Chapter 29: The Word “Lust” Is Always Written with a Blade Above

Old Seven was powerless against the sudden force pulling him; his legs were yanked apart in a split. Taking advantage of this, Jiang Xiwen’s bound legs sprang upward, and both knees crashed with all his might into Old Seven’s groin.

A long, mournful cry echoed out—a sound so wild that anyone within a half-mile would have thought a wolf was howling outside the mud-brick house.

Heipi stood rooted to the spot, momentarily at a loss. Old Seven, who was many times tougher than he was, now sat on the ground in a forced split. As Jiang Xiwen’s blow landed, Old Seven didn’t even get a chance to clutch at his agony with his hands—Jiang Xiwen gripped his heavy foot, refusing to let go.

“Let go! Let go… please…” Old Seven’s voice grew weaker, more pitiful.

Jiang Xiwen raised both hands and shoved Old Seven hard. With a thud, Old Seven toppled over backward, unable to bring his legs together, trembling with spasms, and within moments, he’d passed out.

“One slap, two kicks—consider them returned to you,” Jiang Xiwen spat out words even he hadn’t expected to say. When a man is armed with absolute strength and confidence, the aura of dominance comes naturally.

No one noticed the growing complexity in Zhang Ya’s gaze as she looked at Jiang Xiwen. From his initial honesty to his later indifference, then to his shameless roguery, and now to this violent ferocity—all for her sake, even willing to board the thieves’ car. It all stirred something deep inside her. Remembering their lips brushing earlier, her cheeks flushed crimson.

“Heipi…” Jiang Xiwen turned his head, exuding a calm authority.

“What? You little punk, looking for trouble?” Heipi snapped out of his daze, stepping forward to grab a bottle, but just then Jiang Xiwen’s voice dragged out a long, drawn “Brother…”

It was still “Brother Heipi.”

“Brother Heipi…” Jiang Xiwen panted heavily. “Old Seven… damn, his kick was too much. I… ah… I fear my ribs are cracked. Brother Heipi… help me, and in return… you can do whatever you want with that girl. I swear I won’t breathe a word. Old Seven’s out cold, he won’t see a thing.”

With that, he collapsed back into the pile of sponges, gasping for breath.

Zhang Ya’s face, which had just turned rosy, now went deathly pale. A thunderous roar filled her head, dizziness overtook her, and a pang of sadness welled up inside.

“Smart move, kid!” Heipi eyed Jiang Xiwen warily, not daring to approach. He was afraid Jiang Xiwen would deal with him as he had Old Seven. This kid was full of hidden depths—who knew what tricks he had left? With his hands and feet bound, as long as Heipi kept his distance, he’d be fine.

Only now did Jiang Xiwen realize how heavy Old Seven’s first kick had been. When he’d leapt up to strike, the instant his knees collided with the other’s groin, a searing pain had shot through his own chest.

When he shoved Old Seven away, he felt as if his ribs had fractured, the pain nearly suffocating him. His seventh plan had been to exploit Heipi’s lechery, act out disgust toward Zhang Ya, and use words to lure him into making a move. At the right moment, when Heipi’s lust overcame his sense, Jiang Xiwen would strike.

But this plan was only barely viable because of two obstacles: the driver and Old Seven. Even if he managed to take down Heipi, the driver and Old Seven would join forces against him. He had to wait for the right chance.

Luckily, the driver had left on his own, as if fate was lending a hand.

Old Seven’s nature, revealed just moments ago, made Jiang Xiwen revise his plan on the fly. With Old Seven dealt with, only Heipi remained, and he was much easier to handle. Since Old Seven’s first kick, Jiang Xiwen had already figured out how to deal with Heipi—by feigning injury.

There was a moment, while Heipi was stunned, when Jiang Xiwen considered a risky move: to bluff Heipi into untying him, then take him down in one blow. In Wang Wu’s martial style, there were only strikes, never grapples.

But this thought passed in a flash. As soon as Heipi regained his senses, Jiang Xiwen abandoned the gamble. In life-or-death situations, every move was a risk, but one had to maximize the odds of success within the realm of possibility.

Failure in such a predicament meant death. He’d read something like this in a web novel before, had once borrowed the line himself, and just a couple of days ago heard it again from Wang Wu’s lips.

It seemed life and fiction often aligned. The thought was a touch philosophical, he mused as he edged closer to Zhang Ya, saying, “Brother Heipi, let me have a look at how you handle the girl. I may not like her much, but she is fair-skinned and beautiful—wouldn’t mind a feast for the eyes…”

He’d barely moved before coughing and gasping, but still managed a leering grin.

With Old Seven there, Heipi had suppressed his lust. Now Old Seven was unconscious, and this kid was incapacitated. Heipi could indulge himself—and perhaps torment the boy a bit later for fun.

Of course, for fifty thousand yuan, he wouldn’t actually go too far, but since he was the only one who understood the boundaries, he could afford to cross a few lines—no harm in enjoying himself.

Looking at Zhang Ya’s pale, beautiful face and blank expression, Heipi found the sight breathtaking, and couldn’t help but chuckle. “What are you thinking about, girl? Don’t tell me you look down on your Brother Heipi?”

Zhang Ya’s mind was utterly blank. She didn’t know why, but when Jiang Xiwen said “you can do whatever you want with that girl,” she suddenly felt an emptiness that swept everything away—even her fear.

Whether she’d heard Heipi’s words or simply chose to ignore them, she remained dazed. Jiang Xiwen noticed her state—her cold indifference had lost its pretense of superiority, replaced by a desolation that came from within.

A man rejected by such an expression often feels a rage greater than any bad luck.

Jiang Xiwen had no time to search for the words to describe Zhang Ya’s current state. He wriggled his wrists continuously; his earlier grip on Old Seven’s leg hadn’t just been to intensify the pain, but also to loosen the ropes binding his hands. Judging by the feel, the method was working.

Just a few more minutes, and he’d be free.