WHF Ch 20 – Something About Sixty Centimeters Long

“Is there anything useful in this car for dealing with this mess?” Old Fifth quietly shifted his gaze downward, not daring to turn his head, his voice hushed as if afraid of startling someone.

At the sound, Laoqi reached back, both of them moving stealthily, as though worried about alarming someone. In the rearview mirror, the man standing on the dirt ground slowly let his smile fade.

After a rustling of packaging, Laoqi pulled a blue-and-green plastic lump out of a cardboard box.

“What’s this thing?” Laoqi asked, the two of them exchanging bewildered looks.

“Who cares? Take it!” Old Fifth said without hesitation.

Rallying their spirits, the uncle and nephew opened the car doors, one on the left, one on the right. The two men from the other car had also gotten out. On the sandy soil, with the red flag fluttering in the west wind, the scene felt like a frame from a war movie. The man on the right was holding something blue and green in his hand.

“What are you doing with that?” Yu Tianbai tilted his chin toward him. “It’s rubber. It doesn’t hurt if you hit someone with it, unless you’re planning to use it on me for something else.”

Laoqi glanced at the object in his hand, then at Yu Tianbai, not understanding what this slick-talking boss was getting at.

“Forget it. You wouldn’t get it anyway,” Yu Tianbai said, stretching his stiff back. “Who sent you?”

“Nobody sent us!” Old Fifth bellowed. “I represent ourselves! We represent the masses!”

“Stop wasting fucking time talking to them.”

Xiu Ma brushed past Yu Tianbai from the side of the car door, striding forward while rolling up his sleeves.

“Wait, wait, hold on a second,” Yu Tianbai said, catching up in a few steps and placing a hand on Xiu Ma’s waist. After a few words of persuasion, he actually managed to convince the hotheaded man to back off. Then he turned to the Tu family uncle and nephew, asking again:

“So, you were following us because you had your eye on our car?”

He stepped back toward the uncle and nephew’s car, giving it a pat. “This one’s not bad either, though the oil smell’s a bit strong.”

Then he looked at them. “You into hunting?”

Noticing the subtle shift in Old Fifth’s expression, Yu Tianbai tilted his head slightly, giving Xiu Ma a look. He moved to the right, Xiu Ma to the left. Perhaps because Yu Tianbai seemed like the one in charge, the uncle and nephew’s attention stayed fixed on him.

“Or is switching cars for a few days some new rule on the streets?”

Laoqi was about to jump in with a response, but Old Fifth stopped him.

“Little brother,” Old Fifth said, suddenly flashing a disarmingly simple smile, “this is our first meeting, and it’s been a bit unpleasant, I’ll admit. Times were tight back then, and we didn’t think much of it—just wanted to borrow a car for a spin.”

Yu Tianbai kept a smile on his face, seemingly pleased to hear him talk this way.

“But this time, you guys were in the wrong,” Old Fifth continued, spreading his hands and pointing both index fingers, bringing them together as he emphasized the word: “Car.”

Seeing that Yu Tianbai’s smile hadn’t faded, he pressed on. “You’re the ones who drove the wrong car first.”

The smile remained, but it froze. Yu Tianbai slowly shifted his gaze to the left. Xiu Ma didn’t look at him.

“So, should we have our buddy here apologize to you?” Yu Tianbai asked.

Xiu Ma whipped his head around. Yu Tianbai met his glare with an innocent expression.

“No need, no need!” Old Fifth said, unusually cheerful. “Didn’t we bring it back?”

“True, true,” Yu Tianbai said, his smile even wider than Old Fifth’s. “Returning it alive is returning it, returning it dead is returning it. The days of returning things in pristine condition are over.”

The two men, both grinning broadly, fell silent at the same time. Unnoticed, the distance between the four had closed, mostly toward the uncle and nephew. Yu Tianbai stood a head taller than them, and Xiu Ma was even taller.

A breeze rustled through the cornstalks, and the atmosphere grew heavy.

“Alright!” Old Fifth slapped his thigh, adopting the look of someone who’d given it deep thought. “Let’s just pretend nothing happened today. We each go our separate ways and live our lives.”

“Hey, hold on a second,” Yu Tianbai called out, stopping Old Fifth, who was already turning to leave. Old Fifth paused by his car.

After a moment’s pause, Old Fifth turned back with a calm expression, meeting Yu Tianbai’s gaze.

“Or is it that this time, you’re not after our car but after us?”

As the words landed, a gust of sandy dust swirled across the open ground, followed by Old Fifth’s booming laughter. The mood was wrong, the setting was wrong, but his laugh was undeniably infectious. His nephew, standing like a pole beside him, even started chuckling foolishly.

When the laughter subsided, Old Fifth turned to face Yu Tianbai. “Little brother, let me ask you something. If you were working in a factory and your factory director, your boss, gave you a task, would you ask for clarification before doing it?”

Yu Tianbai, hands in his pockets, looked at him, his smile gone.

“I’m not that old. I’ve never worked in a factory, and I don’t have a boss.”

After a two-second pause, he turned to Xiu Ma. “But I do have a subordinate—tell me, is this old man’s reasoning sound?”

Xiu Ma, who had been standing with his arms crossed through their lengthy exchange, answered curtly, “Don’t fucking ask me.”

That finally got a laugh out of Yu Tianbai. His gaze shifted back from Xiu Ma, and he pointed at Laoqi.

“Your apprentice here is the obedient one. If you’re looking for a subordinate, you want someone like him. You can tell he’s sharp.”

Having followed his uncle on this escapade, Laoqi was being praised for the first time—by a stranger, no less. His composure and restraint crumbled instantly.

“Don’t you say it! I spent a few days in juvie back in the day. I’ve got plenty of skills!”

Yu Tianbai feigned shock, his acting over-the-top, and immediately struck up a conversation with Laoqi. “So, the street life these days is all about how many days you’ve spent in juvie? Back in our day, we didn’t care about that.”

Laoqi’s face lit up, eager for him to continue.

“Back in our day,” Yu Tianbai said, “we cared about reciting the multiplication table.”

A meter behind Yu Tianbai, Xiu Ma sucked in a breath and looked away, his lips nearly curling to the sky.

In contrast, Laoqi was thrilled. “I know that too! One times one is one, two times two is four—”

Before he could get to “three times three is nine,” his uncle smacked him on the head.

“Are you seriously fucking reciting it?!”

Laoqi, still dazed from the slap, stood there as Yu Tianbai grinned innocently and benevolently from the side. At that moment, the young man who’d been quietly standing behind spoke up.

“I’ve got a question.”

Yu Tianbai turned to look at him. Xiu Ma ignored his gaze entirely.

“You’re Old Fifth,” he said, pointing at the uncle, then turning to the nephew. “And you’re Laoqi.”

The uncle and nephew exchanged suspicious glances, both utterly confused.

“So who’s Old Sixth?”

The question hit like a thunderclap.

When neither responded, Xiu Ma started to grin and continued, “Being called Old Sixth sounds pretty rough, doesn’t it?”

After another stretch of silence, the uncle spoke up. “Old Sixth is my son. He’s got some mental issues.”

Xiu Ma’s laugh caught in his throat, like swallowing a fried dough stick—possible, but choking. He blinked, processing for a moment, then raised both hands.

“Sorry, my bad. That was rude.”

With that, he turned and headed for the passenger seat. Yu Tianbai didn’t look back, hearing the sound of footsteps end with the slam of a car door. Hands in his pockets, he faced the two men again.

“Let’s not talk about your business. I’ve got one question.”

Old Fifth looked up, and Yu Tianbai asked, “The factory director you’re working for—his last name wouldn’t happen to be Sun, would it?”

The air carried the scent of burning crop stubble, unpleasant but signaling the start of a new year in early spring—a fresh beginning, a new journey.

Old Fifth squinted and grinned, throwing his hands up. “Fine, I’m done pretending. I’m fucking done.”

“Laoqi!” he barked, turning to his nephew. “Bring it out!”

At the command, Laoqi sprang into action like a soldier receiving orders. He dove into the car, scrambling from the passenger seat to the back, moving like a clumsy yet agile four-limbed fish in midair. Within three seconds, his hand grabbed something.

Gun oil. Yu Tianbai remembered the source of the gun oil smell.

These two were carrying an Type 81 rifle!

The gleaming barrel extended out, aimed at the two men across the dirt path. The wind rustled through the cornfields, the burnt smell of stubble now gone.

Unlike last time, this wasn’t something they could escape with a press of the gas pedal. At less than five meters, even a terrible shot could hit something, and as long as they hit close, Yu Tianbai was likely done for right there.

Was this it?

In a flash, a shout came from behind Yu Tianbai:

“Nobody fucking move!”

If you’re guilty and nervous, even holding a gun can leave you frozen by a shout. Laoqi was just that. Xiu Ma’s yell stopped him cold, his hand pausing on the doorframe, one foot barely touching the ground, standing there gripping the weapon like he was serving a penalty. Under the uncle and nephew’s watchful eyes, the young man swung out the object in his hand.

A brand-new, roughly sixty-centimeter-long, double-ended something he’d just pulled from his unlucky boss’s car.

Something entirely inappropriate for this situation.

Something that left even his boss stunned.

“What the hell are you doing with that?” Yu Tianbai stiffly turned his head, raising his gaze to lock eyes with Xiu Ma.

Xiu Ma didn’t look at him. Instead, the object in his hand answered for him, bouncing in the northwest wind.

Across the dirt path, Laoqi let out a dumbfounded laugh. He glanced at his uncle while holding the gun, then suddenly seemed to realize what the blue-green object he’d been holding earlier was. His laugh stopped abruptly. Turning back, he saw the man opposite raise the flesh-colored object in his hand.

Left hand behind his back, right hand forward, Xiu Ma swung the object, twirling it twice around his thumb and middle finger, then lifting it over his head in a flourish. Finally, he snapped the two ends together, clasping them in his palm.

Now Yu Tianbai understood. It was nunchaku technique—finger spins and infinite spins, though he wasn’t sure of the exact names, not being an expert. But it was clear the person “wielding” the stick was skilled, even if the “stick” itself was anything but professional.

Who else but this young master would wield such a “stick”?

Yu Tianbai couldn’t help but laugh and cry. Pulling off a cool move in the face of death was undeniably stylish, but utterly useless.

“You’re going to use that—” Laoqi pointed at the still-bouncing object in Xiu Ma’s hand, then at the real weapon in his own, “to go up against a gun?”

“No lie,” Xiu Ma replied. “But I’m not aiming for the gun.”

With that, he hurled the object. It carved a graceful, flesh-colored arc through the air, landing with a crisp smack right on Laoqi’s forehead—steady, accurate, and ruthless.

It was him.

In an instant, Xiu Ma lunged forward, grabbing the Type 81’s stock. Laoqi, dazed and seeing stars from the plastic projectile, collapsed to the ground, wailing in pain.

“Uncle! Uncle, where are you—catch the gun!”

Xiu Ma straddled him, both hands yanking at the stock. Laoqi writhed on the ground like a twisted pretzel, squinting to dodge Xiu Ma’s long arms and legs. Seizing a moment, he rolled over, slippery as an eel, and flung the gun away.

“Here! I’ll catch it!”

The gun sailed through the air, and Old Fifth stepped forward. But his foot landed on a round rubber object.

It was that double-ended warrior.

Old Fifth’s vision went haywire, from ground to sky. As he fell, he saw the Type 81 fly past his face, cutting horizontally through the air and landing in another pair of hands.

If the uncle and nephew holding the rifle looked like boy scouts standing guard for the army, Yu Tianbai with the Type 81 was the commander returning to his troops.

He stepped back, left hand on the barrel, right on the stock, holding it at a distance to inspect the antique general. Suddenly, he realized his judgment had been wrong.

This wasn’t a Type 81 automatic rifle. It was a modified carbine, incapable of automatic fire, relying on skill. More importantly, this meant Xiu Ma’s earlier suggestion had been right—a hard press on the gas, and with the Tu family’s aim, they probably wouldn’t have landed a single shot.

But it didn’t matter, because the most important thing was aim—something Yu Tianbai excelled at.

Xiu Ma hadn’t yet gotten up when he heard the sound of the magazine cover behind him. Even someone who’d never touched a gun would recognize it as the prelude to pulling the trigger.

Yu Tianbai snapped the magazine shut, raised the barrel, and aimed at Xiu Ma.

“Don’t move. My hand’s steady,” he said, squinting one eye. “If you stay still, you won’t get hurt. I don’t want to hit you.”

The next second, a loud crack exploded behind Xiu Ma. Laoqi was still on the ground, and a puff of smoke rose from the dirt near his head. A few seconds later, Xiu Ma belatedly felt a rush of heat by his ear. The bullet had grazed past his head, perfectly on target. The hand was indeed steady.

“You—you actually shot?” Old Fifth stammered, still not back on his feet.

“I’d shoot at your head too, you believe that?” Yu Tianbai’s gaze shifted to him. He pulled the bolt, ejecting the spent casing. The smoking shell rolled onto the ground with a sharp, unpleasant clink.

“I didn’t move,” Laoqi said, lying stock-still on the ground. “You told me not to move.”

“Don’t move was for my guy,” Yu Tianbai said calmly, raising the barrel again. “As for you two—”

He squinted again, the muzzle pointing at some indeterminate spot.

“Run.”