Chapter 80: Despicable Cowards**
Tang Baoer was used to getting her way—spoiled by her family, coddled by her friends, her rebellious streak unchecked. But when her eyes met Song Mingjie's icy gaze, a shiver snaked down her spine, as if her very soul had been sucked out. She stammered, "Y-you… you…"
Su Kang, the tall guy with blond hair, stepped quickly in front of her, his tone apologetic. "Baoer was just joking. Don't take it seriously. We're here for a basketball game, nothing more."
Song Mingjie's smile was狰狞, a cold glint in his eyes. "Nothing more? Good. Good. *Good.*" He repeated the word three times, each sharper than the last, though his voice stayed unnervingly calm. The air around him felt like it had dropped ten degrees.
Su Kang, though young, had enough sense to read the room. The car they'd arrived in—a sleek Mercedes—said these two weren't ordinary punks. But Tang Baoer's thoughtless jab had torched any chance of a peaceful game. He forced a nervous laugh. "Let's just start the match, yeah? Save the rest for later."
Song Mingjie冷哼ed. "Later." He dragged out the word, letting the threat hang.
Tang Baoer, never one to back down, bristled at Su Kang's deference. "Su Kang, what's your problem? We've got more people—why are you acting scared? I'm not afraid of anyone in Beitian!"
Su Kang's face tightened. He leaned in, his voice low. "Baoer, stop. This isn't worth it."
"Why? Because he looks like a pig? Can't I even say that?" she shot back, as if stating the obvious.
"Funny," Wu Yifan cut in, his tone dry. "How'd you feel when I called you an 'old witch'?"
"You—you dare say that again? I'll tear you apart!" Tang Baoer exploded, her face flushing.
"See? You get mad when someone insults *you*," Wu Yifan said, raising an eyebrow. "But you don't care about hurting others.典型的 (diǎnxíng de, the textbook example of) a spoiled brat." He had no patience for this kind of selfishness.
"You…" Tang Baoer faltered. For a split second, his words hit home. She'd never thought about how her words landed—only how others' words stung her. It was a foreign feeling, this twinge of guilt.
Su Kang, fearing she'd dig herself deeper, stepped forward again. "Let's start the game. We're making a scene." He'd noticed the crowd gathering, phones out, whispering. They were becoming a sideshow, and not in a good way.
Wu Yifan nodded. "Fine. Let's play."
Tang Baoer, stubborn as ever, couldn't bring herself to back down completely. She哼ed, crossing her arms, but stayed quiet.
Song Mingjie had brought a friend—A Fei, a 23-year-old with a lean, muscular build and sun-darkened skin. He was a local streetball legend, known for his quick moves and sharp shooting. He clapped Wu Yifan on the back, grinning. "Relax, Brother Wu. These guys are okay, but we've got this."
Wu Yifan nodded, his gaze already on the court.
Su Kang laid out the rules—first to 30 points wins, standard streetball rules—and restated the stakes, as if afraid Wu Yifan might forget. "Loser strips, runs through Beitian shouting 'I'm gay.' Clear?"
Wu Yifan folded his arms, smirking. "You all ready for that? Must be a sight—I've never seen a group striptease before."
"You're the one who'll be stripping!" Tang Baoer snapped.
"Is that a promise?" He tsked. "Shame you're all so… underwhelming. A nude run from you lot? Waste of a good show."
"You're disgusting! I'll never forgive you!" she snarled, fists clenched.
"Aw, you'll remember me forever? How sweet." Wu Yifan feigned a swoon. "I recall a line from that old drama—*My Fair Princess*? 'Till mountains crumble, till heaven and earth merge, I'll never leave you.' Your declaration's a little less poetic, but I'll take it."
"I—*I'm not in love with you, you idiot!*" she shrieked.
"Oh? So you're just a ghost, then? My mistake."
"*You're* the ghost!"
Their bickering escalated, leaving everyone else staring, slack-jawed.
Song Mingjie snickered. "Damn, Brother Wu—you've got a way with words. She's about to explode."
Tang Baoer, her face white with rage, trembled. "Just wait. You'll regret this. I swear—"
"Swearing's bad luck," Wu Yifan said casually. "Might get struck by lightning."
She looked ready to throw a punch, but Su Kang intervened, motioning to a middle-aged man in a faded jacket—their chosen ref. "Let's go. Now."
The ref blew his whistle, tossing the ball high into the air.
Su Kang and his two friends moved like a well-oiled machine—years of playing together making their passes seamless, their moves synchronized. They snatched the ball first, launching into a flurry of crossovers and quick passes that left Wu Yifan's team scrambling. Su Kang, clearly eager to impress Tang Baoer, showed off—behind-the-back dribbles, no-look passes, a smooth layup that drew cheers from the crowd.
Wu Yifan, Song Mingjie, and A Fei were no slouches individually, but they'd never played as a team. Their passes were off, their defense uncoordinated. More than once, they nearly collided, fumbling the ball away. Song Mingjie's temper flared; he cursed, lunged harder, but only made more mistakes.
Thirty minutes in, the score was 4-15. They were getting crushed.
"Fuck," Song Mingjie panted, wiping sweat from his brow. His face was flushed, his movements sluggish. "These assholes are actually good."
A Fei frowned, his eyes locked on the court. "They've got talent. We need to sync up, or we'll lose."
"Fuck that," Song Mingjie muttered, gritting his teeth.
Wu Yifan had planned to take it easy—humble them a little, teach them not to run their mouths. But at this rate, *he'd* be the one streaking through Beitian. He glanced at his wrist, as if checking a watch, though there was nothing there. *Guess I'll have to use it.* The thought of activating the smart enhancer nagged at him, but pride won out. He wasn't about to lose to these brats.
"Mingjie! Watch out!" A Fei's shout cut through the noise.
One of Su Kang's teammates—skinny, with a smirk—had the ball. He pretended to pass to Su Kang, but at the last second, hurled it hard at Song Mingjie's back. It wasn't a pass—it was a cheap shot.
Song Mingjie spun around at A Fei's warning, but it was too late. The ball slammed into his face with a *thud*, leaving a red imprint across his cheek. He staggered back, tripping over a loose stone, and crashed onto the ground, his head hitting the concrete with a sickening crack.
"Song Mingjie! *Song Mingjie!*" Wu Yifan's blood ran cold. He sprinted over, dropping to his knees. The big guy was sprawled on his back, eyes closed, a small trickle of blood seeping from his hairline.
The crowd gasped.
Tang Baoer's mouth fell open. Even she hadn't meant for things to get this violent.
Su Kang's teammate, the one who'd thrown the ball, looked panicked. "I—I didn't mean to—"
"Bullshit!" A Fei roared, shoving him hard. "That was no accident!"
Wu Yifan gently lifted Song Mingjie's head, patting his cheek. "Mingjie? Hey, wake up. C'mon, man."
No response. His breathing was shallow, his face pale.
Wu Yifan's jaw tightened. He looked up, his gaze sharp as a blade, locking onto the skinny guy. "You think that's funny? Cheap shots? Real tough."
The guy stepped back, stammering. "It was a mistake—I swear—"
"Mistake?" Wu Yifan stood, his voice low, dangerous. "Let me show you what a *mistake* feels like."
The air shifted. Gone was the lazy, joking guy. This was someone else—calm, but coiled, like a snake about to strike.
Su Kang stepped forward, hands raised. "He didn't mean it. Let's—"
"Shut up," Wu Yifan said, not taking his eyes off the culprit. "You wanted a game? Fine. But we play by *my* rules now."
He turned to A Fei, his tone urgent. "Get Mingjie to a hospital. Now."
A Fei nodded, already fishing his phone out.
Wu Yifan's gaze swept over Tang Baoer and her crew, cold as ice. "The game's not over. But when I'm done with you? You'll wish it was."
The crowd fell silent. Even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
This wasn't about basketball anymore.
This was about payback.