Chapter 2: Springtime Whispers of the Heart

The minibus was packed with people, rattling along the rugged, unlit stretch of National Road 107. The only illumination came from the occasional passing headlights, casting the interior in gloomy shadows.

A beautiful woman sat on his lap, and in such an atmosphere, Jiang Fan felt emboldened. At her words, he paused, then flashed a mischievous grin and whispered, "That’s an original part, not a rolling pin. It wouldn’t be appropriate to take it out in public."

Hao Meng’s exquisite face nestled close to Jiang Fan’s sturdy chest, listening to his heartbeat thumping faster and faster. As someone seasoned in matters of the heart, curiosity prickled within her, wondering if his masculine energy was truly as refined as it seemed. With the thought that after tonight they might never meet again, she steeled herself, set aside her girlish shyness, and decided to inspect for herself. Boldly, she slipped her hand into Jiang Fan’s pocket.

“Hmph, what kind of part is so mysteriously hidden? I’ll take it myself!”

Her instincts told her it was no small thing, and when her hand finally found it, Jiang Fan’s unruly little brother startled her. Her lovely face flushed red in an instant—seven parts surprise, three parts a secret delight that sparked endless imagination.

She cast Jiang Fan a shy, reproachful glance, feigning innocence as she murmured, “Bad man, why didn’t you say it was that? Were you trying to trick me, just so I’d help you…”

But in the end, she was still a girl and couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. Jiang Fan, unable to see Hao Meng’s expression, took her complaint at face value. His face turned a deep, embarrassed shade, his body tense, barely daring to breathe.

Lost in their own thoughts, the two fell silent.

As the bus sped along the highway, Hao Meng’s subtle gestures kept teasing the dazed Jiang Fan, but he remained bashful and silent. The ache of imminent parting always leads people to act on desires they might otherwise suppress. Seeing Jiang Fan’s stubborn lack of response, Hao Meng thought, How much more obvious must I be?

She put on her trench coat backwards, draping it over her chest to shield herself from prying eyes, then daringly unfastened the buttons and guided his hand beneath her sweater. In the crowded minibus, the two silently deepened their intimacy.

Afterwards, Hao Meng caught her breath quietly, afraid to wake the snoring elderly woman beside her. Jiang Fan’s mind was a blank.

Dongguan to Humen was only thirty kilometers. As the bus approached the Humen intersection, Hao Meng finally, reluctantly, rose to leave.

“Help me with the buttons—just the outer one is fine.”

“Such clumsy hands, don’t tremble,” Hao Meng said, covering her mouth to stifle a giggle.

She adjusted her shoulder straps, straightened her sweater, then turned and pressed a fierce kiss on the fledgling man before standing to get off the bus.

Jiang Fan held her hand affectionately, unable to let go. “It’s so late—you shouldn’t be alone. I’ll take you where you need to go, and see my mentor tomorrow.”

Though Hao Meng wasn’t very old, she was already a veteran of romance. Yet for this shy, honest, gentle young man, she too longed for companionship.

She knew that if they got off together, a little guidance could easily lead to something more. But worries and doubts tangled in her heart, and after much deliberation, she ultimately refused Jiang Fan’s offer.

At the intersection, five roads branched off toward Humen Town, Chang’an, Houjie, Xinlian Village, and the Humen freight terminal. The National Road 107 was still all mud, not yet paved with cement, let alone equipped with streetlights.

Hao Meng got off the bus alone. Jiang Fan pushed aside the window, craning his neck to watch her, hoping for one last glimpse.

Those needing to transfer would alight here at the intersection. As Hao Meng stepped off, two motorcycles, each carrying two men, sped toward her from nearby.

Hao Meng had mentioned that motorcycle taxis were common in Dongguan, but with passengers already on the back seats, these were clearly not regular drivers. Jiang Fan grew alert, hurried to the front to ask the driver to stop, jumped off the bus which had gone over two hundred meters ahead, and strode swiftly toward Hao Meng.

No matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t outpace two wheels.

One motorcycle had already stopped by Hao Meng, while the other circled her, deliberately revving its engine and clutch to create a deafening roar, intimidating her.

By the beam of the motorcycle’s headlight, Jiang Fan saw two men of at least six feet tall, their faces cold and menacing, step off the bike.

One, with a scar slashing across his face, addressed Hao Meng with a leering smile, “We want money, not trouble. Hand it over and I won’t make things hard for you.”

Beside him, a man with dyed red hair swung a steel pipe back and forth, crooking his finger to urge her to hurry.

The men on the other motorcycle were a bit shorter, but still well-built, both at least five-foot-nine and muscular. The man on the back seat had a bulge at his waist—a gun handle peeking from his belt, likely a homemade pistol.

As Jiang Fan ran, he quickly assessed his options. Facing four men, all bigger than himself and armed, his only chance was to ambush and seize a weapon first; otherwise, unarmed, his odds were slim.

The Humen intersection was a circular transit hub, surrounded by roads and undeveloped hills, with no buildings nearby.

Using the cover of darkness, Jiang Fan stayed outside the motorcycle’s headlight, slowed as he approached, pretending to be a passerby. When he was five or six meters away, he tossed aside his bag and sprang at the man on the back seat.

The force sent both thugs and the motorcycle crashing to the ground. In a heartbeat, Jiang Fan locked his left elbow around the man’s neck, hammered his right fist into the nose, and snatched the pistol from his belt.

The man, stunned from the fall, had no time to react before his nose was broken, blood streaming as he writhed in agony.

Jiang Fan quickly sprang up, smashing the gun’s stock into the driver’s shin—an audible crack shattered the night’s silence. The driver fainted from the pain.

Jiang Fan made sure to be thorough, picking up the fallen steel pipe and striking the broken-nose man’s leg, ensuring he couldn’t fight back.

Having dispatched two men swiftly, Jiang Fan relaxed for a moment—only for a blow to crash down on him from behind.

Rolling on the ground, he staggered away from another attack, gritting his teeth against the pain and glancing up. It was the red-haired man who had signaled Hao Meng earlier, now launching a sneak attack.

Luckily, Jiang Fan’s sturdy build protected him from serious injury. Ignoring the pain, he gripped the pistol and slammed it into the red-haired man's waist with all his might.

Years of training gave him strength no ordinary man could match. The steel pipe connected with a sickening force, breaking at least two of the man's ribs—he rolled on the ground, crying out in agony.

Seeing the deformed gun barrel in his hand, Jiang Fan tossed it aside in disgust, picked up the steel pipe, and took a deep breath, facing the last man—the scar-faced thug beside Hao Meng.

Scarface gaped in astonishment at Jiang Fan’s prowess, seeing his three companions incapacitated, each with broken bones. Clearly, he was up against a trained fighter. Terrified, he didn’t dare reach for his steel pipe, instead mounting his still-running motorcycle to escape.

Jiang Fan strode forward, kicking over the bike before it could start, then delivered several blows to Scarface’s leg with the steel pipe.

Hao Meng, stunned by the robbery, recognized Jiang Fan. He had appeared like a guardian angel, dispatching the threat in moments. Her heart, pounding wildly from fear, finally settled, overflowing with joy.

She grabbed Jiang Fan, who seemed ready to strike the robbers again, and said, "Let’s go, quickly. If the patrol catches us, we’ll be in trouble."

“We’re punishing evil and promoting good. What’s there to worry about?”

Having been expelled from school in disgrace and forced to the south, Jiang Fan carried much resentment. He was eager to vent it in this rare opportunity.

“You don’t understand! Hurry up!”

Hao Meng handed him her suitcase, picked up his discarded bag, and took his arm, quickening their pace in the opposite direction from her workplace in Xinlian Village.

As they passed a parked Crown sedan with its lights off, neither noticed the two men sitting inside.

After Jiang Fan and Hao Meng had walked away, the fifty-something fat man in the passenger seat, his hair slicked back in a pompadour, murmured to the young driver beside him, “Have you seen that guy before? If you fought him, would you be sure of winning?”

“Never seen him. Judging by how close he is to Meng, he’s probably her boyfriend. He won because of a surprise attack—not real skill. If he fought me, he wouldn’t last ten moves.”

The young man sported a crew cut, looking sharp and capable. An outsider might see only the spectacle, but he recognized Jiang Fan’s skill—he knew he wasn’t a match, but to keep his lucrative job, he boasted to the man with the pompadour.

“Boyfriend? Prostitutes are heartless, actors are faithless. That woman is so pragmatic, she’d never fall for someone so rustic. At most, he’s a temporary bedmate. Still, the guy’s got some skill. I’ll find time these days to drop by Happy Family and ask Meng about his background.”

The man with the pompadour watched Jiang Fan and Hao Meng disappear through the rearview mirror, his Mandarin tinged with a southern accent, disdainful as he spoke.

At that moment, his interest in the man holding Hao Meng’s arm grew intense.