On My Way - Chapter 39

Chapter 39 - Don’t Mock Me for Surviving by Any Means Necessary

"Are you alright?"

Old Feng helped me up and looked up at Chana.

"You asshole! You can’t tell the difference between a person and a yellow sheep!"

A man came running over from the bonfire, jumping up and down in anger while apologizing: "My apologies, Old Feng. The kid has bad eyesight; he’s nearsighted!"

It was Chana’s father, Teng Qishier, the boss of Beicang Transport. He looked strikingly like Wong Jing.

He asked me repeatedly: "Oh, kid, how are you? Do you feel dizzy? Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"I’m fine. Haha, I just slipped."

"As long as you're fine. My lamb is roasting, just waiting for you! Come, Old Feng, let’s eat and talk."

He affectionately draped his arm over Old Feng and walked toward the fire. I felt a jolt of shock run through my body.

We only called him "Old Feng" behind his back; even our top leader, General Manager An, called him "President Feng."

What exactly was his background? Did he actually know President Teng?

This was a hunting ground owned by President Teng. Guests could hunt animals during the day and roast them at the bonfire party at night. With yurts to stay in, it was essentially a private club.

The table was a feast, featuring air-freighted king crab and red magic prawns, with several fat lambs roasting in the center, sizzling with oil.

Yu Shixuan was also there, wrapped in a cream-colored cloak. She looked as pitiable as a snowflake, and Chana was currently cutting the tenderest slices of mutton for her.

Several large dogs were among the group, darting around playfully or wagging their tails for meat.

"Today is just a family dinner. Old Feng and I have been good friends for over a dozen years." President Teng patted his belly, smiling like a Maitreya Buddha. "I heard he came to Inner Mongolia, so I had to host him properly."

Chana curled his lips into a cold sneer. I, on the other hand, was so shocked I nearly jumped out of my skin. I whispered to Old Feng: "You know him? Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

Old Feng shot me a sidelong glance: "I know plenty of people. Should I report every single one to you?"

Fine. Trying to guess the master’s intentions is a death wish.

President Teng personally cut meat for Old Feng and said: "A big leader like you coming to a small place like ours makes it shine with brilliance!"

Old Feng gestured at me with his chin: "I didn't want to come, but I was afraid she was young and wouldn't be able to handle things."

"Oh! We can just help look after her, can't we!" President Teng’s round, chubby face crinkled until his eyes were barely visible. "Kid, from now on, consider this your home! Anything you want to eat or play, just come find Uncle Teng!"

I quickly stood up and, knowing how to play the part, offered a toast.

"President Ren is highly skilled! She doesn't need your care." Chana sneered, threw some meat to a large dog, and said, "When she sees a leader, she wags her tail so hard she’d call a yogurt drink her ancestor, right?"

"Yogurt" was a German Shepherd, gnawing on raw meat like a wolf.

Yu Shixuan tugged at Chana gently, but he ignored her, still looking at me with malicious intent.

I said: "Young President Teng is exaggerating. I’m young and ignorant, so I rely on my elders for guidance."

I poured a glass of wine and continued: "This toast is for you, Young President Teng. If I’ve offended you in the past, please forgive me."

Chana didn't take the glass, only sneering at it: "Last time I saw you, you looked at me like you wanted to tear me apart and eat me. You’ve become sensible now?"

The atmosphere turned icy. No one expected him to bring that up, and the sycophantic smile on my face froze.

"Chana." President Teng spoke up. He said: "Apologize to little Ren."

He was usually all smiles, like a treacherous fat man.

But now, even though his tone wasn't loud, it carried absolute oppression.

Chana looked at him, narrowing his eyes like a wolf about to strike.

For a moment, the entire grassland went silent; we could only hear the crackling of the bonfire.

I thought Chana would keep talking back or storm off. After all, he had many subordinates around, and Yu Shixuan was watching. A "chuunibyou" teenager hates nothing more than losing face in front of others.

But to my surprise, Chana finally licked his lips, took the glass of wine from me, and said: "My apologies, I drank too much."

Then he downed the wine in one gulp.

President Teng’s expression flipped as fast as turning a page, and he immediately beamed: "That’s more like it! You’ll be dealing with each other a lot in the future; you’re like brothers and sisters."

Everyone laughed, and the lively atmosphere returned.

Amidst the clinking of glasses, I looked at Old Feng in bewilderment.

Old Feng ignored my gaze. He ate meat heartily, exchanged drinks, and even sang "Green Flower in the Army" with Teng Qishier.

Finally, once everyone was tipsy, I leaned in and asked in a low voice: "President Feng, what did President Teng mean just now? Will our project transport partner with Beicang from now on?"

"Yes."

Old Feng was toying with a hunting rifle; he and Teng Qishier had agreed to go night hunting.

I thought of Zhao Yu. His hair had turned half-white by the time he left. What was the point of him struggling for so long?

And what was that life of Qinglong worth?

A thousand words were stuck in my throat, but I knew I had no right to ask these things.

I could only be practical and carefully asked: "But President Feng, you saw it yourself—this Young Master Chana doesn't like me. This will be a hidden danger for our work."

Actually, Yu Shixuan had hinted at this to me before.

Chana thought I was a bootlicker, a spineless coward, and thus looked down on me.

If having "backbone" could be eaten as a meal, I would certainly have more of it than anyone else.

Old Feng toyed with the rifle and said nonchalantly: "It won't be. You are the client; he has to like you whether he wants to or not."

What kind of bullshit is that! They are people who would dare to kill.

I was about to say something else when Old Feng suddenly raised his gun. A deafening blast rang out.

Yu Shixuan let out a blood-curdling scream, and everyone stood up.

The dog Chana owned, the one named Yogurt, lay on the ground, its limbs still twitching.

It had just been running at full speed to catch the frisbee Chana threw.

Chana glared at Old Feng, his face twitching involuntarily. Several of his men gathered behind him.

"Sorry, had a bit too much to drink, thought it was a yellow sheep!" Old Feng said casually.

Then he aimed at Chana and fired another shot.

After the massive boom, Chana stepped back a few paces. The dog closest to him lay in a pool of blood—it was a little Tibetan Mastiff with a cute, tiger-like head.

"This was on purpose," Old Feng said. "I don't like him baring his fangs at me."

In the dead silence, Teng Qishier laughed heartily: "Brother! Your marksmanship is too good!"

"Practiced in the army," Old Feng replied. "But that was just target practice. Dongxue is better than me. Two years ago, she killed a kidnapper in Africa; that was a living person."

Old Feng poured a glass of wine, crossed his legs, and smiled: "So, no one should give her a hard time."

I only found out later that Teng Qishier tolerated us so much because Old Feng had agreed to give them the coal mining stripping contract for Jiaolong Village.

Yes, the coal mining stripping project at Jiaolong Village was the main project Old Feng was in charge of.

Private individuals no longer had the right to mine coal.

But before the actual mining, there was a massive amount of sand and soil that needed to be stripped away. For any transport company, this was a massive windfall.

No matter how arrogant Beicang was, their scale wasn't large enough. Without Old Feng, they could never have landed this project.

So, forget two dogs; Teng Qishier wanted to put Old Feng on a pedestal and worship him with three sticks of incense a day.

However, Chana loved his dogs like his own life.

Seeing his dogs killed, he was like a starving wolf ready to fight Old Feng to the death.

He was finally dragged away by his father’s men, still roaring something in Mongolian.

I felt sweat pouring down my back, my clothes soaking through again and again.

Old Feng was still asking President Teng: "Where are we staying tonight?" What kind of "dancing on a grave" spirit was this?

—

That night, I insisted on staying with Yu Shixuan.

A cunning old businessman like Teng Qishier would have some scruples.

But a young, reckless hothead like Chana might do anything in a fit of rage.

I lived my life so diligently, so fawningly, so I certainly couldn't afford to go to the underworld with Old Feng.

But since he liked Yu Shixuan so much, he wouldn't commit murder or arson in front of her... would he?

Yu Shixuan agreed. We stayed in a specially built yurt, with the hides of some unknown animals hanging on the walls.

She kept sobbing quietly. It seemed she really loved those wolf-like dogs.

I clumsily tried to comfort her: "I... I’ll buy you another one later."

"Can you even afford it? You only know construction-site mutts; Yogurt cost 136,000," she sobbed.

I gasped: "Can I be your dog? I’m cheaper."

It was already late at night when she finally stopped crying.

We lay back-to-back, the silence so awkward I could hear each other’s breathing.

She said: "Do you know why I’m sleeping with you?"

I said sincerely: "Because you have a kind heart."

"Because he didn't avenge Yogurt," she said softly. "I don't want to see him."

I was stunned for a moment before realizing "he" was Chana.

I said: "He wanted to fight Old Feng to the death, but didn't his men pull him back?"

"If he really wanted to fight to the death, he would have gone for it," she laughed slightly. "He looks like he’s afraid of nothing, but in reality, he doesn't dare defy his father at all."

That was true.

"Do you know why I’m with him?"

"I really can't guess."

Chana’s family was rich, but they were involved in shady businesses. With Yu Shixuan’s family background and looks, she could be with any billionaire she wanted.

"Because he beat up my college professor," she said. "Cheng Xia knew this person too—Professor Meng from S University."

I actually had a vague memory of him: a tall, thin old professor who seemed quite kind.

"Did you have a grudge against Professor Meng?"

"When I was eighteen, he raped me." She turned her head; her small, soft face looked like a magnolia blossom. "Does that count?"

I stared at her, shocked.

"Maybe it wasn't rape..." She tilted her head like a child pondering a problem. "Seduction, perhaps? He used to criticize me often, saying my father was such a famous architect, yet I was so incompetent."

"He had high hopes for me, so he kept me under his thumb. He wouldn't let me date, and I had to report every trip I took to him, otherwise he’d send me long WeChat messages criticizing me..."

"What right did he have to control you! He wasn't your father..."

"But he was so much like my father," she said. "Before I went to college, I was always controlled by my father. I felt safe, so... I let him control me too."

My heart ached, and I didn't know what to say.

"Every time he criticized me, I felt terrible, and I tried desperately to meet his demands... until one day, he put his hand under my skirt."

She turned over; she smelled like shampoo, gentle and pure. "Strangely, I didn't hate him."

"Why?"

"Maybe I mistook the violation for love. At the time, I only felt: Ah, I can finally please my teacher..." She said: "Pretty stupid, right?"

In the darkness, her voice was as calm as water: "But I hate my father.”