Apocalyptic Dragon Riders

Chapter20

“Dog meat, three boils and even the gods can’t stay standing.”

The restaurant’s signature dish finally hit the table, filling the room with a mouthwatering aroma. Everyone’s chopsticks twitched. Apparently, the only way to truly enjoy it was to fight for it. Laughter and shouting filled the air as the battle for dog meat kicked off. These young recruits hadn’t flown into the blue sky yet, but their chopsticks danced like fighter jets in a dogfight—fast, precise, and not a single mid-air collision.

Crates of beer were hauled onto the tables. No one even waited for an opener—bottles were cracked with teeth, pried open with chopsticks, anything that worked. If the heat hadn’t been on, the beer would’ve gotten colder and colder, but paired with steaming broth and melt-in-your-mouth meat, the mix of cold beer and hot stew was like a roller coaster of fire and ice. Some guys even ordered baijiu—Red Star Erguotou—and slammed shots like pros. Everyone was eating and drinking like kings, laughing, shouting, totally in their element.

Then—WHOOSH—a gust of icy wind swept through the door, and everyone shivered in unison.

“Boss! Boss! I’m here to collect!”

Seven guys barged in, all wearing thick denim jackets, hair dyed red, yellow—every color in the rainbow—nose rings, earrings, the whole gangsta look. Clearly here to stir up trouble. They didn’t bother taking their shoes off, stomping right onto the tatami mats and leaving muddy black footprints behind.

“Well, well—packed house tonight, huh?” One of them scanned the crowded room, grinning with a fake smile. Then his face went cold.

“Party’s over. Everyone pay up and get out!”

“Hey! You deaf or what? Quit eating, pay your bill, and get lost!”

One punk with half his hair dyed yellow kicked out a low stool from under a customer’s butt. The poor guy, who’d been sitting a little awkwardly, fell straight to the floor.

“What the hell, man?!” The customer jumped up, furious—only to get slapped. SMACK! SMACK! Two heavy-handed blows left him seeing stars.

A woman sitting across from him saw where this was going, threw 200 yuan on the table, and dragged the guy out of the restaurant.

The gang started clearing out the place, shouting at diners. The restaurant owner’s face turned pale as a sheet. He rushed from behind the counter with a few packs of soft Zhonghua cigarettes, smiling nervously.

“Hey, hey, guys, have a smoke! Relax, okay? Whatever you want to eat, I’ll cover it. Let’s talk this out, huh?”

“Who the hell are these people?” Chen Haiqing, who’d been happily drinking with his classmates, narrowed his eyes. He knew their type right away. Heavy denim wasn’t just fashion—it was padding. A jacket like that could take a knife s***h. These were seasoned street thugs, no doubt.

“Talk? We’re not here to talk!” The leader, a red-haired punk with an earring, shoved the owner hard. “We’re here to settle accounts. You cough up 128,000 yuan right now, and we walk. Simple.”

“Brothers, please… give me a few more days,” the owner pleaded. “Business has been slow. I almost have it, I swear. And this number—are you sure it’s right? My books only show 97,000. I only borrowed fifty thousand to begin with…”

He still didn’t dare get angry, just kept smiling and offering cigarettes.

The gangsters snatched the smokes, stuffed them in their pockets, and kept looking around, glaring at customers.

“Not my problem,” the leader sneered. “Boss gave the order—we collect today. You know the rules: interest on interest, rollover after rollover. If you stall, you’ll just owe more. And who knows if you’ll run off? Better wise up, Old Jin. We’ve been doing this a long time—we can tell when someone’s holding out on us. Just last week, some punk owed our second boss ten grand and thought he could stall us. Guess what? We chopped off both his hands and fed them to the dogs. He paid right up after that. Some people just won’t cry until they see the coffin.”

The owner was shaking so badly his voice quivered. “Big brother, I really don’t have enough cash right now. Please, talk to your boss for me. Maybe lower the interest a bit—it’s not even right by your own rules! I’ll be forever grateful. From now on, you and your brothers eat here for free!”

“Save it,” the punk cut him off, lighting one of the stolen Zhonghuas. He blew smoke in the owner’s face. “Blame your useless kid—borrowing money to chase girls instead of walking the straight path. Here’s a solution: just hand over the restaurant. Then we won’t have to keep coming back. Time is money, boss. Quit wasting mine. Give me an answer—I’ve got other business to handle.”

Then he turned to the tables that hadn’t budged—four big round tables full of flight students—and barked:

“Hey! You deaf too? Pay up and get out! Business is closed. Move it!”

They didn’t dare lay hands on such a big group, but they kept shouting, making a scene. Two of the punks stormed straight into the kitchen, where the sound of pots and pans crashing soon followed.

The kitchen staff were shoved out, and the gang started ransacking drawers, grabbing whatever cash they could find—even frisking the waiters and cooks. One Korean waitress was groped repeatedly, screaming and crying in the corner. The place was chaos—like a robbery in broad daylight.

Most diners sat frozen, terrified.

Chen Haiqing calmly raised his beer toward the gang leader. “Hey, brother—come have a drink. Let’s sit down and talk this over. At least let us finish our meal first, yeah?”

The gang leader grinned coldly. “Normally, I’d take you up on that. But tonight…”

CLANG!

He suddenly drew a foot-long butcher’s knife and slammed it into the table. The gleaming tip poked through the wood. Gasps and cries went up around the table. The punk smirked, clearly pleased with the fear in their eyes.

“Sorry, boys,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “But this is how we do business—first we talk, then we get rough. Now get up and go, and we’ll call it even.”

A few cadets who’d been about to speak up swallowed their words, intimidated. This wasn’t some bunch of amateur punks—these were professionals, and if they got angry, someone was leaving in an ambulance.

SMACK!

A hand slammed onto the table.

“Like hell we’re leaving! We’re finishing our meal!”

It was Lei Dong, Lin Mo’s roommate from Qinhuangdao, his face flushed from alcohol, his voice ringing with defiance.

The gangsters lit up like firecrackers, pulling out their knives with a hiss.

“You’ve got guts, kid,” the leader growled. “Guess I was being too polite. Boys—take this punk out back for a little ‘submarine ride.’ Let him learn what happens when you shoot your mouth off.”

A “submarine ride” was their signature move—stuffing a debtor in a sack and dunking him in a pond over and over until he was half-drowned, scaring him into paying up.

The other cadets couldn’t take it anymore. They all stood up at once, glaring at the thugs.

Chen Haiqing set his beer down, his tone still calm but his patience clearly running out.

“Look, my brother was right. We came here to eat, nothing more. Give us some face. Whatever Old Jin owes, I’ll cover it—consider it a favor. Just let us finish our meal in peace. If you don’t trust me, I can write a check right now, or transfer it online.”

The gang leader finally gave him a real look, eyes glinting.

“Well, well. Look who’s talking big,” he sneered. “Alright, big shot—if you’re feeling generous, then make it a million. You give me one million yuan right now, and we’ll walk. Call it even.”