As if anticipating that Wei Qian would ambush him at his doorstep, Pocky simply stopped coming home altogether.
He abandoned even his hospital visits, slipping into the cashier’s office late at night only when his mother’s account ran dangerously low. Ever since Wei Qian spotted him that night at the club, Pocky had begun meticulously avoiding him.
On a night off, Wei Qian and Fatty San paced outside Pocky’s building for the n-th time. Squatting near a gutter, Fatty San snatched a cigarette from Wei Qian, lit it, and stared blankly at an anthill.
"The kid sure knows how to play hide-and-seek," Fatty San grumbled. "Hey, Qian'er, if that idiot had used half this cleverness back when we were in school, do you think he’d at least know how to do long division by now?"
Exasperated, Wei Qian snapped, "Shut the fuck up. You talk so much, does your mouth leak?"
Fatty San clutched his chest in dramatic offense. "You ungrateful little brats! None of you listen to your old man anymore, huh? I raised you with my own sweat and blood—"
Wei Qian shot him a icy, lethal glare.
Fatty San’s theatrical tirade choked in his throat. A moment later, he offered a half-joking, half-serious observation: "Haven't you noticed you're getting meaner by the day? Did you eat too much raw blood-pudding or something?"
Wei Qian ignored him. Up on the third floor, Wei Zhi Yuan leaned out the window, pointing down the street and making rapid hand gestures.
Fatty San squinted upward. "What's that monkey kid doing plastered against the glass like a gecko?"
Grabbing Fatty San by the shoulder, Wei Qian pulled him into the alley behind Pocky’s flat. "I told him to watch from above and give us a signal when Pocky shows up."
Fatty San gasped. "You bought the kid a telescope?!"
"No," Wei Qian replied flatly. "He salvaged a couple of plastic lenses from somewhere and taped them inside a rolled-up cardboard tube himself."
Fatty San shook his head in awe. "Impressive. Skilled with his hands—a prime candidate for a scientist... Holy shit, what's that?"
Wei Qian reached into a dark corner, retrieving a burlap sack and a coil of coarse twine. He hoisted the sack over his shoulder and tossed the rope to Fatty San. "Hiding from me, is he? Tie him up."
Fatty San looked down at the rope, thoroughly overwhelmed. "Awesome! Robbery and kidnapping—a prime candidate for a textbook outlaw!"
Wei Qian took two steps, then paused to glare back over his shoulder. "Are you calling me a bandit?"
"Ouch, baby," Fatty San grinned. "Self-awareness looks good on you."
Wei Qian: "..."
Fatty San refused to cater to his foul temper, poking at him with sharp remarks every few days. Wei Qian understood his intentions, but he simply didn't care. He walked the path he had chosen, for better or worse, without a word of complaint.
Yet as he trudged through the cold, howling gale, soaked in mud and solitary despair, if someone was willing to cup their warm hands over his shivering frame, he felt only a quiet, profoundly soothed warmth, without the slightest bitterness.
Gazing from a distance to ensure neither Fatty San nor Wei Qian was in sight, Pocky crept toward his front door like a thief. Trembling with nerves, he cast paranoid glances over his shoulder as he fumbled with his keys. Finally slotting the key into the lock, he let out a faint breath of relief.
Before that breath could fully leave his lungs, his vision went black.
A sack was shoved over his head as he was slammed violently against the brick wall. A heavy knee pinned his torso, and a pair of hands as hard as iron twisted his arms behind his back, binding his wrists with rough twine.
Pocky’s heart plunged into an abyss. A wave of terror washed over him, and a single thought flashed through his mind: The police. I'm finished.
Wei Qian and Fatty San dragged Pocky, struggling figure up the stairs and dumped him inside Wei Qian’s flat.
Song Lee Lee leaped out from her room, eyes wide with delight as she yelled, "Kidnapping! Surrender and your life will be spared!"
Fatty San let out a weary laugh. "Sister, you really know how to stir up trouble."
Wei Zhi Yuan hurriedly caught her by the hand, shoving her back toward the small bedroom with authoritative, elder-brother dignity. "Have you finished your math homework? Don't expect me to let you copy mine."
The threat of losing her homework source was a dealbreaker. Little Bao pouted, instantly losing all interest in the hostage situation.
As Wei Zhi Yuan nudged her into the room, he peeked out through the door crack. Noticing his gaze, Fatty San offered a wide grin and a thumbs-up. Wei Zhi Yuan returned a polite smile, but his eyes remained pinned on his big brother, waiting for his reaction.
Wei Qian fished a small tin of mints—the kind the nightclub handed out to patrons—from his pocket and tossed it through the air. Wei Zhi Yuan’s face instantly lit up with a brilliant smile. Catching it deftly, he satisfiedly shut the door.
Watching the exchange, Fatty San felt a strange sense of familiarity, only realizing a moment later that it looked remarkably like a dog-training routine.
"You," Fatty San muttered, shaking his head at Wei Qian, "are so damn wicked, your ancestors must be spinning in their graves fast enough to power a meat spit."
Together, they yanked the burlap sack off Pocky’s head.
Neither expected the boy to be so thoroughly terrified. Pocky’s eyes remained unfocused for a long time. When he finally recognized his captors, he gulped in air like a dying fish, his legs giving out as he collapsed onto his rear.
"Holy hell," Fatty San squatted down, inspecting his pale face. "Your pimples are drained of color! What kind of terrible crime did you commit, brother?"
Unwilling to waste time on pleasantries, Wei Qian shoved Fatty San aside. "Who were you meeting that night? What did he give you? Why did he give you money? And why the fuck did you run when you saw me?!"
Fatty San pulled him back. "Slow down, slow down! Don't fry his brain!"
"Fried is better!" Wei Qian hauled Pocky up by his collar. "Are you going to spit it out yourself, or do I search you?!"
Looking into Wei Qian’s eyes, Pocky’s tongue felt knot-tied. He couldn't utter a word, staring at Wei Qian with a profound, heartbreaking sorrow.
Wei Qian cared nothing for his despair. True to his word, he began aggressively searching Pocky’s pockets, quickly extracting several small paper packets.
Wei Qian knew instantly what they contained. He would never forget the scent and sight of the substance that had killed his mother. Yet for a long second, he couldn't bring himself to believe it. Unfolding one of the paper packets with trembling fingers, the fine white powder inside forced him to confront an inescapable reality.
"What is this?" Wei Qian asked softly, before his voice exploded into a roar. "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!"
A single tear rolled down Pocky’s cheek, like a dying turtle at the edge of a dried-up riverbed.
Infuriated, Wei Qian lunged forward to kick him in the chest, but Fatty San caught him around the waist and hauled him back onto the sagging sofa. Wei Qian thrashed against Fatty San’s grip. "He clearly doesn't want to live anyway! Let me beat him to death—it's clean, eco-friendly, and saves energy!"
Struggling to hold the enraged boy, Fatty San wheezed, "The kids! The two cubs are right in the other room! Don't scream and fight in front of them!"
Miraculously, the mention of the children cooled Wei Qian’s rage. Glancing toward the bedroom, he saw the door cracked open an inch, two pairs of small, furtive eyes peeking out. Meeting his gaze, the cubs gasped in horror, slamming the door shut with a loud BAM.
A strange mixture of exasperation and amusement washed over Wei Qian, dissipating the worst of his fury.
Beside them, Pocky could no longer contain his agony. Curling into a ball on the floor like a dried shrimp, his hands still bound behind his back, he began slamming his forehead against the floorboards, weeping hysterically as if to purge the crushing weight in his chest.
Releasing Wei Qian, Fatty San squatted down, his thumb dabbing at a trace of white powder spilled on the floor.
He waited in silence until Pocky’s wails subsided into ragged hitches.
"This is 'white stuff,' isn't it?" Fatty San asked softly.
Pocky could only let out a weak whimpering sound. Fatty San lowered his head, his eyes rimmed with red. Looking away, he pressed his lips into a tight, trembling line to hold back his tears.
"I know you wouldn't use this stuff yourself," Fatty San’s voice turned raspy. "You're not that stupid. It's because your mom's hospital bills ran out, isn't it..."
He took several ragged breaths, his broad chest heaving like a bellows before he could continue. "But this is a dead end, brother! We can't watch you walk straight to your death! If your mom knew, she'd hang herself from the hospital radiator tonight! How... how could you be so damn stupid?!"
Wei Qian sat in stony silence. Pocky lay motionless on the floor, his tears dried, staring blankly into space.
Fatty San swiped at his eyes with the back of his sleeve.
After a long, suffocating silence in the small room, Wei Qian stood up, walked over to the nightstand, and pulled open the drawer. He withdrew a small stack of bills—his entire savings from the nightclub—and shoved the money into Pocky’s coat pocket, replacing the paper packets he had confiscated.
"Third Brother has parents to care for, so he can't make decisions for his whole family," Wei Qian said, his voice flat and deliberate. "I'm the head of my household. I make the calls. Take a look at this flat—if I sell it, how much do you think it's worth? How long can it keep your mom alive in that hospital? If you run out of money, come to me. If I have cash, I'll give it to you. If I don't, I'll sell the house."
Pocky’s bloodshot eyes slowly shifted to rest on Wei Qian.
"What are you staring at?" Wei Qian muttered irritably. "Whenever trouble hits, you two just hug and weep. Is crying going to solve anything? It's just money, isn't it? Just money."
Yet as the words left his mouth, he felt the hollowness behind them.
Yeah, what was the big deal about money? Except they didn't have a single cent.
Wei Qian sat down heavily on the worn couch, struggling to steady his racing heart, hearing the wild, frantic thumping of a trapped beast inside his chest.
Fatty San let out a long sigh, untied the rope around Pocky’s wrists, and helped him up. Gathering the paper packets of white powder, he walked into the bathroom and flushed them all down the toilet.
That night, Pocky took the money Wei Qian and Fatty San had scraped together and left without a word.
Reaching the courtyard below—the very spot where he and his mother used to fry dough sticks—he suddenly halted. Tilting his head upward, he let out a hoarse, primal cry toward Wei Qian’s window.
Wei Qian and Fatty San pushed open the window, looking down into the darkness.
Pocky dropped to his knees with a heavy PLOP. Bending his spine until he resembled a curled shrimp, he kowtowed deeply toward his brothers in wordless, abject gratitude. Wiping the dirt and dried grass from his forehead, he stood up and walked away into the night.
He had never been good with words, unable to speak when it mattered most.
A crescent moon hung in the autumn sky. By the time it grew full again, the Mid-Autumn Festival had arrived.
The predator who targeted children was never found. Perhaps the pervert hadn't expected an eight-year-old boy to fight back with such feral, life-ending fury; Wei Zhi Yuan’s steel pipe had likely rendered the man permanently impotent, driving him out of the district for good.
During the first week of August, Wei Qian sustained a severe injury.
When a man steps into the violent currents of the underworld, he cannot avoid taking a blade. To carve out a name for oneself in this tiny, brutal domain, one had to endure a thousand cuts to earn respect.
This was the first time Wei Qian had been struck by a machete. He was carried back to the flat drenched in blood. Though the wounds were superficial, the sheer volume of blood painted a terrifying picture.
Yet because he had held his ground and held the line, Brother Le was immensely grateful. Recognizing the boy's formidable talent, Brother Le awarded him a generous holiday bonus and granted him a paid leave of absence to recover at home for a few months.
The money comforted Wei Qian’s wallet, but it did nothing for Little Bao’s terrified heart. Having never seen so much blood in her life, the girl shrieked like a rat pinned by a hot stick. Her ear-splitting wails echoed through the flat, driving Wei Qian half to death with irritation.
Fatty San stepped in as the family nanny, patting Little Bao’s back. "Hey, don't cry, don't cry! It's okay, your brother has thick skin, he's fine!"
Little Bao wept, hiccuping hysterically. "Th-Third Brother... is my brother... going to die?!"
"..." Fatty San went silent for a moment. "Bite your tongue, you unlucky brat! Can't you wish for something good?!"
Little Bao wailed even harder. "I... I saw him... roll his eyes!"
Fatty San let out a heavy sigh. "My sweet ancestor, he rolled his eyes because you're driving him insane!"
In contrast to her chaotic tears, Wei Zhi Yuan’s reaction was starkly quiet. He crouched silently beside Wei Qian’s bed like an invisible ghost.
His head throbbing from Little Bao’s noise, Wei Qian couldn't bring himself to yell at her while she was crying so miserably. Attempting to distract himself, he reached out a hand wrapped in thick gauze, rudely grabbing the back of Wei Zhi Yuan’s head and forcing the boy to look up.
"Hey, what are you staring at the floor for? Looking for loose change..."
Wei Qian’s words cut off abruptly.
Looking up, Wei Zhi Yuan’s eyes were bloodshot, tears quietly spilling over his cheeks as he bit his lip so hard it nearly bled. His small fists were clenched white, his face twisted in profound grief and silent rage.
Wei Zhi Yuan was not yet ten years old, having grown a bit but not yet entering the rapid surge of puberty. Yet his heart burned with a clear, unbearable sorrow—convinced that his own weakness had dragged his big brother down, forcing Wei Qian to gamble his life for a few scraps of cash.
Only children pampered in honey wish to remain young forever. Wei Zhi Yuan was not one of them. At that precise moment, he wished hysterically to grow strong—to become a real man capable of protecting his family.
While Song Lee Lee’s crying left Wei Qian feeling helpless, Wei Zhi Yuan’s silent sorrow stirred something deep in his chest. His heart, usually so hard, softened slightly. Shifting to the side to create a small space on the mattress, Wei Qian patted the bed. "Get up here."
Wei Zhi Yuan obediently scrambled onto the bed, carefully nestling into his brother's arms.
Little Bao watched them with tear-filled eyes. "Brother, I want to sleep with you too."
Faced with her pathetic expression, Wei Qian gave in. "Fine, come over here too. But I'm warning you, Song Lee Lee, this is the last time. You're a girl—what kind of garbage behavior is this, piling into bed with guys? How old are you now? You don't know a damn thing.
Fatty San tutted in amusement. Wei Zhi Yuan clung to Wei Qian’s shirt like a boneless, sticky cat, refusing to let go, while Little Bao turned into a nagging old woman, repeating the same phrase over and over: "Brother, you can't do this anymore. You're not allowed to get hurt."
Surprisingly, Wei Qian—a boy with a negative patience index—didn't lose his temper with either of them.
At first, whenever Little Bao repeated her plea, Wei Qian offered a brief reply. Realizing she was repeating it like a broken record, he let out a helpless laugh. "Go to sleep! No another word!"
Little Bao: "Brother, you're not allowed to do this anymore."
Wei Qian: "..."
Sighing, he reluctantly sat up, gently patting her shoulder to soothe her to sleep. "Fine, I'll listen to you. You're the boss, okay?"
Watching from the doorway, Fatty San quietly locked the flat door from the outside and slipped away. He suddenly felt that things weren't as hopeless as he had feared. With the bond holding these three children together, Wei Qian would never completely lose his humanity to the dark streets.