Chapter 22
1300 Words
“They’ll be fine — there weren’t that many of them, and they left a while ago!” Chen Haiqing tried to sound confident, though even he wasn’t completely sure. If those two thugs hadn’t stalled Lin Mo and the girls for a moment, they’d probably be far enough away by now that the reinforcements wouldn’t even connect them to this mess.
“Thinking of calling the cops? Ha!” The gang leader snorted, smirking. “Too late. The local precinct chief is family — literally. We’ve got this whole block covered. You’re not walking out of here on two legs tonight. You came in standing, you’re going out crawling.”
He flashed the butcher knife again, gleaming under the lights. He might not be planning to kill anyone, but blood was definitely going to be spilled — and that thought made several cadets visibly flinch.
They weren’t just regular students — they were future fighter pilots, and knives meant something much more terrifying to them than to most people. A single scar could ruin a flying career.
In high-altitude, low-pressure conditions, even a healed scar could split open again, bleeding faster than the body could clot it, draining someone dry before help could reach them.
Moments ago, they’d been bold — ready to smash beer bottles and bash these punks into swollen-headed messes. But now that reinforcements were coming, things weren’t looking so simple. A knife fight could mean more than a few bruises — it could mean losing the right to fly.
Some cadets were already regretting their earlier hesitation. Why hadn’t they acted first? Why give the thugs time to call backup?
“Hell with this!” someone suddenly roared — and an unopened beer bottle flew straight at the leader’s head.
CRACK!
Foam exploded everywhere as the bottle shattered, soaking him in beer. The thug reeled, stars dancing in his vision.
That was all it took.
With a collective roar, the cadets surged forward like wolves, hurling themselves at the thugs.
They weren’t ordinary students — they were the country’s handpicked future pilots. Not one of them froze, not one turned on his own. They knew exactly what to do: neutralize the immediate threat first.
Beer bottles, stools, even hotpots and plates became projectiles. The air was suddenly full of flying crockery. Their eyesight was sharp — better than 20/10 — and their aim deadly accurate. They didn’t just throw things; they sniped.
The gangsters panicked, scrambling to cover their heads. Their precious knives went flying under the rain of blows.
One by one, they were dragged down — seven, eight cadets piling on a single thug, fists thudding into flesh, grunts and screams filling the restaurant.
The phrase “a dragon can’t crush a local snake” didn’t apply here — this wasn’t one dragon, this was an entire flight of them, and they were tearing the snakes apart.
If the thugs could call backup, the cadets could too — and the Aviation University wasn’t exactly short on resources. They had teachers, security, connections — hell, even planes. Who was really going to win this war if it escalated?
In less than thirty seconds, the seven thugs inside were on the floor, groaning and half-conscious. The restaurant staff, who hated these gangsters just as much, eagerly produced rope and twine, hog-tying them like pigs ready for s*******r.
But Chen Haiqing didn’t relax. If anything, his face got even more serious.
“Block the doors, the windows, every entrance!” he barked, directing cadets to barricade the place with stools, tables, anything that could slow an attack.
The thugs inside were dealt with — the real danger was outside, with the reinforcements. This wasn’t a scuffle anymore — this was a siege.
Some clever cadets even grabbed bottles of high-proof baijiu, tore up rags, and started making Molotov cocktails. Someone dragged out the kitchen kerosene.
The restaurant owner just stood there, dizzy and pale. Who ARE these kids? He thought they’d just defend themselves — but this was turning into a full-blown tactical operation.
“Sorry about this, boss,” Chen Haiqing called over his shoulder while giving orders. “We’ll pay for any damages later. Don’t worry — we’ve got this covered.”
“Forget that — it’s my i***t son’s fault this even happened,” the owner groaned, collapsing onto a tatami mat. His employees, though, were on the cadets’ side — they’d been pushed around by these punks for too long. They eagerly joined in, helping fortify the place.
Within minutes, the cozy restaurant looked more like a war zone — barricades, traps, choke points. Chen Haiqing’s grin was almost proud.
“Let them come,” he muttered. “They’re not getting in without paying a price. Just hold long enough for Lin Mo to bring backup from campus. Once we hit them from both sides, they’re done.”
Outside, silence fell. No more footsteps. No more shouting.
They were out there — organizing, planning their next move.
Inside, everyone’s nerves tightened. Weapons were gripped tighter. Teeth clenched.
Chen Haiqing left one side of the door slightly open — a deliberate weak point. “Let them trickle in,” he thought. “We’ll drop them one by one and make the rest think twice.”
Suddenly — creak! — the door cracked open.
A head popped through.
A muscular cadet at the front shouted and swung his rolling pin — then froze inches from smashing the intruder’s skull.
“LIN MO?! What the hell!”
Everyone stared.
The rolling pin stopped less than four inches from Lin Mo’s head.
“Whoa — what’s going on here?” Lin Mo asked innocently, glancing around at the barricades, the weapons, the improvised traps. Everyone was just staring at him like they’d seen a ghost.
“You—why are you back? Didn’t you walk the girls out? What the hell happened — did you run into them?” Chen Haiqing rushed to the door, yanked Lin Mo inside, and fired off questions like a machine gun.
“Nope,” Lin Mo said casually. “Got them in a cab, watched them leave, then came back. I wasn’t done eating.”
“…”
Everyone just stared. So he’s… a foodie.
“And the guys outside? They didn’t hurt you?” Chen Haiqing asked urgently, avoiding looking out the door in case someone was waiting with a shotgun.
“Oh, them?” Lin Mo tilted his head. “They’re all on the ground, crawling like dogs.”
“…What?”
The entire restaurant went silent.
“You… you’re joking, right?” Chen Haiqing asked, voice shaking.
Lin Mo just shrugged, smiling. “I’m standing here, aren’t I?”
“I’m checking,” the burly cadet at the door said, grabbing the butcher knife instead of his rolling pin. He took a swig of baijiu for courage, then peeked through the c***k in the door.
He froze, then suddenly ran outside.
A second later, his shout echoed back inside:
“Holy crap! They’re all down! ALL of them! I swear to God — it’s like a miracle!”
The cadets exchanged stunned looks.
Curiosity got the better of them — they all rushed outside.
And there they saw it.
The ground was littered with weapons — sticks, pipes, even sawed-off shotguns. And the men who’d carried them?
They were sprawled out in a giant fan shape radiating away from the restaurant door.
Fifty of them — maybe more — each in a different pose, writhing, twitching, gasping, or simply unconscious.
Not one of them could even scream anymore.
The sight made every cadet shiver. The back of their necks prickled.
This wasn’t a fight. This was a m******e — but one carried out with surgical precision.
- Writer
