Blood Neon-Chapter 12

Chapter 12
Trouble Comes Knocking
From the moment he stepped into the alley, Zhang Qiming had a vague feeling that things today might not be as simple as he had imagined.
The reason? Too many people on the other side.
Leaning against the wall, straddling electric scooters, squatting by the roadside like delinquents—there were even three of them messing around with a utility pole. Hey, that one just now looked like it really hit solidly. Just watching it made him wince.
But regardless of their posture, whether in their hands, mouths, or hanging from their ears, there was always a cigarette—some expensive, some cheap. Though it looked like one or two of them had lollipops instead; those few he could overlook for now.
Speaking of delinquent youths or school punks, people often held the stereotypical image: cheap-dyed hair, cigarette in mouth, tight leather pants, and pointy leather shoes. But in reality, for many regions and provinces, cigarettes were the true symbol of delinquent groups. Their function was much like tattoos—for those who hadn't even smoked before, holding a cigarette was the simplest and most direct way to tag themselves.
With such a ritualistic gesture, they could distinguish themselves from the well-behaved kids. More importantly, "brothers" had to smoke together, drink together, and roam the streets together. Consistency in group behavior was what defined belonging. Only then could they form a sense of unity and identity.
So, when he thought about how, for many here, smoking was just a way to blend into the group and take part in some form of ritual, Zhang Qiming couldn't help but feel a little sorry for them. At such a young age, with nothing to show off, they had to resort to this kind of clumsy imitation of the adult "society" to stand out and flaunt their so-called "maturity". Just so they could enjoy the awe-struck looks from the obedient kids around them.
Of course, despite all this analysis, most of them probably hadn't thought that deeply. They were simply going with the flow—if everyone around them was doing it, then naturally, they followed suit too.
Seeing nearly twenty people crammed into both sides of the alley, Zhang Qiming felt a chill run down his back.
No wonder they didn’t set the location behind the cafeteria at the so-called "on-campus dueling arena". Judging by the look of this crowd, most of them clearly weren’t even students here.
His original plan was just to have a straightforward fight. He wasn’t afraid of being outnumbered—he had a tough build and planned to focus on one guy and go all out. Even if he ended up taking the worst of it, he wanted to at least teach them a lesson, not lose the momentum.
After all, in his mind, fights between students at this level usually didn’t pose any serious danger.
He had considered what would happen if he hit too hard—but now...
Looking at the current situation, no matter how this turned out, it was definitely going to go badly for him.
From the bottom of his heart, Zhang Qiming heard a faint, genuine thump thump of warning.
...
“Yo, look who showed up.”
"Quit fooling around, time to get serious."
"He's here, he's here. Brother Liu, this is the one I was talking about."
"This punk really dared to show up. Gotta admit, he’s got guts."
As Zhang Qiming stepped into the crowd, several of the shady-looking guys who had been huddled together stood up one after another, hands in their pockets, exuding that cocky street-thug attitude as they slowly walked toward him.
Zhang Qiming recognized a few of the faces still wearing school uniforms. They were well-known little bullies from No. 3 High, and each of them had crossed paths with him—or were even openly hostile.
He couldn’t help but laugh bitterly to himself. If he’d seen this setup in advance, there was no way he’d have come alone. He definitely would’ve called the police before even heading out.
He had originally assumed that tonight would just involve a few school punks bringing along some delinquents from other schools to show off. They’d throw some verbal jabs, maybe trade a few punches, and call it a day. That was still within the "rules"—no matter who won or lost, it wouldn’t escalate too far.
But these guys? They clearly weren’t playing by the rules. Just by looking, he could tell there were a few among them who weren’t just your average school hooligans. What the hell—he was just an ordinary high school student who occasionally stood up for others. How did he suddenly turn into some lone hero crashing a gang’s turf?
And on that point, he actually wasn’t wrong—those punks who usually clashed with him at school had recently started cozying up to a local crime group. They told those gangsters that someone had been giving them a hard time repeatedly at school, so a few of the thugs were sent in to “teach a lesson.”
To be fair, those backup thugs weren’t exactly the real deal either. Otherwise, what kind of proper gangster would waste time helping teenagers settle a school beef? That kind of “achievement” would be an embarrassment if posted anywhere. But maybe it was for show—to tell their lackeys, “Look, Big Brother’s got your back”?
Who knew how much those school punks had exaggerated the story, but the guy in the middle—clearly the one playing the “boss”—didn’t look like he came to talk things out.
...
Zhang Qiming naturally had no way of knowing the real reason behind the large turnout or their plan. But his instincts screamed one thing: this was dangerous.
As a giant red Danger sign flashed in his mind, the boy’s brain kicked into overdrive, urgently trying to find a way out.
The way back? Most likely already blocked. With that many people here, no way they’d leave the escape route wide open—someone was probably posted to keep watch.
A direct fight? He’d be the one getting pinned to the ground and beaten. Even if they didn’t have weapons, there was no way he’d walk away unharmed. And he’d already spotted someone holding a wooden stick. Hopefully, it was just for show.
Talk his way out of it? Maybe try backing down, play submissive? That seemed like the most viable option. It’s not like they had some deep vendetta—maybe there was still room for negotiation?
Within a few seconds, Zhang Qiming had simulated a handful of likely outcomes in his head and crafted some rough plans. As he nervously weighed his options, a man in a leather jacket stepped forward from the center of the group and opened his mouth.
"So you’re the blind little piece of trash who’s always messing with my boys?"
The guy in the jacket strutted forward, belly sticking out, flanked by a few young punks, slowly approaching him.
"Big brother, maybe we can..." Zhang Qiming decided to try talking first. The other side clearly wasn’t friendly, but—what if?
Thud!
Before he could even finish his sentence, a dull thump rang out from the back of his head.
It was the unmistakable sensation of being struck by a blunt object, followed immediately by the sound of shattering glass.
—Someone from behind had just smashed a beer bottle over his head.