Chapter Two: A Home of Hidden Dragons and Crouching Tigers

Chen Cao’s eyes darted around anxiously, thoughts spinning wildly. While he was lost in his musings, Old Tang straightened his slightly faded clothes, his eyes now somewhat clouded yet twinkling with mischief. “Young Master, what’s on your mind? Have you been up to something you shouldn’t again?”

Hearing this, Chen Cao felt as if his thoughts had been laid bare. He shook his head vigorously, hands waving in denial. “No, not at all! I haven’t even recovered from the last time with the whip—Sir, you were really harsh!”

Old Tang’s face wrinkled with a gentle smile. “That’s good. You’d better learn to behave, Young Master, otherwise next time, there’s nothing I can do for you. You know what the master’s temper is like.”

“Of course, of course!” Chen Cao had mixed feelings about this old man who’d watched him grow up. The last time he’d faced family discipline, it was this kindly looking old man who’d enforced it. Don’t be fooled by his benevolent appearance—when he used the whip, it was swift and merciless. Before you even felt the sting, he was done, and when you turned to look at your backside, you’d wonder if it was still yours.

“All right, Young Master. The master is waiting for you in his room. This time, be sure to speak properly and don’t be mischievous!” Without waiting for a reply, Old Tang headed toward the staircase.

“It’s over. I must have slipped up somewhere and alerted the old man. That’s impossible, though—Uncle Wang has never been unreliable.” Heart pounding, Chen Cao reluctantly followed Old Tang, shuffling his feet.

A chubby man with a center-parted hairstyle and sleep still crusted in the corners of his eyes pushed open the door at the far left, yawning as he emerged. Spotting the anxious Chen Cao, he waved cheerily, his face splitting into a grin. “Morning, Doggie! You don’t look too good today.”

Chen Cao shot him a resentful look, then turned away, following Old Tang up the stairs as if ignoring the fat man entirely.

He quickly ducked his head and sidled over to him, grabbing the man’s sleeve and lowering his voice. “Uncle Wang, you’re one to talk! The master’s summoned me. Didn’t we settle last time already? I haven’t done anything wrong lately. Do you know what he wants with me?”

As Chen Cao spoke, the fat man was fussing with his prized center part, but at this, he squinted his small eyes at Chen Cao. “What, isn’t the matter with Ergou settled already?” Suddenly, he slapped his thigh. “Don’t tell me it’s about the governor’s daughter—”

Before he could finish, Chen Cao shot him a warning look and clamped a hand over his greasy mouth. “Shh, Uncle Wang! Do you want the master to skin me alive?”

As they struggled, Old Tang had already reached the third floor and called down with his deep, resonant voice, “Chen Cao, what’s taking so long?”

“N-nothing, I’m coming!” Chen Cao glared at the fat man, then hurried up the stairs.

“Hmph. Wang Husheng, don’t think the master’s favor gives you the right to teach the young master your sneaky tricks. Otherwise, I might just wring your neck!” Old Tang’s head disappeared, but his voice drifted back, powerful and lingering in the fat man’s ears.

This fat man was, of course, Wang Husheng.

Apparently used to Old Tang’s scoldings, Wang Husheng rolled his eyes and spat into his palm, then fussed with his splitting hair, swinging his hips as he kicked open the door.

“Cousin, what’s that old geezer on about now? I’ve put up with him long enough. Maybe it’s time to deal with him once and for all!” Inside the room, a burly man sat on the bed, steam rising off his body with a white towel draped over his broad, dark shoulders.

His muscles were well-defined, his face not exactly handsome but not ugly either, exuding an intense, dangerous aura.

Wang Husheng glared at him, and with a swift kick, sent him tumbling off the bed. “Damn it, Wang Jiefang, do you still think this is ten years ago? Take care of him? We’re all family now. Besides, your Eight Trigram Fist was taught by that old man. Who raised you, you meathead who only knows how to fight and eat?”

Chastened, Wang Jiefang climbed from the floor, standing respectfully at the side. In his eyes, apart from the Chen family master, he listened only to Wang Husheng. As for Chen Cao, whom he’d watched grow up, that was yet another matter entirely.

“Get lost!” Wang Husheng barked once Wang Jiefang had quieted, arms folded. His eyes narrowed as he calculated, “Today’s the eighteenth day of the lunar month. Chen Ergou, who’s never missed a day at the company, isn’t going in today. What’s going on?”

From a corner of the living room, Wang Jiefang’s quiet voice floated over, “Today’s the eighteenth of the lunar month—Chen Cao’s eighteenth birthday.”

“Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?!” Wang Husheng hurled a pillow at him, then suddenly slapped his thigh. “Damn, how could I forget that?”

…

Today, Chen Fusheng had chosen a heavy black suit. Normally, he only wore black during the Tomb-Sweeping Festival. In fact, he disliked the color—its somber tone wasn’t to his taste. He wore it only because today was Qingming.

He sat at the large executive desk, picking up a picture frame. The woman in the photograph looked serene and elegant, exuding both spirit and gentle warmth. Her beautiful eyes seemed to hold countless stories.

“Qingzhi, it’s been over ten years. Just for a promise, you gave up your freedom. Was it really worth it?”

Chen Fusheng addressed a man seated by the floor-to-ceiling window, idly toying with a machete.

The man, Qingzhi, had a pale, clean-shaven face, wore a high-collared white shirt and black-rimmed glasses. Sunlight bathed him, making him seem as gentle and natural as a schoolteacher—nothing about him spoke of the lethal force in his hand.

Years ago, he really had been a teacher, standing at the lectern, shaping young minds. But since then, the mere mention of Chen Qingzhi, the number two on the assassin rankings, sent shivers down spines.

Hearing Chen Fusheng’s words, Chen Qingzhi slowly opened his eyes, though his body remained still. He answered simply, “It mattered.”

“All this just because I saved your sister’s life? It’s been over a decade—you’ve long since repaid that debt,” Chen Fusheng pressed.

Chen Qingzhi replied with the same simplicity, “My life is yours. That means for a lifetime. You’re a bit sentimental today.” With that, he closed his eyes again, enjoying the sunlight.

There was a firm, gentle knock at the door.

“Master, the young master has arrived!” It was Old Tang’s voice.

“Oh!” Chen Fusheng’s eyes flickered, his thoughts gathering as he replied softly, “Yes, let him in.”

Old Tang entered first, giving a mild nod to Chen Qingzhi by the window, who, understanding, waved a hand holding the machete.

Old Tang approached Chen Fusheng’s desk and said, “The young master is at the door. Shall I let him in?”

“Yes, bring him in.” Chen Fusheng set the picture frame on the desk, placing it in the most prominent spot—among the various species of foxtail grass in the bonsai. The frame sat atop them.

Outside, Chen Cao heard his father’s call and entered slowly, hands at his sides, eyelids drooping. As he approached the desk, his eyes were immediately drawn to the photo in the most prominent place. The woman was all too familiar—his mother, whom he’d never met. His birthday was also her death day.

Chen Fusheng took a cheap pack of BS cigarettes from the drawer—the kind that cost only four yuan a pack. He stuck one between his lips. Old Tang respectfully offered a lighter but did not light the cigarette for him.

After lighting up, Chen Fusheng exhaled a slow stream of smoke and said calmly, “Old Tang, have some tea. I want to speak with him alone.”

“Yes, sir.” Old Tang gave Chen Cao a long, searching look, then moved to the sofa and sat down.

Chen Cao grew even more nervous. The calmer his father appeared, the more serious the matter. This was the calm before the storm, as described by that fellow Gorky.

“Damn it, if that’s the case, let the storm come harder!” Chen Cao thought bitterly.

Once he’d worked it out in his mind, Chen Cao felt a little more at ease. If he was doomed anyway, so be it. With that, he plopped down into a chair.

But as soon as he sat, he realized he’d made a terrible mistake. It was unheard of to sit down without permission in front of his father. Now he began to regret his impulsiveness.

Strangely, Chen Fusheng didn’t get angry or tell him to stand, but instead pressed the phone on his desk and said slowly, “Husheng, come upstairs for a moment.”

Confused, Chen Cao’s mind raced. Old Tang was the chief steward, Uncle Wang a formidable figure in the underworld, Uncle Chen his father's personal bodyguard—besides his uncle, the army general, these were the Chen family’s core. What was happening today, with all of them gathered?

The more he thought, the more uneasy he became.

…

Flame King 2 – Read the full text for free – Chapter Two: A Household of Hidden Dragons and Crouching Tigers

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