Chapter Forty-One: Oh, My Poor Rear End (Please Bookmark)

“You can do whatever you want.” When such words are spoken by a stunning beauty, and in the intimate atmosphere of a man and woman alone together, the meaning becomes infinitely suggestive. Any man with normal hormones would find his imagination running wild, and the odds of not making a mistake would be zero.

Tang Yixue parted her lips in a sultry, seductive smile, and without further prompting, draped her soft and delicate body gently into Lin Yang’s arms. She nestled against the solid comfort of his chest, closing her eyes in enjoyment.

Lin Yang was dumbfounded, utterly so.

What was this? Was she throwing herself at him? Or had the tables turned?

He had to admit, his thoughts were now a mess. Letting Tang Yixue lean into his embrace, he silently savored the moment.

The ancients were wise indeed! When resistance becomes futile, it’s best to accept things with silent courage. Lin Yang was now a living testament to this truth.

Time is a patient teacher. Before long, Lin Yang’s hands began to wander, thoroughly enjoying the softness in his arms. He was well on his way to mastering the art of shamelessness. Only when Tang Yixue was left weak and breathless, barely able to resist, did he reluctantly withdraw his mischievous hands.

Those in love are always brimming with passion. It wasn’t until the clock neared ten that Lin Yang finally, albeit reluctantly, left Tang Yixue’s apartment. He dragged his feet all the way to his Audi, constantly looking back, before finally slamming on the gas and speeding away.

Having too many entanglements with women always brings trouble. With Leng Nini, that little minx, waiting at home, Lin Yang couldn’t even spend the night with Tang Yixue without concern—he knew all too well how brash that girl could be.

He drove fast, but his thoughts were anything but calm. He was already planning that as soon as Tang Yixue’s period was over, he’d make her his, marking her as part of the Lin family for good.

But danger always strikes when you least expect it. Fortunately, Lin Yang had recently made progress in the “Thirteen Heavenly Blade Forms,” and his mental acuity had increased dramatically.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Four explosive booms erupted in quick succession just as Lin Yang sensed something was wrong.

His first reaction was that all four tires had burst at once. Hot on the heels of that thought came the realization: someone had sabotaged him.

But he had no time to dwell on it. The car was speeding, and with the tires gone, it was like a wild horse off its reins, veering and careening out of control.

On a narrow road barely wide enough for two cars, such a loss of control was deadly.

Luckily, Lin Yang was returning home late at night, and the road was almost deserted. Otherwise, a massive pile-up would have been inevitable.

Even so, it was a harrowing ordeal. The car smashed through two trash bins, rolled three times, and finally crashed to a halt against a wall. Inside, Lin Yang suffered for it—when the car stopped, it was upside-down, and without the protection of a seatbelt, a head injury was unavoidable.

“Head bloodied” was no exaggeration for Lin Yang’s current state. A ghastly wound on his right temple was oozing blood, trickling down his cheek—a scene of tragic beauty in the autumn night.

A bit of dizziness was to be expected with a head injury, but Lin Yang, hardened by his training in the “Thirteen Heavenly Blade Forms,” was made of sterner stuff. He soon regained his composure, righted himself, and quickly took out his golden silkworm powder to treat his wounds.

In such a situation, the worst move would be to blindly rush out of the car.

“Hua, go check if that kid’s dead. If he is, we’re done here and can collect our reward,” a hoarse voice sounded from about ten meters away, around a corner. It wasn’t loud, and an ordinary person wouldn’t have heard it at all, but Lin Yang’s heightened senses caught every word.

“Lo—Long, Long-ge, you want me to go alone? I heard that guy’s got some skills…” the lackey assigned to scout complained, clearly reluctant.

“Hmph, coward. If you’re scared of this, how will you ever make it on the street with Lai-zi-ge? Yuan, you go with Hua,” the hoarse-voiced leader barked, sending another lackey along.

“Got it.”

Two shadowy figures of vastly different builds emerged from around the corner, looking for all the world like a mismatched pair from a farce—one tall and bony, the other short and fat. They crept along like thieves.

Under the dim streetlight, their faces became clearer. The tall, thin one looked malnourished, his skeletal face gaunt as a skull. He was well over six feet, yet his steps were steady and strong—clearly trained.

The short, fat one was the opposite: a walking ball of flesh, barely five foot three but easily two hundred pounds. Every step he took sent his flab jiggling, and he hit the ground like a small earthquake.

Together, they were a sight to behold—a true odd couple.

“Hmph, Hua, why’d you drag me out here again?” grumbled the tall, skeletal one, clearly not happy about being assigned this risky job. No one wanted to be a living target.

“Come on, Yuan, what’s ours is ours. Danger and opportunity go hand in hand. If that kid’s dead, we just kick him a couple of times and say we finished him off. That’s major credit for us—we could get promoted!” The fat one was as slick-tongued as they come, always able to turn a loss into a win.

His words put the tall one in good spirits—he was ready to rush over, kick the car door open, and finish off the unlucky bastard inside.

Letting someone else take the lead, the fat one was more than happy to follow. Even if he wanted to hurry, his bulk wouldn’t let him.

They reached the car. Through the window, they saw a man sprawled awkwardly across the driver’s seat, blood still on his head. The tall one, feeling smug, aimed a kick at the door.

The car door, already battered from the crash, couldn’t withstand the force. With a single kick, it crashed to the ground.

He reached in to drag Lin Yang out, but Lin Yang, who had heard every word of their earlier conversation, was not about to sit still.

Strike first or suffer later—that was Lin Yang’s way.

As the tall one reached in, Lin Yang seized his arms, twisted, and locked them in place.

The man struggled desperately, but with a sharp wrench, two clear cracks echoed through the night—bones snapping. The man screamed in agony and tumbled backward.

Taking advantage of the opening, Lin Yang darted out of the car. The fat one barreled straight at him, worried the tall one would steal all the credit. He’d hurried over just as the tall one tried to pull Lin Yang from the wreck. But instead of dragging out a victim, the tall one was sent flying with a scream. The fat one tried to stop, but it was too late.

Lin Yang demonstrated the art of using four ounces to move a thousand pounds. He dropped into a horse stance, stepped back, braced himself, swept his right arm in a wide arc to divert the fat one’s momentum, then lunged forward, slamming his right shoulder into the fat one’s chest.

There was no loud thud, just the muffled impact of bone against blubber, like striking the surface of the sea. But it was devastatingly effective. The two-hundred-pound man flew through the air, landing five meters away with a crash that sent up a cloud of dust.

“Ow—my ass! It hurts!” Hua, the fat one, rolled on the ground, his chubby face twisted in pain from his bruised backside.

It was almost comical—after such a fall, the fat man bounced back up. Unless you’ve felt the pain of a two-hundred-pound body hitting the ground, you can’t imagine it—especially when all that force converges on two fleshy buttocks. No wonder he felt as if his rear had split into eight pieces.

The tall one fared worse. With no padding on his skeletal rear, the impact with the hard ground was disastrous. Lin Yang’s shove wasn’t gentle—he could smash a three-inch-thick board with a single punch. The poor man’s pelvis was likely shattered; he could barely make a sound beyond his screams, and standing up was out of the question. Crawl? Kneel? Even that required a functioning pelvis.

Seeing how the situation had turned, the fat one wasted no time on loyalty—he fled for the corner they’d come from, not even glancing at his companion, wailing, “Long-ge, my ass! It hurts!”

The boss lurking around the corner wasn’t deaf or blind—he’d seen everything. But never having experienced such pain himself, he couldn’t fully grasp the fat one’s misery. Watching him hobbling along, hand clutched to his backside, one could only imagine.

He’d hoped to settle this in one go without showing his face, but it seemed the kid’s luck was too strong to die in such a crash.

“Let’s go! If so many of us can’t finish off one brat, what good are we?” With that, the boss—“Long-ge”—drew a gleaming machete from his waist. Leading five more henchmen, all similarly armed, he charged in with a murderous aura.

The fat man, sweating profusely, finally rejoined the group, looking for all the world like a scolded wife, tears streaming down his face from the pain. He kept muttering the same pitiful refrain:

“My ass, my ass! It hurts!” Accompanied by his comical attempt to rub away the pain, anyone watching might think something even more unspeakable had happened to him.