The security guards at the sales office stared in terror as Wang Sheng and his men smashed a dozen motorcycles.
The delinquents weren't the only ones paralyzed by fear; the guards were just as rattled.
None of them were trained for this.
They were small fry, hired to keep order in the showroom. Confronted with raw violence, they didn't know what to do.
Wang Sheng, their leader, was tall and solidly muscled, radiating menace.
Each Bodyguard's face carried a brutal, unforgiving edge.
Their eyes flashed with savage resolve.
The guards stood frozen, too scared to intervene.
They had no idea how to handle the situation, but they knew that one wrong move could bring retaliation.
All they could do was watch the bikes being reduced to scrap.
Jiang Cheng's methods might look excessive, but in this world, if you were a big shot with power and money, you could do whatever you wanted.
Little people like them survived only in the cracks between such titans.
One false step and they were out of a job.
Wang Sheng's crew worked with relish; every hammer blow cracked metal, sent sparks and smoke spewing from the frames.
A crowd gathered.
Some onlookers thought it cruel, yet most clapped and cheered.
They'd endured countless taunts and petty bullying from these flashy punks.
Seeing them tremble under Wang Sheng's lesson felt like justice.
'Who dares smash bikes worth five million?'
'Think these bad-boy wannabes can pay for that?'
'Didn't you hear? That girl sold herself just to buy makeup—disgusting.'
At school the delinquents had ruled like kings.
They'd always been the ones dishing out humiliation, basking in fear and fake admiration.
Never had they been shamed in public like this.
They'd thought dyed hair and outlandish clothes made them the height of cool.
Extorting cash, stealing, hurling insults—that, to them, meant power.
Only now did they realize how powerless they truly were.
Surrounded by men in suits, they faced mockery, curses, laughter, a public trial.
Every stare felt like a slap; every mocking word cut deep.
Their young pride was ground into the dust.
It was a first taste of helplessness.
Confronted by overwhelming force, regret finally took root.
At about the same age, they'd played tough to feel important; Jiang Cheng rode a luxury car flanked by Bodyguards and could crush them with a word.
That was the gulf between people.
Life offers no rewind; the harm they'd done couldn't be erased, and the scars they'd left on others would never fade.
The wheel had turned—now they were the ones mocked and bullied in broad daylight, tasting impotence.
Jiang Cheng, the man behind it all, felt no pity.
Through the Mind Perception Skill he had seen the ugliness in their hearts, the genuine pride they took in their vicious exploits.
People can't empathize until pain lands on them; only then do they learn right from wrong.
He would grind them into the dirt.
'Damn it!' Qin Cong cursed Jiang Cheng silently, too scared to speak aloud.
A black Range Rover pulled up.
A middle-aged man in a suit stepped out.
He surveyed the scene for a moment, then walked toward Jiang Cheng.
Before he got close, the cornered security guards bowed respectfully: 'Chairman!'
Everyone turned as the sales-office boss appeared.
The man wore a tailored suit and tie, of medium build, radiating calm authority.
His expression was stern, yet his eyes held a gentle glint.
He waved the guards away and headed straight for Jiang Cheng, gaze fixed on him, ignoring the delinquents.
After sizing Jiang Cheng up, he smiled warmly and offered his hand. 'You must be Chairman Jiang's son. I'm Cheng Gui, the owner here.'
Cheng Gui's posture was relaxed, his smile sincere, instantly likable.
Jiang Cheng returned the smile and shook his hand. 'President Cheng, a pleasure.'
'No need for titles. Your father and I have worked together; call me Uncle Cheng if you don't mind.'
Jiang Cheng had no memory of him, but he knew Wangjiang Residence belonged to Tianlong Real Estate, one of Chengdu's top developers.
Seeing no hostility, Jiang Cheng replied politely, 'Uncle Cheng, sorry for the disturbance at your entrance.'
Only then did Cheng Gui glance at the punks, displeasure flashing across his face. 'No trouble at all. An incident at my door shows lax management on my part.'
Qin Cong leaped forward. 'You're in charge, right? He hit minors and wrecked my bike—call the cops or I'm not leaving.'
Cheng Gui's face turned icy. 'I've heard the story. You started the provocation; if we involve the police, none of you will walk away clean.'
The delinquents panicked even more when they realized Jiang Cheng and the boss were acquainted, their minds racing through scenes from gangster dramas.
They didn't want the police or a lecture.
Someone blurted, 'Don't call the cops—just pay for our bikes.'
Others chimed in at once: 'Yeah, you wrecked them; you said you'd pay.'
'Compensate us and we'll leave right now.'