh!* A wad of red bills flew onto the stage. “Not bad, sweetheart. Here’s a tip—come down and sit in my lap, sing *‘Eighteen Touches’* for me!”

A few drunk punks were making a scene. I stood up to intervene, but Ji Qianqian’s pleading glance stopped me—this was her job.

I didn’t know what had happened to her. Last I heard, she’d married well. I’d even seen her with her jade-like daughter, looking radiant as an angel. How had she ended up singing for tips in a place like this?

Gao Mo asked, “You know her?”

I nodded. “She’s… a classmate of mine.”

Gao Mo said, “No worries, I’ll handle it.” She made a call, and within ten minutes, two burly men approached. “What’s the matter, Secretary Gao?”

Slightly buzzed, Gao Mo waved a hand. “That table of drunks—take them out for a drink by the river.”

Meng Xiaoyu had plenty of businesses nearby, so backup arrived fast.

The bar owner, recognizing Gao Mo, rushed over apologetically. “Ah, Secretary Gao! My apologies!”

Gao Mo waved it off. “No problem. The singer’s a friend—we’re just here to support her.”

The owner quickly sent over drinks and a fruit platter. “How’s President Meng’s business lately? He should drop by sometime…” Noticing Gao Mo’s darkening expression, he hastily added, “But of course, someone of his stature wouldn’t drink in a small place like this…”

Ji Qianqian began singing Faye Wong’s *”Wishing We Last Forever.”*

*Whoosh!* This time, five stacks of bills landed on stage. “Let’s see if you’re worth it—50,000 yuan! I’ve been throwing money at you for a month, and you still act all high and mighty?”

My blood boiled. The bald, muscle-bound thug in a tank top lounged arrogantly, legs crossed.

The little monk suddenly slammed the table and bellowed, *”Demon! Where do you think you’re going?”*

The bald man whipped around, glaring at the furious monk. “Damn it, you again?!” He leaped onto the table, knocking over bottles as he bolted outside.

Wait—wasn’t that Yang Pao? I jumped up to chase him.

Ji Qianqian called after me, “Xiao Qi, my number—!”

Gao Mo said, “Go—I’ll get it for you.”

“Thanks.”

Zhong Li nudged Chen Tucha. “What did that little pervert just say?”

Chen Tucha enunciated slowly, *”Demon! Where do you think you’re going?”*

“Holy hell, is he Sun Wukong?” Zhong Li suddenly regretted pouring that drink on the monk’s face.

I burst outside, scanning the crowded riverside. The two bald heads were easy to spot—one fleeing, the other in hot pursuit.

The little monk yelled as he ran, “Yang Pao, you can’t escape! Show yourself!”

Two busty girls failed to dodge in time and were knocked over. They scrambled up, cursing, “You blind bastard!”

The monk, frantic, shoved them aside, vaulting over their heads with a single leap. Behind him, a chorus of curses erupted, drawing laughter from onlookers. A few bold troublemakers even slapped his raised backside.

I was after Yang Pao. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect the infamous corpse Shen Yihu had mentioned to be running for his life. Talk about absurd.

Yang Pao, desperate, veered onto a deserted path and ended up trapped on an old sand dredger, staring at the churning river with nowhere left to run.

“Little monk, you got a death wish?” Yang Pao snarled. “I could kill you—I just don’t want your master and grandmasters hunting me down. Let me go, and I’ll give you a million. Think of all the women you could have—way better than chanting sutras all day. Hell, I’ll even cut you in on my latest scheme…”

I leaped onto the boat and grinned. “Wow, big spender—a million just like that? How much do I get?”

Yang Pao scowled. “Who the hell are you?” He eyed my injured hand and the jade ruler I held. “You robbing me with a damn measuring stick? Wait… is that a treasure?”

The monk frantically interjected, “I never asked for money—why are you negotiating with him?”

Yang Pao smirked. “How about this—kill the monk, and I’ll give you two million plus ten stamina pills. You’ll be unstoppable with the ladies.”

The monk pleaded, “Sir, don’t listen! This man isn’t human—he’s a demon! He kills dogs for blood now, but soon it’ll be humans. If we don’t stop him, it’ll be too late!”

Two million? How many dogs had Yang Pao butchered to earn that?

“So *you’re* the one behind those dead-dog news reports,” I spat. “Disgusting. I *hate* dog killers.”

Yang Pao scoffed. “You people eat dog hot pot every day—I just drink a little blood. What’s the big deal? Look, last time a scruffy old Taoist let me go for 400 bucks. You guys seem legit—I’ll pay more…”

*What kind of broke-ass Taoist takes 400 yuan to spare a demon?*

The monk said solemnly, “Exorcising demons is my duty. A million? What would I do with that? Five steamed buns a day don’t cost much. If you’ve got 20 yuan on you, I’ll make it quick—you won’t even feel it when I chop your head off.”

Yang Pao looked like he wanted to bang his head against a wall. *Who in this world refuses money and asks for 20 yuan instead?* Was this kid insane, or was he just that unlucky?

I couldn’t help but admire the monk. Thumbs up. “Master, your integrity is inspiring—a true role model for us ‘80s kids. I’m Xiao Qi of the Ghost Faction. And you are?”

Flattered, the monk waved it off. “Oh, no, no—just following my master’s teachings. You’re from the *Turtle* Faction? Is your ultimate move the *Kamehameha*? I’m Jie Se. ‘Jie’ as in quitting smoking, ‘Se’ as in form—not *that* kind of ‘se’…”