Chapter 13: Thunder and Lightning

The next day, Cao Yang returned to the small shop downstairs to watch them play the slot machines.

He noticed the guy who had bet on Double Stars with him yesterday was there again. This time, he was chasing the watermelon symbol, starting from ten points and increasing his bet to two hundred and fifty points.

Some machines allowed a maximum bet of ninety-nine points, while others went up to two hundred and fifty points.

However, his luck wasn’t good today; he had been chasing the symbol for a long time without hitting it.

For this round, he only bet two hundred and forty points because that was all he had left.

Seeing this, Cao Yang inserted a coin, pressed and held the watermelon button, and gave it his all.

Perhaps because Cao Yang had been so unlucky lately, even heaven took pity on him—he hit the jackpot again!

“Hit!” the man shouted excitedly.

The sound of coins clinking and falling into the tray was incessant. He grabbed a plastic basket and kept pouring coins into it.

“Brother, I still have twenty more for you.”

“Got it, got it,” the man glanced back at Cao Yang and recognized him as the kid who had bet on Double Stars with him yesterday.

“Brother, you’re my lucky star—yesterday it was you, and today again!”

He said this while grabbing a handful of coins from the basket and stuffing them into Cao Yang’s hands without counting.

“That’s too much,” Cao Yang declined, noticing it was clearly more than twenty coins.

“No worries, just take it!”

Cao Yang found the man straightforward and felt a good impression of him.

Having won without losing his head, Cao Yang watched for a while longer before leaving.

He wandered around nearby factories, looking for a suitable job.

Li Yan hadn’t lent him any money; instead, she urged him to find work quickly, threatening to stop giving him living expenses otherwise.

Cao Yang didn’t even want to argue—he had only been here a few days and had spent just over a hundred yuan of his own money, yet she acted as if he was draining her funds.

Still, she did provide the place to stay, which he couldn’t deny.

After looking around, the jobs were all factory floor workers, paying a few hundred yuan a month with twelve-hour shifts.

No interest—too hot, like a roasting dog. He hurried back home to enjoy the fan.

At the stairwell, he ran into the slot machine guy again.

The man carried a bag of vegetables and steamed buns, with two boxes of beer at his feet.

He saw Cao Yang and smiled, asking, “Brother, do you live here too?”

Cao Yang nodded. “You too?”

The man laughed, “Yeah, I live in 213.”

Cao Yang was surprised—he lived in 208, diagonally opposite 213. This was the first time in days he’d met a neighbor.

“Brother, where are you from? What’s your name?”

“I’m Cao Yang, from Hunan.”

The man grinned broadly and extended his hand. “I’m Thunder, from Sichuan.”

Cao Yang shook his hand. “Is Thunder a nickname?”

“Nope, my real name,” he said, showing his ID card. Indeed, his surname was Lei, and his given name was Dian.

“Brother, give me a hand to carry these up,” he said, pointing to the two boxes of beer on the floor. He lifted one box himself, leaving the other for Cao Yang.

Such a small favor Cao Yang couldn’t refuse, so he helped carry the beer up to room 213.

The room was similar to Cao Yang’s, except it had two sets of bunk beds.

Two other young men, both around twenty years old, were inside.

After putting down the beer, Cao Yang prepared to leave, but Thunder called after him.

“Where are you going? Stay and have a drink.”

“That’s not really appropriate,” Cao Yang said sheepishly; after all, they weren’t familiar.

“What’s inappropriate? Out here, we’re all brothers. Besides, I think you bring me luck—every time I win, it’s with you.”

The other two also invited Cao Yang to join in.

It was hard to refuse such sincere hospitality, so Cao Yang accepted.

The four men sat cross-legged on the floor around a small table.

Thunder placed the beer and dishes—various cooked and marinated foods—on the table.

Cao Yang’s mouth watered when he saw the spicy pig head meat with chili peppers. After a few days of eating nothing but rice noodle rolls and river noodles, he hadn’t had any meat, let alone anything spicy. It made his appetite keen.

“I’ll introduce you—this is Jiawei, a Henan native, full name Zhang Jiawei.”

“This is Huliang, from Anhui; we call him A-Liang.”

Cao Yang nodded to both, surprised—they were all from different provinces, not from the same hometown as he had assumed.

After introducing them, Thunder introduced Cao Yang.

“This brother here is my new friend, Cao Yang, from Hunan.”

Both men nodded and pulled out cigarettes, offering one to Cao Yang.

“Thanks,” he said, lighting it, and the four began to puff away.

They drank while eating meat and started chatting.

Men together usually talk about women or the underworld.

Since they had no women to discuss, they talked about the underworld.

Thunder recounted a brawl yesterday where several people had been injured.

Jiawei mentioned a fight between the Sichuan gang and the Hunan gang two days ago, which reportedly resulted in a death.

A-Liang teased, “Thunder, you’re with the Sichuan gang, right? Cao Yang, you with the Hunan gang?”

“No, no,” Cao Yang said bashfully, waving his hand. “I’ve only been here a few days; I haven’t even gotten to know the territory.”

Thunder patted Cao Yang on the shoulder. “He’s just teasing you. I’m no damn Sichuan gang member—trash!”

From his tone, he seemed to harbor a grudge against the Sichuan gang.

“You got beef with them?” Cao Yang asked suspiciously.

Jiawei laughed and explained, “Not beef exactly. He joined the Sichuan gang, stayed three days, then got kicked out, so he’s got feelings about it.”

“You’re lying! What kicked out? I left on my own!”

“Why did you leave?”

“I thought joining them meant living the good life, but those bastards wanted me to be a bike thief, snatching bags from girls. I couldn’t do it, so I left.”

“I may not be a good man, but I’ve got some principles,” Thunder said.

“Those girls are just like us, working away from home. If you steal their bags, their wallets, IDs, phones are all gone. How are they supposed to live?”

“Thunder’s right. It’s tough out here; you’ve got to have some bottom line.”

“Here, a toast to Brother Thunder!”

They raised their glasses, gulping chilled beer with satisfied sighs.

At that moment, an older man with a broom appeared at the door. They hadn’t closed it, so he peeked inside.

Cao Yang recognized the man—Old Xu, the manager responsible for registration and cleaning.

This small inn had only two older men handling the front desk and cleaning—no young women.

“Old Xu, come in and have a drink,” Thunder invited; having lived here long, he was familiar with the manager.

“What drink? I still have to sweep the floor.”

“Sweep your ass, come have a couple of drinks.”

Without waiting for refusal, Thunder pulled Old Xu in.

Unable to refuse, Old Xu sat cross-legged and started drinking with the four young men.

Thunder pointed at Old Xu and told Cao Yang, “Don’t be fooled by Old Xu looking like a cleaning old man—he’s actually a big shot. The Sichuan gang we talked about? He’s one of the founders. Those guys are his juniors now.”

“Really?” Cao Yang was skeptical; Old Xu looked honest and simple, not the type to be involved in that world.

“Of course not! Don’t listen to his nonsense!” Thunder retorted.

“It’s true! He’s just low-key!” Old Xu sighed, unwilling to argue.

But after a few drinks, his face flushed, and he became more talkative.

With Thunder guiding the conversation, Old Xu began sharing stories from back in the day.

During the early days of the reform and opening-up, many people from other provinces came to Guangdong to work.

At that time, things were even more chaotic than now—fights, beatings, and dishonest factories refusing to pay wages were common.

To avoid being bullied, some workers banded together, initially calling themselves the Fellow Townsmen Alliance or Hometown Association.

Later, realizing other provinces had similar groups, they renamed themselves the Sichuan gang.

At first, the “gang” meant mutual help, not a criminal organization.

The original purpose of the Sichuan gang was to protect its members from bullying; if anyone faced trouble, everyone would help. Strength in numbers meant no one dared to pick on them.

But some respected members gradually developed other ideas—if no one bullied them, why not bully others?

They started collecting protection fees, running hair salons, small casinos, KTVs, and so on. Wasn’t that more profitable than factory work?

That was the first transformation—from mutual aid to a real gang.

It was still chaotic because there were many Sichuan gangs; any group of Sichuan people causing trouble claimed to be the gang.

Any village with seven or eight people would call themselves the Sichuan gang. There were over a hundred such small groups citywide.

The largest faction realized this was problematic. Using their own names for crimes left them with nothing and a bad reputation, so they began reorganizing and absorbing others.

It was either join us or disband, and no one was allowed to call themselves the Sichuan gang anymore.

This was the second transformation.

After a few years, there was only one Sichuan gang citywide, with branches in every district and town, wielding great power.

The Sichuan gang was just one example. The Henan gang, Hunan gang, Guangxi gang, Jiangxi gang, Anhui gang, Hubei gang, Shaanxi gang, Guizhou gang, Yunnan gang, Gansu gang, Fujian gang, and others all formed and evolved similarly.

They began as mutual support groups but later turned into lawless criminal organizations.

At first, they had boundaries—they wouldn’t bully people from their own province.

Later, only profit mattered—even locals were bullied. What started as an alliance for justice completely transformed into a dark underworld force.

Old Xu spoke endlessly, and the others listened intently.

Suddenly, someone called Old Xu outside. He set down his bottle and resumed sweeping.

After he left, the four continued their conversation and drinking.

After several rounds, Thunder asked Cao Yang, “Brother, what work are you doing now?”

“I just arrived here and plan to find a factory job,” Cao Yang replied.

Hearing this, Thunder looked disdainful. “Brother, what money can you make in a factory? Twelve-hour shifts, being scolded by supervisors like dogs, and a measly few hundred yuan a month—is it worth it?”

This hit close to home for Cao Yang.

His mother often told him to endure hardship, that only by suffering could one rise above others.

But Cao Yang didn’t agree. It wasn’t that he couldn’t bear hardship; it was that the suffering yielded little return, making it not worth the pain.

“Interested in working with us?” Thunder extended an invitation.

“What do you guys do?” Cao Yang asked curiously.

Thunder chuckled. “We do everything—anything that makes money! When there’s business, we smuggle goods to Hong Kong by water route; when there isn’t, we help bosses carry cables at construction sites.”

Cao Yang understood—smuggling and theft.