Chapter 68: The Troublesome Little Devil

“Don’t park your motorcycle at the entrance!” No sooner had Yang Meng stopped his bike in front of “Focus” than the security guard stationed there stopped him.

Yang Meng asked in confusion, “Then where should I park?”

The parking lot was right at the shop’s entrance—if he couldn’t park here, then where could he? The security guard pointed to a corner. “Park your motorcycle over there!”

Yang Meng glanced at the guard. Was he embarrassed to have his motorcycle sitting here? He almost wanted to dig out the man’s eyes—couldn’t he see how striking and cool his bike was? Did it look like some cheap knock-off to him?

Still, Yang Meng didn’t take it to heart. After all, he’d come from humble beginnings himself and understood the guard’s mindset—he just wanted to assert some authority.

How did the saying go? The more someone lacks, the more eager they are to show it. There were plenty of beautiful women in nightclubs, but almost none ever got involved with the security guards.

In fact, in nightclubs, the security guards’ status was often lower than that of the waiters—waiters could at least sell drinks and make some money. Sometimes, the bar’s female promoters did side deals right inside, and it was the waiters who helped cover for them. Security guards didn’t get that kind of treatment—if you wanted connections, you’d be better off befriending the local toughs than the guards.

It made being a nightclub security guard something of an awkward position.

Previously, the guards at “Focus” were mostly for show—real muscle came from the street toughs who watched over the place. But recently, they’d all been arrested in a single sweep, including their boss, Zhai Bancheng. The club had originally partnered with him, giving him shares in exchange for security services, but now that was being used as evidence of his racketeering. With no more street toughs, the club had hired new security just to keep order.

This particular guard was one of the new hires. When he first arrived, he’d imagined a job surrounded by beautiful women, but soon realized that, while there were indeed plenty of beauties, none of them paid him the slightest attention. So his mood was bad, and Yang Meng’s flashy motorcycle just happened to catch his ire.

Yang Meng rode to the spot the guard had indicated, locked his bike, and returned to the club entrance.

“Take off your helmet! Open your bag for a check! All wrapped up in leather like you’re in some movie—who do you think you are?” The guard blocked him again, this time with even less courtesy, perhaps emboldened by Yang Meng’s earlier compliance.

The nearby girls all turned to look at them, curiosity piqued.

Yang Meng handed over his backpack, then removed his helmet. The guard didn’t even look at him—he just rifled through the bag.

Ever since Long Xixiang took his helmet, Yang Meng’s riding bag had been nearly empty: just a water bottle, a towel, some documents, and a paper bag with a hundred thousand yuan in it.

“Hey, easy!” Yang Meng protested, unable to stomach the guard’s rough handling. Wasn’t this going a bit far?

The guard scowled. “If I’m not thorough, who knows what you might be hiding? What’s in this water bottle?”

Yang Meng couldn’t help but laugh. “What’s in your water bottle? Of course it’s water!”

The guard shook his head. “Who said you could bring your own drinks into a nightclub? Leave the bottle here—you can collect it on your way out.”

Yang Meng frowned. “Fine, I’ll pour the water out, all right?” Leave his bottle here? Who knew what the guard might do with it—use it as a urinal, perhaps?

The guard sneered. “No way! The bottle stays here until you leave! What if you’re here to steal our liquor?”

Even Yang Meng’s patience was wearing thin. “Where’s Zhang Qiang? I’d like to ask him myself if I look like someone who’d steal your drinks!”

The guard’s reply left Yang Meng stunned. “Who’s Zhang Qiang? Never heard of him.”

Could Zhang Qiang have sold the club? Yang Meng doubted it, so he said, “Zhang Qiang is the owner here.”

The guard’s next words made Yang Meng want to laugh and cry all at once. “Oh? The boss’s surname is Zhang and his name is Qiang?”

So that’s how it was—the guard didn’t even know his boss’s name. Yang Meng shook his head in exasperation; today, it seemed, he’d been tripped up by a nobody.

“Fine, I won’t argue with you anymore. Just tell me if your boss is here—I need to see him.” Yang Meng gave a helpless shrug.

The guard looked Yang Meng up and down. This young man, dressed like one of those motorcycle punks, claimed to know the boss? He found it hard to believe.

Seeing the guard’s silence, Yang Meng lost all patience. He simply reached out, snatched back his bottle and helmet, stuffed them into his backpack, slung it over his shoulder, and strode toward the club’s interior.

The guard lunged and grabbed at his bag. “Hey! Who said you could go in?”

Yang Meng had had enough. He understood that working these jobs wasn’t easy, but this was over the line—did the guy really think being a nightclub security guard made him some kind of underworld figure?

He spun around, seized the guard’s wrist, and twisted it downward. The guard dropped to one knee.

“Use your words, not your hands,” Yang Meng said coldly.

“Ah! Ow, ow! Let go!” the guard howled in pain.

Yang Meng looked down at him. “Can we talk properly now?”

The guard nodded frantically. Yang Meng released him, and the man fell to the ground. Yang Meng paid him no further heed and continued inside.

The guard, seeing Yang Meng about to enter, grabbed his walkie-talkie. “Guys, I need backup! Someone’s causing trouble—I’ve been assaulted!”

Yang Meng paused at that, turning back. “What did you say? You’ve been beaten? Who beat you?”

The guard scrambled to his feet, ran to a small table, pulled out a rubber baton, and pointed it at Yang Meng. “Do you even know where you are? You’re in big trouble now—serious trouble!”

Yang Meng chuckled coldly. “Are you doing a comedy sketch? I’d like to know just what sort of trouble I’m in.”

At that moment, the club’s soundproof doors were thrown open and a group of security guards rushed out. The guard who’d stopped Yang Meng perked up. “Manager Gao! Over here! He’s the one causing trouble!”

At the head of the group was Gao Pei, security manager of Focus. When he’d heard there was trouble, he’d immediately thought someone was trying to seize territory after Zhai Bancheng’s fall—surely there’d be a whole gang. So he’d called out every guard. But on emerging, he saw only one man. Judging by his back and attire, he didn’t look like a troublemaker; so why was Xiao Chen, the guard, acting like it was a major crisis?

“You’re the one causing trouble?” Gao Pei pointed at Yang Meng. “Turn around!”

Yang Meng complied, facing him. “You mean me?”

Gao Pei had started out full of bluster, but as soon as he saw Yang Meng’s face, cold sweat broke out on his forehead.

Others might not know Yang Meng, but he certainly did. He’d been standing by Zhang Qiang’s side during the previous confrontation with Zhai Bancheng and saw everything clearly. He still didn’t understand how things had unfolded that night—what should have been a bloodbath had, after a sudden white fog, turned into infighting among Zhai Dacheng’s own men. Stranger still, later security footage showed no fog at all—just Zhai’s men inexplicably turning on each other. And when the shooting started, everyone else dove for cover except Yang Meng, who sat calmly on the sofa as if nothing was happening.

Gao Pei had watched that video countless times. He didn’t know exactly who Yang Meng was, but Long Teng from the Long Group treated him with extraordinary respect; Zhai Dacheng had lowered his head to him, and Zhao Hai had behaved like a mouse before a cat. All of this meant one thing: this was someone not to be trifled with.

Sweat dripped down Gao Pei’s face. “Mr. Yang, what brings you here?”

Yang Meng looked at him. “You know me?”

He remembered Gao Pei from that night, always hovering near Zhang Qiang, but right now his patience had been worn thin by the guard named Xiao Chen.

Gao Pei nodded vigorously. “Of course! I witnessed your presence with Mr. Zhang—how could I forget? If the boss knew you were here, he’d be delighted. Why didn’t you call ahead? We could have prepared a proper welcome.”

Yang Meng spread his hands. “I don’t have his number; how could I call? What, am I not allowed in without calling first? No wonder this guy wouldn’t let me in—won’t even let me park my motorcycle. What, afraid I’ll embarrass you?”

Xiao Chen, the guard, was already dumbfounded. Why was his manager being so deferential to this young man? It didn’t make sense!

Gao Pei glared at Xiao Chen and jabbed a finger at him. “You—go to the finance office and collect your wages. You’re fired! You were hired to maintain order, not to drive away customers. And don’t think this is just about Mr. Yang—even ordinary guests don’t deserve your attitude! We may be a nightclub, but we’re still in the service industry. Is this how you treat people?”

Xiao Chen panicked. “Manager Gao, don’t fire me! I was just following procedures.”

Gao Pei snorted. “What procedure tells you to act like that? If you want to keep your job, fine—go bring Mr. Yang’s motorcycle back to the entrance. Mr. Yang, please, come inside! The rest of you, back to work—this is a distinguished guest of our boss!”