BPIFC -Volume 1 – Chapter 170 Cold Noodle Shop

The drinking session didn’t last long—it was over before nine o’clock.

The reason was simple: not long after the dinner began, Wu Rendi stood up and left. He was the one hosting, yet he didn’t drink a single cup or eat a single bite before leaving. And on his way out, he even took Shao Yiyi and Shao Wu, mother and daughter, with him.

Everyone saw him off respectfully, and only then did the remaining guests resume eating and drinking.

After sitting back down, Huang Ran personally poured Sun Desheng a glass of liquor.

“Da Sheng,” he said with a smile, “this toast is for you. A tribute to when we first worked together to set up the company. I benefited a lot from your care back then.”

“Old Huang, that’s not how it was,” Sun Desheng laughed after finishing the drink. “We were partners. Who took care of who?”

Then he added, “Right—about the owner of that button Director Wu mentioned, you probably know something, don’t you? We should share information when necessary. Win-win cooperation.”

Before Huang Ran could respond, Meng Qiqi cut in first.

“Sun Fatty, you’re talking about sharing resources? Then you should speak first. Otherwise it’s always us sharing and you keeping everything. You go first, then we’ll talk.”

Car Qianzi immediately shot back, “Then don’t share at all. How do we know you’re not just trying to take advantage? If we talk first, you go home laughing while we’re left crying. Either we all speak together, or none of us do. And Zhang Stutter shouldn’t talk at all—that’s definitely taking advantage.”

Zhang Zhiyan was about to rush over in anger, but Shen La coughed lightly.

The white-haired man calmly poured tea for his girlfriend and said, “Everyone, take a step back—for my sake. Don’t scare Xiao Zhao.”

Shen La was no longer the hot-headed youngster he once was. As a Six-Bureau white-haired operative now, he was someone even Huang Ran couldn’t easily provoke.

Reluctantly, Zhang Zhiyan sat back down beside Meng Qiqi.

Sun Desheng and Huang Ran, however, acted as if nothing had happened. The two “fat men” leaned together, each taking a cigar.

Huang Ran smiled. “What Car Qianzi said isn’t unreasonable. How about this—we each write down what we know, then reveal it at the same time. That way no one takes advantage.”

Sun Desheng laughed. “What a coincidence—that’s exactly what I was thinking.”

He called the restaurant manager over, asked for paper and pen, and both men wrote something down.

Then, at the same time, they revealed their answers.

Both had written the same three words:

Jiao Da Lang

Seeing this, both men burst into laughter at once. Huang Ran lit Sun Desheng’s cigar with his lighter, and the remaining flame burned both slips of paper to ash. The matter ended there, and they resumed eating and drinking.

By around nine o’clock, Huang Ran received a phone call saying that a long-unseen elder from Hong Kong had arrived. He left to settle the bill and depart.

After the group dispersed, Shen La went to send his girlfriend home. Only Sun Desheng and Car Qianzi remained, so they also left the restaurant.

Car Qianzi had drunk a bit too much. Once outside, the cold wind hit him and he immediately started vomiting.

Since Sun Desheng’s car had been taken by Shao Yiyi, they didn’t call another one. Instead, Sun Desheng supported him and walked slowly, letting him sober up.

After vomiting a few times, Car Qianzi finally felt better.

“Brother,” Sun Desheng chuckled, “I told you not to mix baijiu and foreign liquor. Look at you now—this meal almost cost your life.”

“It was that woman setting me up,” Car Qianzi muttered. “Who knew she could drink that much…”

Then he added weakly, “My stomach’s empty again. You go back first. I’ll walk around and find something to eat.”

“Perfect timing,” Sun Desheng said. “There’s a North Korean cold noodle shop ahead. I used to come here when I got drunk. A bowl of their sour-and-spicy cold noodle soup clears your head and fills your stomach.”

As he spoke, memories surfaced—back when he and Shen La were still young, running missions together, drinking until they were half-dead and then stumbling here for noodles.

Back then, life was dangerous but happy.

Now he was bureau chief, Shen La had his own life, and everyone had grown into their roles… yet those days were gone forever.

Sighing softly, Sun Desheng decided to go eat noodles and led Car Qianzi across the street to a small shop.

The cold noodle shop looked exactly the same as it had years ago.

As soon as Sun Desheng entered, the owner recognized him.

“Isn’t this Little Fatty? It’s been years! I thought you left Beijing and went home. Been drinking again? Where’s that white-haired young man you used to bring?”

Sun Desheng laughed and leaned on the counter.

“It’s been years indeed. I got promoted and moved to headquarters—too far to come back often. Today I’m out with my brother; he drank too much, so I brought him here to sober up.”

“Two bowls of buckwheat cold noodles—ice-cold, with crushed ice. And some pickled pollock, plus a few light side dishes.”

He paid immediately—the old system here still required meal tickets.

Once the noodles and side dishes were served, Sun Desheng pointed at the broth.

“Brother, drink a sip first. One mouthful and you’ll sober up halfway.”

He slurped a bite of noodles himself, eyes narrowing in satisfaction.

“Exactly this taste.”

Just then, another man entered the shop.

“One cold noodle. Add kimchi. Add beef. And you actually have candied garlic? Give me a whole head.”

He sat with his back to them and began eating.

Sun Desheng didn’t pay much attention and continued chatting.

“Back then, it was Shen La’s third uncle who found this place. We got drunk together, and he brought us here. That’s how we got hooked.”

He smiled.

“And their candied garlic is amazing—sugar-pickled garlic. Boss, bring us a clove so my brother can try it.”

The owner looked embarrassed.

“Sorry, Little Fatty. The last clove just went to that young man over there. Come earlier tomorrow, I’ll give you some extra.”

Hearing that it was gone, Sun Desheng sighed.

Then he turned toward the man.

“Friend, could you spare us two cloves of garlic? My brother—”

He stopped mid-sentence.

Something was wrong.

His expression changed instantly. His hand slipped into his coat—

Empty.

He had forgotten to bring his gun.

In that moment, a cold realization hit him.

He had let his guard down because Wu Rendi was around…