Brother Le had instructed Wei Qian to work the daytime shift first, permitting him to transition to the coveted nighttime circuit only after the plaster cast was removed from his fractured arm.
Night shifts at the nightclub offered exceptionally lucrative compensation. The staff operated in two rotating four-hour shifts, yet the pay was triple that of the daytime hours. For Wei Qian, working a mere four hours a day meant he could secure a surprisingly comfortable lifestyle for his family—though, of course, such high wages were reserved exclusively for the hitmen and enforcers who risked their hides, not for bitter cleaning boys like Pocky.
Given Wei Qian’s short tenure, he lacked the seniority to earn a spot on this glorious night shift. But to demonstrate his favor, Brother Le had personally commanded the manager to grant the promotion.
Pocky looked on with envy, but Wei Qian felt no joy. Instead, he began smoking far more heavily.
The future loomed sinister and incomprehensible. As much as Wei Qian craved money, it was difficult to summon any genuine excitement over those extra earnings when they came soaked in blood.
That afternoon, when Song Lee Lee and Wei Zhi Yuan returned from school, Wei Qian split a small, two-pound watermelon in half, telling the two of them to grab spoons, split it down the middle, and get to their homework as soon as they were done.
Little Bao sat cross-legged on the worn sofa, her face smeared with pink juice, chattering excitedly between mouthfuls. "Brother! Sister Niu Niu is dead!"
Wei Qian froze, his hand pausing. "Who?"
"Sister Niu Niu! She's about this tall, with two little dimples on her cheeks, and eyes like this, and her hair was combed like..." Little Bao gestured wildly, pulling her own hair and contorting her features in a desperate attempt to describe the girl. Using every limb and facial muscle at her disposal, she proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that her first-grade language skills were a tragic failure.
Wei Qian leaned back, ducking to avoid her flailing hands. "Sit properly and speak like a human being. You’re spraying juice all over my face. Dead? How did she die?"
"She died like this!" Little Bao rolled her eyes back into her skull, flopping sideways onto the cushions while still clutching her half of the watermelon. A thin, dramatic trail of pink juice dribbled out of the corner of her mouth in response.
Wei Qian: "……"
Though his little sister was still young, she possessed a terrifying, extraordinary talent for mimicry that pierced through surface phenomena straight to the core of an issue. For the very first time, Wei Qian felt it was a genuine tragedy that this girl lacked good looks; otherwise, she might actually have had a shot at becoming an actress.
From the other end of the sofa, Wei Zhi Yuan offered a calm, matter-of-fact addition: "She died from eating rat poison."
Little Bao instantly revived from her death pose, asking eagerly, "How do you know?"
Wei Zhi Yuan, speaking with the calm detachment of a man who had seen all the horrors of the earth, replied, "She was foaming at the mouth and her face turned that specific shade. She definitely died from rat poison. I've seen it before."
Little Bao stared at him in profound adoration. "How come you've seen everything? Is rat poison tasty?"
Wei Zhi Yuan’s eyebrow twitched at the staggering stupidity of her question. After three seconds of silence, he decided it was best to humor this brain-starved creature. In a deadly serious, authoritative tone, he explained, "It's actually not bad. They come in different colors: the red ones are watermelon-flavored, the green ones are apple-flavored, and the rats love them."
Little Bao blinked blankly. "Are they crunchy?"
Wei Zhi Yuan: "Extremely crunchy."
Wei Qian: "……"
Wei Zhi Yuan was, after all, still a child. Wei Qian could tell that the boy sometimes played the fool on purpose, but he had always assumed Wei Zhi Yuan was merely trying to amuse Little Bao. It had never occurred to him that the boy was doing it for him.
After all, Wei Qian had received so little genuine care in his own life that he naturally neglected to analyze such nuances.
Initially, Wei Qian paid little mind to the rumor, as he couldn't even recall who " Sister Niu Niu" was through Little Bao's chaotic description. But the matter refused to fade quietly.
That evening, Fatty San and Pocky bought groceries together and came over to cook. As Fatty San set the dishes on the table, he nudged Wei Qian with a disgruntled kick. "Am I your personal maid or what? Don't just sit there waiting to be fed—don't you have a working hand? Go get the bowls and chopsticks!"
Wei Qian barked toward the corridor, "Pocky!"
Pocky agreed sharply, springing up to do his bidding, only to be scared back into his seat by a fierce glare from Fatty San.
"Pocky," Wei Qian remarked slowly, rising from his chair, "My good sir, your cowardice is genuinely painful to watch."
Pocky, far from being offended, beamed with pride. "Y-Yes!"
Wei Qian: "……"
Ambling into the cramped kitchen, Wei Qian used his toe to nudge open the cupboard doors. He casually glanced toward the inner room, where the two little brats had finally quieted down, occupying opposite corners of the desk as they worked on their homework.
A sudden, uncontrollable warmth flickered in Wei Qian’s chest. With these two noisy little creatures breathing inside, this dilapidated flat actually began to resemble a home.
"Qian'er," Fatty San spoke up suddenly, his voice dropping as he stirred a pot. "Over the next few days, keep a tight leash on our sister Little Bao. Don't let her run around outside after school."
Wei Qian offered a casual grunt. "Why? What's wrong?"
"You heard about Niu Niu, didn't you?"
"Huh?"
"The girl living in the front alley, the one with the pigtails who's a year older than Little Bao." Fatty San glanced nervously toward the inner room, then leaned in close to Wei Qian’s ear, whispering, "That little girl didn't die of some accident. She ate rat poison to kill herself this afternoon."
Wei Qian had no patience for other people's tragic domestic drama—his own life was a bloody disaster as it was. He looked at Fatty San with mild irritation. "You're really itching for trouble, aren't you, fat man? Spending your days playing matchmaker or spreading trashy neighborhood gossip..."
With an icy, unreadable expression, Fatty San nonchalantly slapped Wei Qian’s fractured, plaster-bound arm.
"Keep your fucking voice down!"
"Hiss... fuck you..."
Fatty San leaned in, his tone suffocatingly grave. "Listen to me! That little girl was violently abused. The kid was too terrified to utter a word to her parents. But in this summer heat, I heard the injuries between her legs got infected and started oozing pus—god knows how much hell she went through. Still, she didn't dare speak up, until yesterday, she finally broke. She swallowed rat poison to end her own life. So keep an eye on your sister—do you hear me?"
Wei Qian frowned, his eyes darkening. "That's bullshit..."
"Who's talking bullshit? The girl is dead! Am I the kind of bastard who makes up stories about a dead child?" Fatty San glared at him savagely. "I’m dead fucking serious. Keep your eyes glued to our sister these next few days!"
Wei Qian gestured toward his own waist with his good hand. "A kid that small has arms and legs like toothpicks. You could snap her with a poke. Who the hell did it? Is he insane?"
"I can't talk to an uneducated grandson like you! All you care about is money and fighting—what the hell else do you know?" Fatty San waved a hand in disgust. "There are sick bastards in this world who can't get it up for normal women. They like kids who haven't grown up, or they like men... Niu Niu's mother is crying like a maniac, screaming to call the police, but her grandmother locked her inside the house."
Hearing the word "men," Wei Qian’s brow furrowed with intense, physical revulsion. "Why not call the police? Is the grandmother senile?"
"The old hag's brain is stuck in the past. She thinks if this gets out to the police, their family will never be able to hold their heads up in public again. Alas, in short..." Fatty San abruptly cut himself off, his eyes widening as he looked toward the kitchen door.
Wei Zhi Yuan was leaning quietly against the doorframe. It was impossible to tell how much he had heard.
Fatty San gasped. "Aiya, this unlucky brat! Moving around without a sound like a damn weasel!"
The "weasel" Wei Zhi Yuan maintained an utterly impassive face, as if he hadn't processed a single word. Puffing out his small chest, he said, "I'll help my brother carry the dishes."
"Hey, this little weasel is actually quite filial!" Fatty San’s shovel-like palm slapped the back of Wei Zhi Yuan’s head, almost swallowing the boy's skull whole, before pushing him back toward the table. "Hurry up and get out there."
As the boy walked away, Fatty San and Wei Qian exchanged a heavy, silent glance, mutely agreeing to drop the subject entirely.
For the next several days, Wei Qian personally handled the school runs for the two children.
The local primary school operated on an agonizing schedule—starting far too late in the morning and dismissing far too early in the afternoon. Matching their routine proved a logistical nightmare for Wei Qian.
Mornings were manageable, but the three o'clock afternoon dismissal was brutal. Wei Qian’s shift at the venue was nowhere near finished, forcing him to sprint across town with his broken arm pinned in plaster. He had to reach the school gates, herd the two cubs back to the flat, buy them each a fifty-cent ice pop, lock them securely inside, and then sprint back to work as if he were racing the Grim Reaper himself.
He literally ran on his own two feet. Because of his upcoming transfer to the lucrative night shift, many gang members were eyeing him with covert jealousy. He couldn't afford to give anyone an excuse to slander his work ethic, yet he also refused to waste money on bus fares.
Thus, he developed a pair of lightning-fast legs that could outrun public transit.
The heartless Song Lee Lee had zero appreciation for her brother's agony. She was thoroughly delighted with this routine, solely because it guaranteed her a daily portion of an ice pop—most of which came from Wei Zhi Yuan, who routinely snapped his treat in half and handed the larger piece to her.
He had thoroughly mapped out his little sister's spoiled nature and mastered the art of managing her.
This grueling routine continued for ten days until Wei Qian visited the hospital for a checkup. The attending orthopedic doctor berated him furiously on the spot: "Keep this up and you'll end up with an arm shaped like a bloody mountain road!"
Wei Qian felt his pride take a severe beating, especially since Pocky and the two cubs were waiting right outside the consultation room. To be lectured like a foolish child in front of his dependents felt like a devastating blow to his absolute paternal authority.
Wei Zhi Yuan said nothing, but a sharp, aching pain bloomed in his chest. A fierce, masculine desire to protect his brother surged within him, yet his body remained frustratingly young and weak.
This tragic contradiction—between a rapidly swelling desire to be strong and the physical limitations of a child's body—became the central psychological struggle of Wei Zhi Yuan’s early youth.
Late that night, Wei Qian was awakened by a sharp clatter coming from the kitchen. Reaching out in the dark, he realized the space beside him was empty.
Rubbing his eyes and cursing under his breath, Wei Qian ambled into the kitchen and flipped the light switch. Shielding his eyes against the blinding glare, he barked irritably, "What the hell are you tossing around in the middle of the night?"
Wei Zhi Yuan was standing amidst the clutter, dragging a long, rusted steel pipe across the floor, looking up at him with unblinking innocence.
Half of the kitchen, adjoining the small balcony, was used for cooking; the other half was a dumping ground for scrap metal and junk, including various crude weapons Wei Qian had casually tossed there over the months.
Wei Zhi Yuan had dug out a short steel pipe from the pile. Having grown a bit stronger, he didn't need to drag it along the ground like he used to; holding a heavy length of cold iron in his hands gave him a profound sense of power.
Wei Qian froze. "What the hell are you doing with that?"
Wei Zhi Yuan glanced at Wei Qian’s freshly bandaged arm. Straightening his small chest, he said, "I'll take it to school. You don't have to come pick us up tomorrow. I'll bring Little Bao back myself. When we get home, I'll watch her so she doesn't run around, and I'll lock the door."
He spoke with an absolute, matter-of-fact gravity, like a small adult ready to shoulder the weight of the house.
A strange, suffocating tightness gripped Wei Qian’s chest. This stray pup he had dragged home wasn't an ungrateful wolf after all; the kid understood, and he actually cared.
Yet on the surface, Wei Qian merely scowled, grabbing Wei Zhi Yuan by the collar and dragging him to the sink. Turning on the tap, he aggressively scrubbed the boy's filthy hands.
"Look at you, playing the big man! Wash your hands and get your ass to sleep. You toss around again and I'll thrash you!"
Wei Zhi Yuan offered no resistance. Though his big brother's face was dark and his words were coarse, the boy loved hearing them. Having suffered genuine abuse in his early life, he knew the taste of real malice, and he knew his brother's harsh, cursing mouth was merely a crooked form of care.
Though Wei Zhi Yuan remained silent that night, the next afternoon, while Wei Qian wasn't looking, he quietly stuffed the steel pipe into his schoolbag.
When Wei Qian sprinted toward the school at his usual time the following afternoon, he spotted the two cubs heading down the alley toward home on their own.
The brats had actually dared to leave without waiting for him.
Because they were walking on the opposite side of the road, neither child noticed Wei Qian. Instead of calling out, Wei Qian slowed his pace, tailing them from a distance.
Though well-nourished and growing fast, the little boy was still barely two fingers taller than his sister. Yet he walked like a formidable guardian. With a deadly serious expression, he gripped Little Bao’s hand with his left, while his right hand wielded the filthy steel pipe, making their trek down the narrow alley look as grand as storming the Heavenly Gates.
Wei Qian let out a soft, humorless laugh, watching them all the way to the flat.
Wei Zhi Yuan solemnly ushered Little Bao inside first. Then, like a covert operative, he held up his ridiculous steel pipe and poked his head out the doorway to perform a thorough reconnaissance of the alley. Detecting no threats, his eyes suddenly locked onto Wei Qian, who was standing against a far wall with his plastered arm hanging in a sling.
Wei Zhi Yuan froze.
Then, to his utter shock, Wei Qian didn't explode in rage over their disobedience. Instead, the teenager let out a rare, genuine smile.
Wei Qian raised his lean, sharp chin, offering a curt nod that commanded the boy to get inside and lock up.
Wei Zhi Yuan obeyed instantly. He ducked inside, locked the heavy wooden door, climbed onto the bed, and pulled back the thin curtain. Peering through the glass, he watched Wei Qian light a cigarette, finish it in silent solitude to rest his tired legs, and then turn to walk briskly back to work.
Brother didn't even get to take a single sip of water, Wei Zhi Yuan thought.
That night, when Wei Qian finally returned home from his shift, he was surprised to find a large enamel cup sitting on the low table. Inside was boiled water that had been cooled down. When he picked it up, the temperature was perfect—neither too hot nor too cold.
The following week passed in the exact same manner. Wei Zhi Yuan escorted Little Bao home from school alone, while Wei Qian trailed them secretly from a distance, watching them lock the door safely before heading to the nightclub.
Eventually, more than a month had passed since Niu Niu's tragic death. No further incidents occurred in the neighborhood, and Wei Zhi Yuan proved himself entirely dependable. Feeling reassured, Wei Qian ceased his shadow routine, allowing all three of them to resume their normal, independent tracks.
And that was precisely when real disaster struck.