Sense of Security

The hangover headache felt like a rusty, blunt hammer repeatedly smashing against his brain.

Tong Guirong staggered to a sitting position on the folding bed in the back room of the chess and card parlor. The air was thick with the stale stench of overnight smoke, alcohol, and sour sweat, pungent enough to make even him wrinkle his nose.

His job, to put it nicely, was the parlor manager; to put it bluntly, he was just a shill paid to play mahjong with the customers.

With a base salary of two thousand, he could barely scrape by, but once he sat at the card table, he was responsible for his own wins and losses.

"Damn it, I'm never drinking that deadly Wusu beer again. It goes straight to the head," Tong Guirong cursed under his breath, rubbing his temples.

The door creaked open, and a shiny, balding head poked inside.

"Awake? Do you even remember your own name?"

"Longhair, what the hell do you know? That's called giving the boss face. I was showing my support," Tong Guirong retorted stubbornly, stiffening his neck.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you're the best at showing support. Supported so hard you almost sent yourself to the grave."

The newcomer wore a look of utter disgust. "Hurry up and roll home to take a shower and change your clothes. You stink to high heaven, and there's another game this afternoon."

A balding man nicknamed Longhair—the whole thing reeked of dark humor.

Longhair was Tong Guirong's childhood friend and his current boss.

Calling him a boss was a stretch; he was more like a long-term poverty alleviation sponsor.

If it weren't for the two thousand yuan from Longhair keeping him alive, Tong Guirong would probably be fighting stray dogs for food on the streets by now.

"Alright, alright, I get it." Tong Guirong waved his hand impatiently and walked toward the door, his clothes radiating a sour stench.

However, as soon as he stepped out, he saw Tong Dong and Lin Mo coming up from the stairwell.

The moment Longhair saw Tong Dong, the disgust on his face instantly melted away, replaced by bubbling enthusiasm.

"Oh, Dongdong is here! Have you had breakfast? Uncle has some steamed buns here."

Tong Dong was the classic perfect child that everyone else's parents compared their kids to; at the very least, his grades were impeccable.

It was just a pity he had a father like this.

Seeing Longhair, Tong Dong stood still and greeted him with perfect politeness, "Hello, Uncle Fang."

"Hey, good, good."

Longhair smiled so widely his eyes crinkled into slits. He patted Tong Guirong on the shoulder and said to Tong Dong, "Looking for your dad, right? He drank too much last night and slept here. He was just about to head back."

In front of his childhood friend, and especially in front of his own son, Tong Guirong subconsciously straightened his back, struggling to squeeze out the kind smile of a loving father.

This was also why he wasn't completely despised among his friends; after all, he could always pretend to be somewhat of a decent human being in front of outsiders.

However, Tong Dong didn't just play along and give him an out like he usually did.

He bypassed Longhair completely, walked right up to Tong Guirong, and stared at him intently.

"Dad."

Tong Dong's voice was calm, but like a needle, it precisely punctured Tong Guirong's feigned mask of warmth. "Tell me, where did you sell the jade pendant Mom left for me?"

The smile on Tong Guirong's face froze.

The air seemed to solidify in that moment.

He was stunned for two seconds, then furrowed his brows, his gaze darting evasively.

"What jade pendant? Why are you keeping that wretched woman's stuff? It's bad luck! I threw it away ages ago. Hurry up and go home."

He tried to wave his son away, like shooing an annoying fly.

"You don't have to keep it, but it belongs to me."

Tong Dong remained unyielding, his eyes fixed dead on his father. "Furthermore, you shouldn't have gone through my things."

Normally, faced with such a scolding from his father, he would have turned and left long ago.

But today, for some reason, having Lin Mo standing behind him felt like a solid, reliable wall, allowing him to keep his spine perfectly straight.

Was this what a sense of security felt like?

Tong Guirong felt a chill in his heart being stared at by his son's pitch-black eyes.

That was not the look of a son looking at his father; it was more like looking at a piece of trash—no, something even more of an eyesore than trash.

The little bit of liquid courage he had swollen up with was instantly punctured, followed immediately by a surge of humiliated rage.

"What are you looking at! I'm your old man, so what if I go through your things!"

Tong Guirong puffed out his chest, hollowed out by booze and vice, trying to claw back a shred of fatherly authority.

Yet Tong Dong didn't even respond to his words, not even twitching an eyebrow.

He simply took another step forward.

The sour stench of cheap tobacco, alcohol, and fermented sweat grew stronger, practically hitting him in the face, but Tong Dong didn't even blink.

"I'll ask one last time."

Tong Dong's voice was flat, so flat it lacked a single ripple of emotion.

"Where did you sell it?"

This emotionless interrogation unnerved Tong Guirong more than any roar ever could.

He subconsciously glanced back at Longhair, as if trying to draw some strength from his old friend.

"Now, come home with me. Don't make a scene here at your Uncle Fang's place."

He took a deep breath, as if making a decision, and suddenly thrust out his grease-stained hand to grab Tong Dong's collar.

He wanted to use the most primal method to defend his laughable dignity.

But his hand stopped in mid-air.

A cleaner, much stronger hand clamped down on his wrist like an iron vise.

"Use your words, why resort to using your hands!"

Lin Mo's lazy voice sounded from the side. Tong Guirong's drunkenness instantly evaporated, and the terror of being dominated on the day of the parent-teacher conference resurfaced.

He tried to yank his hand back, only to find the other party's grip unmoving.

The next second, Lin Mo applied a little pressure with his fingers, gripping his wrist and casually bending it backward.

"Crack!"

A soft, crisp sound.

A body like Tong Guirong's, weakened by years of fooling around, had brittle bones; there was no way he could withstand this.

"Ah!"

He let out a pig-like squeal. Losing his balance instantly, he was guided by a deft force and fell with a thud, face down onto the floor covered in shoe prints.

Lin Mo pulled Tong Guirong's wrist backward, then lifted a foot and stepped lightly onto Tong Guirong's back.

The movement was smooth and fluid, as effortless as stomping out a cigarette butt.

"He asked you a question. Where did you sell the item." Lin Mo's voice remained flat, even carrying a hint of indifferent weariness.

Longhair's eyelids twitched as he watched. Finally unable to sit still, he hurriedly rushed over to break up the fight.

"Hey, hey! Young man, let's talk this out..."

Just as he stepped forward, a figure blocked his path.

It was Tong Dong.

"Uncle Fang, it's best if you don't interfere in this matter." Tong Dong's tone was polite, but the coldness in his eyes left no room for argument.

"Dongdong! That's your dad! No matter how much of a bastard he is, he's still your dad!" Longhair stomped his feet anxiously, wanting to urge him further.

Lin Mo, stepping on Tong Guirong, tilted his head as if he had just heard a joke.

"Dad?"

He chuckled lightly. His voice wasn't loud, but it echoed clearly throughout the entire parlor.

"A dad with this kind of character is just a waste of air while alive, and a waste of land when dead."