In an old residential neighborhood.
Zhang Tao, a core member of the Wanlong Society and one of the earliest veterans to join the organization, was currently helping with deliveries in the harsh weather, just like the other peripheral members.
Recently, online orders had been increasing rapidly. To ensure smooth deliveries, many core members voluntarily joined the delivery team during their free time.
Though the work was exhausting, not a single person complained.
The young mistress had previously issued an internal notice, clearly stating that the society would continue to improve benefits and compensation for everyone. She also promised that if any member suffered an accident while working—whether from slipping on icy ground or any other unforeseen circumstances—the Wanlong Society would cover all expenses and ensure the livelihood of their families.
Truthfully, even without the young mistress’s notice, no one was worried. The core members already enjoyed benefits that outsiders envied, and even peripheral members had decent security, though not as good as the core members.
In short, no matter how heavy the snowstorm, morale remained high.
Today, Zhang Tao was responsible for handling group orders in the neighborhood. Given the weather, the supermarket had adopted a centralized delivery model for each community, using company cars or vans to transport goods.
While they couldn’t guarantee punctuality, customers were understanding.
After all, in such dreadful weather, it was already a rare kindness that someone was willing to brave the freezing cold to deliver goods—and at the usual prices, no less.
Especially for elderly residents who had difficulty moving around, the Wanlong Society’s service was nothing short of praiseworthy.
Zhang Tao’s current delivery was to a third-floor apartment belonging to a man in his sixties named Zhang Jianguo.
They shared the same surname, and the name itself was characteristic of people born in that era.
Zhang Jianguo was one of the earliest online customers of the Wanlong Society, practically a regular. Zhang Tao had delivered to him at least three times before, and this time was no exception.
Arriving at the door, Zhang Tao knocked.
"Uncle Zhang, your delivery is here."
A moment later, the door opened.
Zhang Jianguo took the groceries and daily necessities, paid, and then called out to Zhang Tao before he could leave.
"Xiao Zhang, come in and have some tea to warm up before you go."
Zhang Tao declined. "Uncle Zhang, I still have more deliveries to make."
But Zhang Jianguo insisted. "Just for a moment. It won’t take long."
Sensing that the old man might have something to discuss, and adhering to the Wanlong Society’s principle of "solving whatever problems we can for our customers," Zhang Tao agreed.
"Uncle Zhang, then I’ll trouble you for a bit."
"No trouble at all. Come in, come in." Zhang Jianguo quickly ushered him inside.
Once Zhang Tao was seated in the living room, Zhang Jianguo hurried to the kitchen to make tea.
Zhang Tao took the opportunity to glance around the modest two-bedroom apartment, about eighty to ninety square meters in size.
One of the bedroom doors was closed, but angry shouts could be heard from inside.
"Go! Go! Slash him!"
"......"
The voice belonged to a young man, clearly engrossed in some kind of fantasy game, his emotions running high.
Hearing the familiar roaring, Zhang Tao couldn’t help but freeze for a second, lost in memories.
Once upon a time, he had been just like this young man—idling away his days, either screaming at games in internet cafes or hanging out with a bunch of good-for-nothing friends.
It wasn’t until he joined the Wanlong Society that he truly understood the difference between "hanging around" and actually making something of oneself.
Just as Zhang Tao was lost in thought, Zhang Jianguo returned with a steaming cup of tea.
Seeing this, Zhang Tao quickly stood up to help, taking the cup and placing it on the living room table. "Let me, let me."
Once they were both seated again, Zhang Jianguo leaned in and whispered, "Xiao Zhang, let me ask you something."
"Go ahead." Zhang Tao set down his cup.
"Are you guys… a gang?" Zhang Jianguo asked.
Zhang Tao: "???"
He hadn’t expected Uncle Zhang to ask such a question.
"My neighbor’s daughter said something about seeing online that your Wanlong Supermarket is run by a… gang. Is that true?" Zhang Jianguo pressed.
Zhang Tao broke into a cold sweat. "Uncle Zhang, you must be joking. We’re a legitimate company. Besides, have you ever seen a gang running a supermarket?"
As he spoke, he also recalled the recent wave of malicious rumors online slandering the Wanlong Society, which filled him with anger.
Did the Wanlong Society even need those people to smear them?
Zhang Tao figured Zhang Jianguo must have heard some baseless rumors, so of course he couldn’t admit to anything—even if it were true, which it wasn’t.
Otherwise, how could they do business? Who would dare order deliveries from them?
But to Zhang Tao’s surprise, Zhang Jianguo actually looked disappointed by his answer.
"People online say you’re gangsters. Why aren’t you? Why not? Ah!"
"It’d be so much better if you were!"
Zhang Tao: "???"
Now he was completely baffled.
Wait, Uncle Zhang, why are you disappointed?
Isn’t it a good thing we’re not gangsters?
Are you, a man in your sixties, still full of youthful passion, secretly wishing you could dye your hair yellow and join us? Or are you some hidden old-school gangster?
Just as he was about to ask Zhang Jianguo what he really meant—whether he had some trouble that needed solving—the old man’s son, a green-haired, punk-style youth, stormed out of his room, cursing.
He completely ignored Zhang Tao, marching up to Zhang Jianguo and thrusting out his hand. "Give me money. I’m going out to eat!"
Zhang Jianguo tried to reason with him. "I’ll cook soon. Eat at home."
"Shut up!" the green-haired punk snapped. "I’m meeting my boys for drinks. Hurry up!"
Though his heart ached, Zhang Jianguo still spoke patiently. "What’s the point of hanging out with those deadbeats all day? Why don’t you find a proper job?"
He gestured to Zhang Tao beside him. "Look at that ridiculous hair of yours, acting like some gangster. Learn from Xiao Zhang here—this is what a real gangster looks like. He gets a steady paycheck every month."
He said this deliberately, hoping to shock his son into changing his ways.
But the green-haired punk wasn’t having it. He glanced at Zhang Tao with disdain. "If being a gangster means ending up like him, I’d rather scrub toilets!"
He clearly looked down on this mere delivery guy.
Zhang Tao: "???"
A surge of anger flared inside him. He felt insulted.
What the hell? The Wanlong Society isn’t good enough for you?
Before Zhang Tao could retort, the green-haired punk lost all patience and roared, "Hurry up! Give me the damn money! You want me to smash all your stupid radios?!"
Though furious, Zhang Jianguo’s hands trembled as he pulled out a few hundred yuan from his pocket. "Kai, this is all I have left for the month—just over eight hundred. You—"
Before he could finish, the punk snatched the money away, counting it with disgust. "That’s it? Damn it, what kind of lousy father are you?!"
At that moment, the punk’s phone rang, the ringtone blaring a once-popular song.
"I moved heaven and earth, so why can't I move you..."
The moment Green Hair saw the caller ID, his expression darkened instantly: "Hey, Brother Long! I've got the money... Lakeside Resort Hotel? Got it, got it, I'll be right there!"
He threw on his jacket while still on the phone, kicking a chair on his way out. Turning to his father, Zhang Jianguo, he snarled, "You old fool, next time make sure you have more cash ready!"
With a deafening slam, the door was violently shut behind him.
A long silence followed.
A murky tear rolled down Zhang Jianguo's wrinkled cheek and shattered into droplets as it hit the floor.
"Uncle Zhang..." Zhang Tao had risen to his feet at some point.
Zhang Jianguo hastily wiped his face, forcing a smile. "Sorry you had to see that, Zhang Tao... He used to be such a good boy when he was little. It's my fault for not raising him right..."
Now Zhang Tao understood why the old man had asked if he was involved with the underworld.
Faced with a son who was not only a leech but also rebellious—downright unfilial—anyone would want to teach him a lesson.
Just as he was about to offer some words of comfort, his phone buzzed. A message had arrived, summoning him and most of the core members to assemble at a specific location.
The Lakeside Resort Hotel.
............
