Flip the table and divide the family property! Take his wife and daughter into the mountains and eat

Zhao Shanhe did not respond.

He stood quietly in front of Wei Changhai, his unfathomable eyes like two steel knives scraping his face bit by bit.

Wei Changhai felt his breath catch in his throat. He swallowed hard and forced himself to look for a way out.

He rubbed his hands awkwardly, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace.

"Look at the mess this has made..."

"Director Zhao, it's great news that you're back."

"We all work in the same factory, sharing the same pot of food. We see each other all the time. To be honest, we're like brothers; even if we're broken, our bones are still connected."

"This whole mess has made everyone look bad."

As Wei Changhai spoke, he cautiously glanced at Zhao Shanhe's expression out of the corner of his eye.

Seeing that Zhao Shanhe remained silent and did not act immediately, his heart, which had been in his throat, calmed down a little, and his words became more fluent.

"How about this?"

"Director Gao has fainted. Take him to the hospital first. Wang Guowei is also seriously injured. There's blood everywhere. Let's carry him away and treat him first."

"Old Hei and the others are in a bad mood today. Now that you're back, they have someone to rely on. Could you please give them a word of advice and get them to put down their weapons?"

"We're all on the same side, there's no need to push things to the extreme, don't you think?"

Zhao Shanhe did not respond.

His gaze fell on Wei Changhai's swollen half of his face.

Half of his face had turned purplish-red, with five finger marks still clearly visible on it, and a crack had appeared at the corner of his mouth.

Zhao Shanhe looked at it for two seconds and asked, "What happened to your face?"

Wei Changhai's smile froze instantly.

Several security guards behind him also subconsciously looked at his face.

At this moment, Wei Changhai felt the burning humiliation from the slap he had just received spread from his cheek to the base of his neck.

He glanced at Lao Hei with a venomous look over Zhao Shanhe's shoulder.

But when he met Old Hei's bloodshot eyes, he immediately looked away.

"No...it's nothing."

Wei Changhai chuckled twice, his lips twitching violently.

"It was too chaotic at the security office just now, so I rushed out to maintain order and accidentally bumped into the door frame."

The expressions on the faces of the workers around him turned strange.

That's a completely untrue statement.

The five finger marks were still on his face. How could hitting the door frame leave a handprint?

Zhao Shanhe nodded.

"Did you crash into it?"

Wei Changhai forced himself to reply, "Yes, we crashed into each other."

Old Hei sneered from behind.

"What do you mean by 'bumped'? That's what I smoked."

As soon as those words were spoken, Wei Changhai's face turned bright red.

Old Hei gripped the shovel, his voice heavy: "Back then, we went to the security office to avenge Erzhuzi and seek justice from Wang Guowei. That bastard stood at the door acting like a big shot and wouldn't let us in. I didn't like him, so I slapped him."

After listening, Zhao Shanhe looked at Wei Changhai again.

He slowly extended his right hand and grabbed the front end of the solid rubber stick in Wei Changhai's hand.

Wei Changhai instinctively tried to pull back, but the rubber stick seemed to be welded to Zhao Shanhe's hand and wouldn't budge.

"So you brought so many people back."

Zhao Shanhe's eyes remained expressionless as he slammed the stick down hard.

A brute force slammed into Wei Changhai's wrist along the stick, causing a sharp pain in his wrist. His five fingers loosened their grip on the stick as if electrocuted.

Zhao Shanhe held the heavy rubber baton in one hand, his gaze fixed on Wei Changhai's face, his voice icy cold.

"So you brought so many people here to get revenge on Old Black, right?"

Wei Changhai felt a buzzing sensation on his scalp, and cold sweat instantly soaked his back.

The murderous gazes of the dozen or so men from Kaoshantun all turned to him. Wei Changhai frantically waved his hands, his lips trembling, desperately trying to explain, "Director Zhao... Director Zhao, I..."

Before he could finish speaking...

Zhao Shanhe didn't have the patience to listen to his nonsense for even half a second. He suddenly exerted force in his waist, and his right leg instantly lashed out like a thick steel whip, tearing through the air with a sharp whistling sound.

"Bang!"

A dull, muffled thud of flesh colliding suddenly rang out.

The force of that kick was terrifying.

Wei Changhai's remaining words were forced back down his throat. His sturdy body, weighing over 100 pounds, felt as light as a tattered sack in the face of this inhuman, terrifying force. His feet instantly left the ground, and he flew backward three or four meters.

"Thump!"

Wei Changhai slammed heavily into the muddy, puddled water, sending up large plumes of murky, icy mud.

He collapsed to the ground like a lump of soft flesh, without even clutching his stomach or convulsing. His neck lolled to the side, his eyes rolled back, and he fainted on the spot.

The entire venue, filled with hundreds of people, was deathly silent.

Even Old Black and Monkey, who were used to fighting, couldn't help but twitch their eyelids. No one expected that Zhao Shanhe's kick would have such terrifying explosive power.

Zhao Shanhe casually threw the rubber baton he had seized into the muddy water, not even glancing at the unconscious Wei Changhai, but coldly sweeping his gaze over the group of security officers who were completely terrified.

He was swept over by that gaze, which was devoid of any warmth.

The twenty-odd security officers in uniforms and wearing red armbands all shivered.

The anger that Wei Changhai had stirred up at the gate was instantly extinguished without a trace in the face of absolute force.

Even Gao Wenbin and Wei Changhai were lying in the mud like dead dogs, what are they anyway?

The skinny guy standing at the front flicked his wrist.

"Clatter."

The broken steel pipe in his hand fell to the concrete ground with a crisp sound.

The sound was like dominoes falling.

Clang!

"Thud!"

One after another, the sounds of iron pipes and wooden sticks hitting the ground rang out from the crowd. Of the twenty-odd people, not one dared to continue holding a weapon in front of this living devil; they all unconsciously retreated.

Zhao Shanhe remained silent.

He strode through the mud and walked straight up to the factory militiaman carrying a Type 56 semi-automatic rifle.

When the militiaman saw Zhao Shanhe approaching, his legs went weak and his face turned as white as a sheet.

He instinctively tried to back away, but his feet seemed to be rooted to the ground, unable to move an inch.

Zhao Shanhe reached out and grabbed the cold gun barrel.

As if electrocuted, the militiaman scrambled to his feet, tumbling and falling into the muddy puddle.

Zhao Shanhe held the rifle in one hand.

He skillfully disengaged the safety with his thumb and pulled the bolt with his right hand.

"Click."

The crisp metallic clanging sound was particularly jarring on the deathly silent main road.

A bright yellow bullet ejected from the ejection port, arced through the air, and landed in a nearby puddle.

Zhao Shanhe gripped the barrel at the front with his backhand, using the heavy stock as a hammer, and smashed it down hard without warning onto the rusty iron axle of an abandoned cart next to him.

"Snap!"

The fine walnut wood gunstock broke in two, splinters scattered all over the ground.

He casually tossed the broken, scrapped gun at the feet of the group of security officers.

He then took out a pack of Daqianmen cigarettes from his shirt pocket, pulled one out, put it in his mouth, and lit it with a match.

Pale blue smoke slowly billowed out, blurring Zhao Shanhe's cold and stern features.

He pointed with his cigarette at the pile of scrap metal on the ground.

"You have thirty seconds."

Zhao Shanhe's voice wasn't loud, but it carried a chilling sense of oppression: "Take off your red armbands, peel off this layer of skin. Then, all of you, get out of here."

The twenty-odd security officers looked at each other, none of them daring to make a move.

Zhao Shanhe lowered his eyelids and flicked off his cigarette ash: "Thirty seconds from now, whoever is still standing in front of me wearing this outfit will end up like Wei Changhai."

This sentence became the last straw that broke the camel's back.

The thinnest officer in the crowd let out a distorted scream, frantically trying to tear off the red armband on his arm. Because his hands were shaking so badly, he used too much force, and half of the sleeve tore off with a ripping sound.

He didn't care about the pain at all. He quickly ripped off the security guard's uniform jacket, threw it into the mud, and ran away wearing only his thin thermal underwear.

Once someone took the lead, the rest of the defenses crumbled instantly.

These security guards, who were used to running rampant in the factory, were now like a nest of rats scalded with boiling water.

Some people didn't even have time to unbutton their clothes before tearing them off their heads; others lost their shoes and didn't dare to look back to pick them up, running barefoot through the mud towards the factory gate.

Less than ten seconds.

The twenty-odd people who were just swaggering around have all run away.

On the main road, only discarded sticks, trampled red armbands, and a dozen or so security guard uniforms covered in mud remained.

Zhao Shanhe, a cigarette dangling from his lips, coldly watched the pack of stray dogs disappear into the distance.

Just then.

A few hushed gasps suddenly came from the outer edge of the crowd.

"Director Liang?"

"It really is Director Liang! He's been released from the Municipal Bureau!"

These exclamations were like a bucket of water poured into boiling oil, causing a commotion among the previously tightly packed group of workers.

The workers on the perimeter quickly squeezed to both sides, hastily making way for a narrow passage.

Several elderly workers' eyes reddened, and they instinctively reached out to help, but were gently stopped by the person who came.

Zhao Shanhe paused, his hand holding the cigarette twitching, and turned to look.

A middle-aged man wearing a faded white Zhongshan suit walked out from the alley.

The man stood ramrod straight, but his whole body exuded an undeniable weariness.

His hair was mostly white, piled up messily on his head, his eyes were sunken, and he had a layer of grayish-white stubble on his chin. There was even some wall dust on his cuffs.

This demeanor was completely different from that of the decisive and efficient deputy director of the Red Star Factory.

He trudged through the mud and faced the cold wind, walking step by step to the center of the crowd.

He looked down at Gao Wenbin and Wei Changhai, who were lying lifeless in the mud, then at the security guard uniforms scattered on the ground, and finally at the Type 56 semi-automatic rifle broken in two.

Finally, his gaze slowly shifted to Zhao Shanhe's face.

Eyes facing each other.

Liang Tiejun's bloodshot eyes trembled violently, followed by a surge of relief, as if a heavy burden had finally been lifted.

A cold wind blew by, stirring up a few fallen leaves on the ground.

After a long while, Liang Tiejun's tightly pursed, chapped lips finally moved.

"You little brat..."

His voice was hoarse, as if he had a handful of grit in his mouth, and his eyes were slightly red: "I've finally decided to come back."