Amidst the chaotic shouts and blows, a rough roar, like a clap of thunder, suddenly exploded from the alley entrance:
"Damn it! You little brats! How dare you cause trouble on my turf? Are you tired of living?!"
The roar was full of vigor, carrying the crude arrogance and fury of a street ruffian, instantly silencing everyone in the alley.
Everyone instinctively turned their heads, only to see a burly, fierce-eyed middle-aged man standing at the alley entrance, wearing a grease-stained apron.
He was clutching a heavy rolling pin in his hand, charging in like an enraged lion!
He didn't even spare a glance, swinging the rolling pin and smashing it down on the head of the closest thug wielding a telescopic baton!
His movements were fast, accurate, and ruthless!
There was no unnecessary flashiness, just pure, practical fighting honed through countless street brawls!
Bang! Bang! Bang!
"Ouch!"
"Damn it!"
Screams and dull thuds instantly replaced the previous curses.
The rolling pin in his hand seemed to come alive, targeting only the most painful spots.
The thugs, who had been incredibly arrogant moments before, were instantly beaten to tears, scattering and scrambling away.
They stumbled and crawled out of the alley, not even having time to utter a single threat before disappearing from sight.
Li Yangchuan, who had been hiding in the shadows waiting to watch the show, seemed to have been scared off as well, having long since run off to who knows where.
The fierce man didn't pursue them; he merely spat on the ground in disgust and cursed, "Only capable of bullying students, a bunch of spineless cowards!"
Then, he turned around and walked over to Cheng Mo, who was still curled up on the ground, unable to get up for a moment.
The man asked gruffly, "Hey! Kid, are you dead yet?"
Cheng Mo endured the pain throughout his body, struggling to sit up against the wall.
Every movement pulled at his injuries, making him gasp.
He looked up at the man who had suddenly appeared and saved him.
The man had fierce eyes, a rough voice, and his apron was stained with flour and oil, making him look like a cook who had just rushed out of the kitchen.
"...Thank you, sir."
Cheng Mo said in a hoarse voice, thanking him softly.
Chen Tianxiong scrutinized him for a few moments. From the thugs' profanity-laced curses and Cheng Mo's sporadic, stubborn retorts, he had pieced together what had happened.
It was nothing more than a poor student being schemed against by a rich and powerful classmate, all for a competition entry fee.
He sneered, with a hint of world-weary cynicism, "Damn it, I hate these spineless bastards who have no real ability and only know how to bully people by relying on their parents."
He paused, his gaze falling on Cheng Mo's faded clothes and his eyes, which, despite his dishevelment, still held a stubborn glint. He asked directly, "Hey, kid, do you really want to earn money?"
Cheng Mo's heart tightened.
Having just experienced Li Yangchuan's deception, he was full of vigilance towards any sudden "kindness."
Although he nodded, the wariness and stubbornness in his eyes remained undiminished.
He needed money, but he didn't want to accept any more "charity" that might carry insult or a trap.
Chen Tianxiong had been in the streets for many years; how could he not see through the kid's thoughts?
He didn't ask further, merely pointed with his chin towards his small, dimly lit noodle stall that had just been set up outside the alley, and said gruffly, "If you're free after school, come help me here. I'll give you supper, and you'll get paid the same day."
Cheng Mo followed his gaze to the simple stall, which consisted of only a stove and a few folding tables and chairs, and his suspicion grew.
He was grateful for the man's help in saving him, but he still shook his head, "Thank you, but... I really don't need to."
Cheng Mo felt that the boss was probably pitying him.
But how much money could such a small stall make? Why would he need to specifically hire someone to help?
Seeing his reaction, Chen Tianxiong clicked his tongue, a hint of annoyance, as if he had been "underestimated," appearing on his face: "What? Looking down on my little broken stall?"
He didn't waste any more words, turning and walking to his stall cart.
The next second, Cheng Mo barely caught his movements.
He saw this fierce-eyed man, wearing a dirty apron, moving with astonishing speed, even with the fluid precision of a martial arts master.
Scooping oil, sautéing green onions, adding noodles, draining noodles, seasoning... A series of actions flowed like water, without a single wasted movement.
Almost in the blink of an eye, a steaming bowl of sliced noodles, fragrant with green onions, was placed in Cheng Mo's hands.
"Eat it first, then we'll talk."
Chen Tianxiong's tone was still abrupt. He then turned to attend to the first customer who had wandered over at some point.
Cheng Mo held the hot bowl of noodles, stunned.
The rich aroma of green onion oil kept wafting into his nose, making his stomach rumble uncontrollably.
He hesitated for a moment, then finally picked up the disposable chopsticks nearby, picked up a mouthful, blew on it, and carefully put it into his mouth.
The next moment, his eyes widened abruptly!
The noodles were firm and smooth, the green onion oil was incredibly fragrant, mixed with just the right amount of savory soy sauce. The seasoning was simple to the extreme, yet it erupted with astonishing deliciousness!
Every strand of noodle was coated with a rich aroma, so delicious that he almost wanted to swallow his tongue!
He ate, sweat beading on his forehead, his eyes shining, almost forgetting the pain in his body.
And in those brief few minutes while he was engrossed in eating his noodles, he was surprised to discover that a small queue of five or six people had unknowingly formed in front of Old Chen's simple stall!
Late-returning workers, night-shift taxi drivers, nearby residents... people seemed to have recognized this newly opened stall, greeting the boss familiarly.
"Old Chen, the usual!"
"Boss, two portions to go!"
"Starving, hurry up, Old Chen!"
"I'm in a hurry to get back, you're so slow, it's hard for me!"
Chen Tianxiong responded impatiently.
"What's the rush! Are you a hungry ghost reincarnated!"
"If it's hard, then don't do it!"
But his hands moved incredibly fast, and he was busy, never stopping.
Adding noodles, draining noodles, seasoning, collecting money—his movements were dazzlingly quick. The rolling pin that had just been used to hit people was now obedient in his hand, like a docile companion.
Only then did Cheng Mo realize how ridiculous his earlier thoughts had been.
This boss didn't need sympathy at all; his skill was his greatest asset.
This job was real, not pure charity.
From then on, this small, dimly lit noodle stall at the entrance of a remote alley became Cheng Mo's nightly destination for the next two months.
He helped serve noodles, clear bowls and chopsticks, and prepare ingredients.
Chen Tianxiong was a man of few words, and his temper could be quite short at times.
But he would quietly leave Cheng Mo a bowl of noodles with the most ingredients during busy periods, and the wages he paid were always fair and full.
Here, there was no invisible discrimination or immense pressure like in school, only the purest aroma of food, the earthy scent of the marketplace, and the simple conversations of the diners.
It became a small, insignificant yet truly warm haven for Cheng Mo under the heavy pressure of his life.
He had occasionally wondered about the boss's overly nimble skills and the sharpness that sometimes flashed in his eyes, which didn't fit a common stall vendor, but he ultimately didn't ask further.
Everyone has their own story, and at this moment, he only needed this rare peace.