Chapter 051: Unshaken by the Eight Winds

"Lin Yu, you’re quite composed. I’m starting to admire you," Zhang Yang set his wine glass down, rose quietly, and then slowly walked over to stand before Lin Yu.

"Is that so? In what way do you admire me?" Lin Yu replied carelessly, his demeanor as calm and unmoved as a placid lake.

Seeing Lin Yu, standing alone and facing more than a dozen wealthy idlers without the slightest sign of concern, everyone present felt a chill of anxiety on his behalf. They thought this young man was truly unaware of the gravity of his situation.

"I want to hear your explanation for those twenty bottles of beer," Zhang Yang spoke coldly. He was well-practiced in self-restraint, not getting angry over a few words.

The lighting in the bar was dim, except for the bright glow over by the counter. Leaning there, Lin Yu was clearly illuminated, so much so that everyone in the hall could see his face and expression.

They noticed that even when Zhang Yang got up to speak, Lin Yu remained unfazed, repeating what he’d said earlier, "These twenty bottles of beer are for you to understand this: when an opportunity, a reason, and a belief come together, you get a pile of beer bottles."

"You’re very confident," Zhang Yang sneered, then his tone turned sharp, "But yours is blind confidence. Soon you’ll know—pretending to be tough without strength makes you a fool; only those with real power can truly impress."

Even a man of composure can only tolerate so much. After being ignored repeatedly, Zhang Yang’s temper began to flare. He was no stranger to anger; in fact, he was known for his volatility. It was only through reading works like "Thick Black Theory," "Vegetable Root Discourses," and "The Superior Man" that he’d cultivated a deeper steadiness than most his age.

"But what if I think I do have that strength?" Lin Yu smiled, seemingly oblivious to danger.

Those watching were surprised to see Lin Yu, standing before Zhang Yang—the most notorious playboy in Bincheng—showing not the slightest hint of fear. Regardless of his true capabilities, his poise matched his opponent’s.

"Is he just a fearless youth, or is this young man truly formidable? He really has that air of nonchalance, as if the storm rages around him but he strolls through a peaceful garden," Lian Jin, who had silently gotten up after being struck earlier, mused to himself.

For five thousand years, the Chinese have always valued common sense in all things. But this scene before them defied reason.

"I have a question for you, Lin Yu. When I’ve asked it, whether we are friends or foes will be clear," Zhang Yang said through gritted teeth, struggling to contain his anger.

Sensing the other man's patience wearing thin, Lin Yu’s smile faded as he replied, "Ask away."

"If you had a choice now—simply kneel to Zhang Hongkai and apologize, and all of tonight’s troubles would be over. After that, you could even join my group and become brothers with us. Would you do it?" Zhang Yang said with a smile, then added, "Of course, this is only hypothetical."

From ancient times, whether taming a horse or subduing a tiger, to command another’s obedience, you must first break their pride.

That was Zhang Yang’s intent—he didn’t really expect Lin Yu to kneel and apologize to Zhang Hongkai; he just wanted to hear a word of concession.

"I’m not taking it seriously either," Lin Yu replied, mimicking Zhang Yang’s tone. "But I can tell you clearly, I have nothing in common with your group. We’re like ice and fire—there’s no possibility we’d mix."

"In that case, you refuse the toast and will drink the penalty instead," Zhang Yang laughed, turning toward Ye Ruoshui near the sofa, ready to enjoy the beauty while watching a brutal spectacle. By now, Ye Ruoshui’s cheeks were flushed, and she felt strange and unwell.

Turning his back to Lin Yu, Zhang Yang was convinced the other wouldn’t dare make a move. This was the confidence bred from years at the apex of Bincheng’s privileged circles.

Indeed, Lin Yu did not attack him. Instead, he spoke coolly, "Zhang Yang, did I say you could leave?"

Lin Yu had already seen through Zhang Yang’s intentions toward Ye Ruoshui, and he decided to pick up the pace.

"What?" Zhang Yang could hardly believe his ears. Who was he? The son of Zhang Kailai, Director of the Urban Management Bureau, raised in the municipal government compound, never bullied by anyone.

"You dare talk to me like that? Do you even know whose turf this is?" He looked at Lin Yu, curiosity and surprise in his gaze.

The dozen or so idle rich around Zhang Yang were even more eager to act, ready to pummel Lin Yu at a word from their leader. While Zhang Yang could barely keep his composure in the face of Lin Yu’s extraordinary confidence, his followers found it intolerable—especially Zhang Hongkai, clutching a beer bottle, his face flushed with anger.

"Let’s not talk about whose turf it is. Zhang Yang, may I ask you a question?" Lin Yu’s tone was seemingly sincere.

"Go ahead. I’ll give you three seconds," Zhang Yang replied. The truly arrogant rarely defeat their opponents outright; they prefer to toy with them first. Zhang Yang believed he was in complete control, so he wasn’t worried about Lin Yu’s next move.

"Very well. Here’s my question." Lin Yu spoke slowly and evenly, "Zhang Yang, if you were faced with two choices: kneel or die, which would you pick?"

"That’s not funny at all, and I’m disappointed. The consequences will be severe!" Zhang Yang burst out laughing at Lin Yu’s question, then waved his hand in a commanding gesture.

"Beat him to death—if anything happens, I’ll take responsibility!" he shouted.

At his command, his followers charged at the unarmed Lin Yu like tigers descending from a mountain. Only Hu Bin stood awkwardly in place.

But just as this self-assured group moved, they witnessed a scene they would never forget.

A sealed bottle of Munich Strongman beer was brought down squarely on Zhang Yang’s head by Lin Yu.

With a crisp crack, blood poured instantly from Zhang Yang’s scalp, soaking his hair and white shirt with spilled beer. He looked utterly wretched. For the first time in public, the young master Zhang Yang had been struck!

"This is serious now!" Everyone present realized it at once.

"You’re dead! You’re not leaving this place tonight," Zhang Hongkai thought to himself, secretly pleased from the back of the group, where he’d hung back out of fear.

But in the next instant, he was dumbfounded, too. All those who’d been ahead of him, as if frozen by some spell, stood rooted to the spot.

"What’s happening?" Zhang Hongkai wondered, unease creeping in. When he looked more closely, his heart leapt into his throat.

"Oh, ocean, wash away all my sorrow!" At that moment, the wealthy young Zhang Hongkai was speechless. For Lin Yu had produced a handgun and was aiming it directly at Zhang Yang.

"Now, can you answer my question?" Lin Yu asked Zhang Yang with a cold smile.

The gun in his hand belonged to Hu Bin’s father, Hu Rongqiang. Lin Yu had swiped it during a staged embrace. On the phone, he’d deliberately exaggerated the situation to lure Hu Rongqiang—deputy police chief, authorized to carry a gun at all hours—to rush over armed.

In fact, he could have rescued Zhang Zhilong simply by bringing Hu Rongqiang in. But vengeance was his nature, so he chose a more audacious approach.

"If I must choose, I’d choose death. Go ahead, shoot me. Otherwise, don’t point that thing at my head—it’s not a pleasant feeling," Zhang Yang said, even as blood trickled down his face and his appearance was one of utter humiliation. Yet a graceful smile still played at his lips.

This was the bearing of Bincheng’s most privileged son—unflinching in the face of crisis, refusing to yield.