Song Yuzhang: Chapter 184 - Night at The Bank
Shen Chengduo, still dragging his injuries, insisted on coming to Vienna the next day. He laughed and joked casually with the other guests who had come to Vienna, speaking carelessly about the street shooting incident yesterday, as if it were nothing more than a minor episode in life.
During the day, there weren’t many customers. After making a big show of himself, Shen Chengduo summoned a waiter to support him as he walked.
The waiter was fair-faced and handsome, a newcomer to the shop. Shen Chengduo leaned on him with a grin, running his fingers over the young man’s smooth cheek, whispering into his ear with a lecherous tone, though his words carried seriousness: “Anyone watching outside today?”
The waiter looked up and said softly, “The usual—no new faces.”
“The Meng family? Any movement?”
“None. Director Liao went to the Meng residence.”
Shen Chengduo entered the room, letting his hand slide off the waiter’s shoulder. “When you were gathering information, you didn’t alert the Mengs, right?”
“No. We didn’t send anyone to follow or spy. The driver with Director Liao mentioned it—there was nothing secret.”
Shen Chengduo nodded slightly. Now was a critical moment; not a single mistake could happen.
He could guess why Liao Tiandong sought Meng Tingjing—likely he had also realized Zhang Changshan was about to wreak havoc in Haizhou and wanted Meng Tingjing to intervene.
Would Meng Tingjing actually act?
Half a year ago, maybe. Now, who knew?
Shen Chengduo knew Meng Tingjing no longer managed affairs consistently—he went mad unpredictably.
As he thought this, the waiter outside knocked and came in, saying the Meng family’s men had suddenly arrived and smashed up the area outside.
Shen Chengduo felt a flare of anger but quickly suppressed it. “Let them be.”
He had just refused Meng Tingjing’s invitation a few days ago—it would be strange if Meng didn’t vent his anger.
Lighting a cigarette, Shen Chengduo muttered to himself, “Madman!”
Could someone like this Meng Tingjing actually manage things? Director Liao had come to the wrong person.
After finishing his cigarette, Shen Chengduo descended from the secret room in his small room into the basement.
The basement was extremely concealed. Originally built as an air-raid shelter, it had never been bombed, and now the shelter had become a small prison.
Shen Chengduo noticed that Song Yuzhang was truly an extraordinary person. People always joked about men smelling bad, yet after several days without washing, Song Yuzhang didn’t smell at all. From across the railing, Shen Chengduo could only detect the scent of tobacco and alcohol—the same tobacco, the same drink, a pleasant scent rather than unpleasant.
Shen Chengduo marveled silently while lowering his voice to speak to Song Yuzhang: “Brother Song, thank you for your patience.”
Song Yuzhang calmly asked, “When will you let me go?”
Shen Chengduo hesitated briefly. “Soon… in a couple of days.”
Fu Mian was elusive; he no longer sent people to search. Shen Chengduo only needed to surround his territory like an iron bucket.
He had survived a gun at his head—he couldn’t risk overextending in searching for Fu Mian. Overdoing it would arouse suspicion. Besides, Zhang Changshan was in the bank; if Fu Mian wanted him, he would have to go there. Shen Chengduo guessed Zhang Changshan would try to leave in the next couple of days.
Then, it would be the right moment.
Song Yuzhang leaned against the iron bars, sensing an unusual tension. He asked suddenly, “What’s happening outside?”
Shen Chengduo thought for a moment and said plainly, “Zhang Changshan is trying to run.”
“Run?”
“He’s gone mad,” Shen Chengduo laughed softly, lowering his voice. “Brother Song, I bear no ill will. I hope you understand—if a man doesn’t act for himself, heaven and earth will destroy him.”
Song Yuzhang was silent for a moment. “Leave Fengxian alive. He’s mute now, can’t speak. Give him some money and send him somewhere safe to live.”
Shen Chengduo’s heart jolted. He admitted that his earlier words were only sweet talk to deceive Song Yuzhang. Once the affair was done, the best solution would still be to kill Song Yuzhang. If he hadn’t handed Song Yuzhang alive to Fu Mian, there wouldn’t have been so many lingering troubles.
A dead Song Yuzhang was the only one to truly trust.
Lowering his head after his inner thoughts were revealed, Shen Chengduo said, “As friends, I will see your wish fulfilled.”
Song Yuzhang let out a faint smile at Shen Chengduo’s attempt to flatter him.
Shen Chengduo blushed, embarrassed. Any hint of lust he had felt was completely extinguished.
Even though he often had high self-esteem, at this moment, he realized he was truly unworthy of Song Yuzhang.
When they first met, Song Yuzhang was defending an actor.
At that time, he still had power and influence; protecting an actor was nothing. Shen Chengduo, now a prisoner, facing life and death, still had to defend someone else.
Shen Chengduo bowed slightly. “Brother Song, I admire you.”
Song Yuzhang remained unmoved, giving nothing away. Shen Chengduo couldn’t tell if it was calmness or resignation. His own heart raced with a “succeed or die” determination.
Zhang Changshan absorbed Haizhou’s funds like a voracious beast. By the night of November 9, he had completed his task, almost three days and nights without sleep. Every one of his subordinates in the bank, both upstairs and downstairs, had come from South City—each a top expert.
“Are the cars ready?” Zhang Changshan asked hoarsely.
“All ready.”
He decided not to use a plane. He stayed in the bank, focused solely on his plan, unconcerned with other matters. He knew his actions were unusual but didn’t hide it from Shen Chengduo—Shen Chengduo was shortsighted and wouldn’t care if he ruined Haizhou. He also knew Liao Tiandong must be anxious, but Liao Tiandong could do nothing. Liao Tiandong was just a fence-sitter; Haizhou had no wall for him to lean on.
Zhang Changshan double-checked each suitcase.
Though greedy, his eyes skimmed over the money and gold without lingering. His mind focused on only one thing—returning to South City to save Zhang Changyuan.
He regretted it deeply. Having experienced so much filth in the world, he had focused entirely on protecting his brother, raising him into a complete idealist.
Idealists in this era died young. Zhang Changshan would rather see Zhang Changyuan live cynically than sacrifice himself for foolish ideals.
After checking all the suitcases, Zhang Changshan instructed his men, “Check everything again. No mistakes. We leave immediately.”
“Yes!”
The bank’s main doors were closed. Inside, silence reigned, broken only by the footsteps of people moving upstairs and downstairs.
Zhang Changshan guarded the pile of suitcases, gun in hand, tense and ready.
Meanwhile, at the Meng residence, lights blazed. Meng Tingjing wasn’t wearing his long robe but a snow-white shirt, tucking a gun into his belt. The Meng hall was filled with people quickly arming themselves.
Liao Tiandong’s networking in South City had paid off. Two of Zhang Changshan’s subordinates already had ties with him and had warned Liao Tiandong that Zhang Changshan planned to leave tonight.
This was a golden opportunity with huge sums of money. Tonight would be fierce. Whoever was hiding Song Yuzhang should bring him out; otherwise, keeping him hidden would be pointless. If Zhang Changshan was the one hiding Song Yuzhang, he certainly couldn’t leave.
“Check your guns,” Meng Tingjing instructed, picking up another gun and quickly cycling the slide. “Be careful—no mistakes.”
“Yes.”
After the checks, Meng Tingjing donned a dark coat and waved forward. “Move out.”
“I’m coming too—”
Liu Chu suddenly ran up from the side. Having been recovering at the Meng residence, he was thinner but much more spirited. The scars on his face flushed with excitement. “Boss Meng, take me! I’m coming too!”
Meng Tingjing glanced at Liu Chuanzong, standing nearby, slightly bent and panting, his gaze sad but resolute on Liu Chu. Likely, he couldn’t stop him.
Meng Tingjing retracted his gaze and ruffled Liu Chu’s hair firmly. “Then follow.”
“The car downstairs is already running—likely leaving soon.”
Shen Chengduo’s eyes gleamed. He stood abruptly, then sat again slowly. “Not yet. Wait a bit longer.”
Zhang Changshan sat in the office, bright lights spilling over him. His blood, long simmering in anxiety, was now heating to boiling.
The cool autumn air carried an unusual scent that pricked his nerves. He suddenly stood, gun in hand, palm slightly tilted forward, his two attendants following suit.
Zhang Changshan pressed people against the door, listening carefully.
Footsteps outside were orderly, likely executing inspection commands.
The bank’s highest floor was the fourth: first floor lobby, second floor offices, third floor vault, fourth floor president’s office, topped by a gilded spire.
An attendant checked the passage from the second floor to the first.
Walking calmly, he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his neck.
Fu Mian had grabbed the man’s mouth, swiftly slit his throat, and flicked the body, along with the spattering blood, silently out the window.
His movements were extremely fast and precise, as if rehearsed countless times. Not a drop of blood landed on him; he wiped the blade on thick leaves nearby. Fu Mian then opened an office door, found a suitable position, and drew the gun strapped to his leg.
The thud of the falling body on the second floor drew attention from patrolling men on the first floor. They hurried up with guns, not noticing the half-open glass door at the corner with a gun barrel sticking out.
Hearing the gunshots, Zhang Changshan tensed and gestured. Two men in the office immediately moved out.
Zhang Changshan held his gun, rushed to the phone, and dialed. “Hello? Yes—cut the crap! I don’t care where you are—send support to the bank immediately! There’s trouble!”
“Got it! On the way!”
Liao Tiandong hung up and said to Meng Tingjing, “He wants us to send reinforcements.”
Meng Tingjing said calmly, “Then we go.”
He grabbed a black-and-white police cap, put it on, hiding his sharp eyes, and told his men and Liu Chu, “Get in the car.”
“The patrol car is moving out.”
Shen Chengduo stood again, resolute. “Hurry! We must get ahead of them!”
Gunfire in the silent bank rang loud and piercing—bang, bang, bang.
Zhang Changshan counted six shots in total. The situation didn’t seem intense.
Around thirty of his subordinates were inside, all capable fighters.
Fu Mian changed magazines under the office desk in the dark.
Footsteps outside grew closer. Once the magazine was replaced, he calmly stood and fired three shots.
The three men entering the office in darkness immediately fell.
These men lived by killing, and so did he. Unfortunately, he was even more resolute. They acted for money, for profit; he acted for hatred.
Hatred was the best fuel.
Zhang Changshan upstairs held his breath. The downstairs noise remained minimal. Gunshots were occasional, crisp, and fast.
Zhang Changshan was no novice; he knew he had encountered an expert.
Sensing near silence downstairs, he gripped his gun. “Brother, where’s he from? How much does he offer? What are your terms? I’m open to negotiation!”
Just as he spoke, gunfire rang, and the door lock gave way.
Zhang Changshan inhaled deeply, spinning to fire, but a shot met him at the doorway. His arm hurt; the gun flew from his hand. Simultaneously, a boot struck his stomach hard.
He fell onto a sofa, chest pinned by a muddy, grass-stained shoe. Grimacing, he looked up. Fu Mian stared coldly, gun angled at his chin. “Where is he?”
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