At 22, we pledged allegiance at the docks, it was the Cyan Wolf Gang.
At 23, we put on short jackets, rampaging without fear, no longer needing to scavenge for trash. We took revenge on some scavengers, trampling them underfoot.
Brother Tong, with his ferocity, gained the favor of the second-in-command and was taught a set of fist techniques. I was extremely envious.
I hoped Brother Tong could teach me, but he refused, saying there were rules in the gang—you must make meritorious achievements before learning the techniques.
At 24, Brother Tong practiced his fists well, and his punches grew harder. His arms were getting as robust as my thighs.
Brother Tong made another achievement. The gang took over Street 798, and after that, we wouldn't have to do anything. Every business on the street had to pay a protection fee to the gang.
Of course, the money was paid to the gang. Because of the second-in-command's favor, Brother Tong could take a larger share, while I could only spend what Brother Tong gave me.
At 25, starting this year, a few barbershops were assigned to Brother Tong's management, making him even more impressive. He gained two more lackey followers.
I finally saved enough money to learn leg techniques at a street martial arts club. I practiced diligently every day, but my progress was slow; my root bones were too weak. I began to enjoy drinking and understood why people fight when drunk because there's a fire in the heart that can't be suppressed.
Brother Tong noticed my impatience and advised me not to rush and drink less. He said he would watch over me for a lifetime.
At 26, I decided to listen to Brother Tong. I decided to drink less and stopped practicing martial arts. Following Brother Tong all my life seemed quite fine.
Every day, I followed Brother Tong, helping him watch over the barbershops, drinking together at night, feeling happy day after day.
At 27, Brother Tong said he didn't want to manage only two barbershops all his life; he desired to climb higher. He said the second-in-command gave him an important task.
He decided he'd do it.
I was worried for Brother Tong. I asked him what the matter was, but he wouldn't disclose anything, and I understood.
The night before yesterday, Brother Tong got me drunk and sneaked out. Actually, I wasn't asleep; I knew he had left.
The next day, I heard in the gang about someone dying in the hospital, and instantly realized it was Brother Tong's doing.
Brother Tong committed murder; one or two dead bodies mean nothing generally. The issue was that the woman was sent to the hospital by the Patrol Office, and they would undoubtedly investigate.
I was both shocked by Brother Tong's audacity and worried for him.
Tonight, I drank a lot with Brother Tong outside a barbershop. Brother Tong happily patted my shoulder, saying he was really going to climb up now.
I waved my arms around, appearing even more joyful than Brother Tong. I laughed loudly, congratulating him, and we drank over a dozen cans of alcohol, with the contents swaying in our stomachs. I burped and vomited by the roadside, tears choking me.
Was I truly happy?
I asked myself, unsure of my own feelings. I had a smile on my face, albeit tears in the corners of my eyes.
Brother Tong walked off into the distance, and I hurriedly wiped my mouth and chased after him.
Brother Tong laughed heartily, teasing me for dirtying my shoes with vomit. I awkwardly scratched my head, and we supported each other as we entered the low apartments of the shantytown.
The low buildings used to house a father and son. The man was a gambling junkie, his wife ran off with someone else, and the kid was at primary school age.
Later, he got caught in a trap set by Brother Tong, owed high-interest loans, and used the house as collateral. He had his liver and kidneys dug out and fed to the dogs, and the kid was thrown out to pick rubbish on the streets.
The house was on the second floor.
Brother Tong leaned drunkenly against the escalator, and I fished out the keys from my pocket.
The light bulb in the corridor was broken, flickering on and off. I had to push my face up to the keyhole, inserting the key one time, two times, and finally locked it in.
When I turned the lock core, I reflexively glanced at my feet.
Two overlapping shadows: they were mine and Brother Tong's.
The light flickered once, suddenly revealing a third shadow behind Brother Tong and me.
I paused, and when I looked again, the sudden shadow solidified into reality.
I swiveling turned my head sharply, locking eyes with a pair of cold, unemotional eyes in the darkness.
Everything turned dark in front of me, and time seemed to slow as past events flashed through my mind like a revolving lantern.
So,
Am I going to die?
...
Zhang Tong, eyes hazy with drunkenness, watched Ma Wei stumble forward, the head knocking open the door, his face slamming heavily on the floor, motionless.
In an instant, the shock sobered him up. He instinctively ducked and bowed, feeling a chill brush past his scalp, a large tuft of hair with a piece of scalp landed on the ground with a thud.
The burning pain of a bald patch, the warm blood seeped into his eyes as he dodged, stinging enough to make him want to close them.
Nowhere daring to close his eyes, Zhang Tong glared angrily, shoe pressing on Ma Wei's back, rolling like a donkey into the living room, where a wooden coffee table broke upon impact, scattering glass shards from fallen liquor bottles.
Zhang Tong, crawling and rolling to stand, touched his back and felt bloody shards of glass embedded.
Zhang Tong gritted his teeth hard, ripping off his shirt, pulling out a piece of glass wedged in the bloody fabric from his flesh.
The taut muscles across his back finally relaxed somewhat. Though some glass shards remained, they no longer significantly affected his muscle exertion. Even so, his back was a bloody mess, a painful torment.
"Drunk and reactions are still this fast, or am I just too slow with the knife?"
Feng Mu felt a sense of regret in his heart, breathing somewhat hurriedly beneath the mask, too lacking in combat experience, the sneak attack on the two being somewhat disjointed, allowing the latter one to dodge.
The attack on Zheng Hang hardly counted as a battle; it was too easy a kill, at best letting him see blood, bolstering his courage to kill, cultivating some vicious spirit.
The meager combat experience was better than nothing.
With adrenaline surging, his fingers clutching the knife handle were too stiff, imprinting impressions on it.
Feng Mu could only take a deep breath, imitating the demeanor of villains in movies, feigning a sinister smile, while kicking Ma Wei on the ground aside, closing the door and locking it backward.
With just these few actions, he projected roughly seventy percent arrogance and lost five percent of his nervousness.
It clearly demonstrated that, in certain situations, pretending to be a villain antagonist indeed had miraculous effects. Otherwise, why would people say being evil strengthens you tenfold?
The room was without lights, only the soft glow from the fish tank illuminated it, with two blue lizards on the wall rolling their round, protruding eyes.
Zhang Tong stared deathly at Feng Mu lifting his foot, closing and locking the door, his heart steadily sinking to the bottom.
"Which path is my brother from? Why not take off your mask and show me? At least let me figure out how I might have wronged you, making you come to kill at this hour." Zhang Tong gritted his teeth, his eyes darting towards the window's security bars, cursing himself for forgetting to dismantle the damn things.
Feng Mu didn't remove his mask or speak, fearing that revealing any anxiety would betray him. His silence, implacable, sent chills down Zhang Tong's spine.
Zhang Tong had just gone to the hospital a few days back to kill someone and didn't make a sound throughout, mechanically stabbing with the knife, thus having a deep understanding that if someone doesn't spout nonsense while committing a murder, it's because they've resolved to do it ruthlessly.
"Really nothing to negotiate?"
Zhang Tong wiped the blood off his face, his eyes showing a savage glint. Before the words even left his mouth, his shoes scraping across the floor with an ear-piercing squeak, he covered the distance of three meters in a step, his bowl-sized fist enveloping Feng Mu's head.
...
PS: Revised text, the ages of Ma Wei and Brother Tong have been adjusted upwards, for those who get it, you get it~