HDRDTH -Chapter 80 Heroes Not Yet Cold, Actors Are Already Drinking

The helicopter landed on the rooftop helipad of Jiangcheng First People’s Hospital.

The autumn rain had already stopped.

Yu Xian stepped out of the cabin. The bandage on his left hand was completely soaked with blood, sticking to the flesh.

The emergency department director and two nurses had been waiting below.

They cleaned the wound, stitched it, applied medicine, and fixed a splint.

Yu Xian bit down on an unlit cigarette and didn’t make a sound.

Wang Fei stood outside the emergency room, clutching the water-soaked, wrinkled notebook tightly in her hands.

Her voice was hoarse.

“Sister Chen,” Wang Fei said without turning back, “go back to the villa. Tell the arrangers to cut the accompaniment in half again. We must have the master track tonight.”

“Feifei, you haven’t slept in two days,” Sister Chen frowned, worried by her pale face.

Wang Fei suddenly turned around. Her eyes were fierce—something completely new in them.

“That child was frozen under water for half a month! What does my exhaustion even count for?”

At the end of the corridor, Captain Liu Jianjun rushed over.

This iron-like man had red eyes, mud still on his uniform.

He stood before Yu Xian, snapped his feet together, and gave a perfectly standard military salute.

Yu Xian removed the cigarette from his mouth with his right hand and pointed to a nearby bench.

“Sit. Why do you look like this? Have you informed them?”

Liu Jianjun clenched his teeth, gripping his cap so hard his knuckles turned white.

“Master Yu… Qingshan’s funeral is tomorrow.”

His voice trembled with suppressed rage.

“I contacted Miss Qin Yue. I called all five families of the rescued children one by one and told them to attend the funeral in Chenjiagou tomorrow.”

Yu Xian lifted his eyelids.

“They didn’t go?”

“They didn’t.” Liu Jianjun slammed his fist into the white wall, leaving a dent. “Not a single one of the five families is going!”

He pulled out printed screenshots and an old Nokia phone.

“I had a friend in the tech department extract their group chat records… and their private messages…”

On the paper was a group called “Survivors of Disaster”. The messages were cold and heartless:

[Mr. Zhang (QQ): That rescue captain keeps calling us, forcing us to go to some mountain village funeral. So unlucky.]

[Mr. Li (SMS): My son has exams coming up. Going to a place full of dead people is bad luck.]

[Mr. Wang (QQ): Nobody forced that kid to jump in. He died trying to show off. We already paid money—that’s enough.]

The air in the corridor dropped to freezing.

Wang Dafu kicked over a plastic trash bin.

“F*ck! You beasts! Someone sacrificed his life to save your kids, and you toss him twenty thousand like beggars?!”

Wang Fei’s fists were clenched so tightly her knuckles turned white, breathing uneven.

Yu Xian said nothing.

He silently read every line.

Then he handed the phone back to Liu Jianjun, pulled out a windproof lighter, and lit his bent cigarette.

Smoke drifted across the white hospital wall.

“Master Yu…” Liu Jianjun’s eyes were filled with despair. “How did the world become like this? If Qingshan knew this is what he saved… could he still rest in peace?”

Yu Xian stood up.

He brushed dust off his pants. His expression was calm—too calm, like a dead lake.

Those who knew him understood:

When this “lazy man” stopped complaining and became this calm, someone was about to suffer terribly.

“Dafu.”

He crushed the cigarette in the metal bin.

“Prepare the car.”

“Where to?” Wang Dafu straightened immediately.

“Jiangcheng. Caesar Club.”

Yu Xian tightened his black jacket.

“Teach them what rules are.”

2:00 AM — Caesar Club, Jiangcheng

The top-floor VIP suite thundered with bass so loud the ice cubes in the glasses trembled.

Five middle-aged men with beer bellies and luxury watches were drinking Lafite, hugging lightly dressed women and laughing loudly.

“Come on! Surviving disaster brings blessings! Cheers!”

Mr. Zhang raised his glass, flushed with alcohol.

BANG!

The massive carved double doors worth over 100,000 yuan exploded off their hinges and crashed onto the carpet.

Screams erupted instantly.

The music stopped dead.

Yu Xian walked in barefoot in anti-slip slippers, left arm in a cast, right hand in his pocket.

Wang Dafu stood behind him like a steel wall.

“Who the hell are you?! Do you know where this is?!” Mr. Zhang shouted, grabbing a bottle and pointing at him.

Yu Xian pulled a leather sofa over and sat down casually.

He picked up a slice of watermelon from the table, took a bite, then threw it straight into Mr. Zhang’s face.

Juice splattered everywhere.

“Too much sugar. This fruit plate is trash.”

“You’re insane! Security! Where’s security?!” Zhang roared.

Yu Xian wiped his hands with a towel and looked at him calmly.

“Zhang Deli, owner of Jiangcheng Hengtong Building Materials.”

Zhang froze.

Yu Xian continued, eyes sweeping across the others.

“Li Jianguo, founder of Fengnian Restaurant Chain.”

“Wang Hai, import-export trader.”

He leaned back.

In his previous life, at 55 years old, he had been a giant in the business world. These early 2000s “nouveau riche” were transparent to him—he knew what underwear they wore, metaphorically speaking.

“Two hundred thousand yuan… buys a life?” Yu Xian said calmly.

Zhang’s face changed. He finally understood.

“You’re from Chenjiagou?” he sneered, pulling out two stacks of cash and slamming them on the table.

“Not enough? Here’s fifty thousand! Take it and get lost! Or I’ll call the police!”

Yu Xian didn’t even look at the money.

He turned to Wang Dafu.

“Call the economic crimes unit.”

Then he looked at Zhang.

“Hengtong’s South City project last year—fake accounts. Twenty million laundered overseas. The ledger is hidden in the cosmetics shop safe under your wife’s name.”

Zhang’s wine bottle slipped from his hand and shattered. His face turned pale.

Yu Xian turned to Li Jianguo.

“Your kitchen uses gutter oil as cooking oil. Expired meat in cold storage. Warehouse three in the west district—container number three. Health inspectors will be there tomorrow.”

Li collapsed onto the sofa.

Finally, Yu Xian looked at Wang Hai.

“Smuggling falsified customs declarations to evade taxes. Four hundred million in three years. Customs anti-smuggling bureau will be very interested.”

The room fell into dead silence.

The women trembled, too scared to breathe.

Three millionaires now looked like broken corpses.

Their deepest secrets—unknown even to their closest assistants—were spoken casually by a man in slippers.

This wasn’t exposure.

This was domination at another level entirely.

Zhang suddenly dropped to his knees.

“Brother… please! Name your price! One million! Ten million!”

Yu Xian stood up and walked over.

He grabbed Zhang by the collar and lifted him effortlessly.

“The lives of your sons are lives.”

“Then Chen Qingshan’s life—was it just meant to rot in Heilongtan?”

His voice turned ice cold.

“I don’t need your money.”

“Tomorrow at six AM, Chenjiagou funeral.”

“You five will wear black suits, white flowers on your chest…”

“And carry his coffin.”