Chapter 8
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Chapter 8: Skilled at Dealing with People
The young man stepped forward, and the dagger lodged in his neck began to slowly inch outward, pushed by the growth and pressure of his muscles, until it finally fell into his hand.
"Rude."
As the words left his mouth, the man noticed a long streak of blood appearing on his arm, as if the other had merely sliced through the air to cut him.
"Ah! No, no…"
In pain, the man lost his footing and tumbled to the ground. He began to crawl backward, eventually leaning against the steps leading to the second floor.
Then, a heavy punch landed squarely on his abdomen, instantly turning the robust man into a bright red shrimp, his face flushing as he clutched his stomach, groaned a couple of times, and finally passed out.
With both intruders now incapacitated, the gray-haired boy slowly emerged from a corner of the first floor and approached Lin Qingliu:
"Thank you."
The boy bowed deeply.
"Hehe."
Lin Qingliu chuckled as he looked at him,
"You’re thanking me too soon."
"Whack!"
A swift, lightning-fast chop struck the boy’s neck, and he collapsed, his face a mix of shock and confusion.
Lin Qingliu glanced around at the three people who were now unable to rise and delivered his first victory speech on his experience in free fighting:
"Next time, try using your legs."
—
"Wake up."
The man was roused by the numbness in his hands, the shock of cold water, and the voice of the expressionless man.
He opened his eyes to see the man opposite him holding a basin of water, while he found himself bound and hanging in a windowless room.
"Honestly, should I beat you up first, or will you tell the truth?"
The young man inquired.
Despite his tall stature and usual penchant for violence, the man cowered in fear.
He had met his match…
"I’ll talk, just ask."
Lin Qingliu pulled up a chair, sat down formally, and began to jot down notes in a notebook filled with white paper.
After asking a few questions about identity and motives, Lin Qingliu knocked him out again and then woke up the strong man.
He repeated the process.
Without much effort, Lin Qingliu interrogated the two separately and obtained the information he desired. Comparing their stories, the sequence of events became quite clear.
The tale was clichéd and melodramatic; the gray-haired boy was named El, a common child with a knack for petty theft, and his father was a heavy gambler who had already lost most of his internal organs.
Before his self-detonation, the old thing had made a big gamble, staking his entire son on the gambling table.
Evidently, he did not win in the end.
The old thing, having lost everything, willingly embraced death, while El, two blocks away, remained completely unaware.
Until a black market doctor, armed with organ removal tools, knocked on his front door, leading to an exhilarating escape.
The casino had collected the money and packaged El’s organ ownership to sell to the black market doctor, who was skilled in surgery but not in capturing people, and so outsourced that job to a professional debt-collection gang.
That was the organization the two men belonged to.
To ensure maximum use of resources, the two brothers given the task of capturing El were only allowed to shoot at his limbs.
However, their shooting skills and the old-fashioned gun’s accuracy did not meet that standard, so they could only fire warning shots along the way.
With three people running away and two in pursuit, they ultimately chased El into Lin Qingliu’s mental health clinic, and everyone knows what happened next.
Lin Qingliu wrote down the last note, then thoughtfully asked the more cooperative strong man:
“One last question: you call him ‘Second Brother,’ and he calls you ‘Third Brother.’ Where are the rest of your brothers?”
—
Flesh and Blood – Transformation was just the name of the ability; the actual range of operations extended beyond flesh and bones.
After fiddling with himself in front of the mirror for a while, Lin Qingliu looked at his white, slightly curled hair and adjusted features, along with his tall, slender build with a slightly hunched back, feeling that even his biological parents, Reborn, would fail to recognize his true identity.
The “Preacher” stepped away for now, and the “Paster” officially took stage.
He administered delayed sleep hand chops to the two debt collectors and the boy, then quietly jumped out of the back window on the second floor.
Next, he set off alone to the study room of the “Seven Brothers Study Group,” to see if any other bad kids were not studying properly.
Fifteen minutes later, six blocks away,
Lin Qingliu observed the scene inside the room and nodded to confirm the count was correct.
Two were on a mission, while the remaining five were gambling through the night, exactly matching the stereotype of such individuals.
Lin Qingliu donned an entire set of disposable masks, gloves, head coverings, and shoe covers under the moonlight, striving to leave no trace behind.
Caution was Lin Qingliu’s greatest virtue.
He was not the type to kill indiscriminately, but those two men clearly had other brothers, and behind the study group was the black market doctor, with the casino behind the doctor, leading to even more collusion and filth…
It was terrifying!
Just thinking about it made Lin Qingliu realize he was living in the midst of deep water and raging fire.
There was no way around it; to ensure he could get a comfortable night’s sleep, he decided to sacrifice his sleep time for some extracurricular activities.
But since he was increasing his physical activity, he should reward himself…
Lin Qingliu gently patted his empty stomach, suddenly recalling the meat pie at home that still needed to be fried…
—
An hour later.
When the hour hand of the quartz clock pointed to a big “3,” El was awakened by a wafting aroma.
He slowly opened his eyes, wanting to sit up, but found himself firmly bound to a bed.
The white paint on the iron bed had chipped off, making it look older than El himself.
Even a slight movement made the bed creak loudly.
“Sizzle~”
From not far away came the sound that only appears during frying, accompanied by an unusual meaty fragrance.
This familiar smell and sound stirred long-buried memories in El.
It reminded him of when he was little, during the time when the citizens of Hope City did not have nutritional paste three times a day, and his father worked at a small slaughterhouse.
His father often brought back some unwanted fatty meat, using a little electricity at home to render it into white, greasy fat, which he would sell on the black market to help with household expenses.
Though the process was cumbersome, there was still some profit to be made.
El forcefully turned his head and saw the half-open kitchen not far away and a young man busy at work.
In front of him, a thick meat steak lay in the frying pan, tiny oil droplets jumping and splattering all around.
His expression was serious and focused, like an artist making the final touches on a masterpiece.
Behind him, two gray-faced figures hung from an iron pipe, only their upper bodies visible…
People.
El was once again plunged into memories.
He had visited that small slaughterhouse where his father worked and had seen scenes similar to what he was witnessing now, except back then, it was slaughtered livestock hanging from the assembly line’s hooks.
El felt his heartbeat slow after a brief surge of panic, as if trying to use a lack of oxygen to hasten his demise and lessen his pain.
Meanwhile, Lin Qingliu hummed a little tune while sprinkling fine salt on the whole piece of beef, marveling that freshly cut beef smelled much better than the zombie meat ground from who knows how long ago.
He completed the process of searing both sides, turned off the electric pot, and began to infuse the flavor with residual heat, raising his head to meet the gaze of the boy on the bed.
Lin Qingliu offered what he believed to be a harmless smile and greeted him:
“You’re awake?”
