Wei Qian had stared down his own biological mother and spat the word "bitch" to her face; he certainly wasn't about to show any deference to this wretched old woman.
On the spot, he let out a mean, venomous sneer. "Who the hell do you think you are? If you want to scram, then get the fuck out by yourself. Keep your hands off my sister. Don't think just because you've only got a few years left to live that I won't hesitate to send you to an early grave."
He was thoroughly unrefined -- given his brutal upbringing, if he had somehow turned out polite and educated, he would have had to be a transmigrator from another world.
The old woman had lived for nearly seventy years, yet she had never encountered such a lawless, disrespectful bastard. Thanks to a lifetime of hard labor, her health was robust; otherwise, she would have fainted from sheer rage right then and there.
People inevitably become even more monstrous when facing a monster. The old woman threw herself into the classic, shameless theatrics of a hysterical village hag, refusing to show a single shred of weakness. "Fine! Go ahead! If you've got the balls, beat me to death right here! Just beat me to death! Even if I turn into a ghost, I'll still take my granddaughter away! I'd rather have her live in a chicken coop or a pigsty than let her fall into the hands of a lawless hoodlum like you!"
Wei Qian glared at her grimly, the lethal malice in his eyes almost substantial. The youth had already filled out into a grown man's physique, sporting broad shoulders and a narrow waist. His bare torso still bore the raw, jagged scars left by street brawls, adding a layer of terrifying hostility to his presence. The old woman instinctively cowered a fraction.
Yet she quickly recovered, screaming at the top of her lungs, "You worthless little beast! If you have the nerve to kill me, you're still nothing but a shameless thug! Isn't that all you've got? What else can you do? I don't have many years left to live anyway, so I'm not afraid of you! I don't give a damn!"
Before the spray of her spittle could even clear her mouth, Wei Qian slammed her against the table with brutal, explosive force. For once, he didn't care about his rigid street pride; he flipped the heavy wooden table entirely, sending Mrs. Song crashing to the floor. The pungent jar of dark Laba vinegar shattered, flooding the room with a choking, sour stench.
Mrs. Song let out a sharp ouch, landing flat on her backside with two cloves of garlic ridiculously lodged in her white hair. Taking a deep breath, she utilized a voice loud enough to be heard for miles, shrieking, "Murder! Murder! The filthy thug is killing someone -- "
Her screech cut off instantly as Wei Qian lunged forward, grabbing her by the collar, his sinewy fingers constricting around her wrinkled throat.
The old woman's neck was as fragile as a chicken's, completely swallowed by his massive palm. With nothing but raw, savage strength, Wei Qian hoisted her straight off the floor by her throat, pinning her against the wall.
The handsome youth's eyes were swallowed by pitch-black shadows. His face was a mask of glacial stone, but his palms burned hot -- he truly meant to strangle this old bitch to death.
She couldn't fight back at all, thrashing like a fish flopping on a dry shore, her clipped, jagged nails desperately clawing at the flesh of Wei Qian’s forearms. Her face rapidly turned a bruised, suffocating purple.
Wei Qian could feel her spine and windpipe grinding beneath his grip. Ever since he dropped out of school, his life had been a lawless blur; the barrier between a street brawl and cold-blooded murder had long since eroded in his volatile blood. In that fleeting second, he genuinely wanted to squeeze the life out of this dead old bitch.
Her tongue protruded and her eyes began to roll back. Just then, a piercing girlish shriek shattered the silence from the bedroom doorway: "Brother!"
The bedroom door had opened unnoticed. Song Lee Lee and Wei Zhi Yuan stood frozen on the threshold. Wei Zhi Yuan’s face was hard as flint, while Little Bao’s sharp, terrified voice pierced straight through the fog in Wei Qian’s brain, snapping the strained tendon of his sanity.
He suddenly snapped to reality. He was on the very brink of committing murder -- in his own home, right in front of the kids. Horrified by his own actions, he released his grip. Mrs. Song collapsed like a sack of wet flour, sliding down the wall onto the floor, choking and wheezing violently for air.
Wei Qian held back the weeping Little Bao with one arm, knelt down, and brutally pumped the old woman's chest a few times, pressing hard on her philtrum just like he’d seen on television.
It took a long moment before the old woman managed to suck in a breath, coughing with a startling, rattling gasp. As soon as her rolling eyes focused, her voice remained raspy, but her fighting spirit burned as fiercely as ever. Ignoring the fact that she had just escaped the gates of hell, the first thing she did upon regaining consciousness was point a trembling finger at Wei Qian’s nose, croaking morosely, "You godforsaken little beast! You son of a bitch!"
Before Wei Qian could even explode at the insult, Little Bao threw herself headfirst into the old woman's arms, wailing, "Grandma!"
Thinking of how desolate her twilight years had become -- widowed, destitute, traveling thousands of miles to the city only to find her son dead, and now bullied within an inch of her life by a young beast -- Mrs. Song was overcome with a profound, crushing sorrow. The grandmother and granddaughter clung to each other, weeping bitterly.
Wei Qian’s expression was numb; his heart felt entirely hollow. He stood beside them, completely at a loss. Finally, he let out a heavy sigh and tentatively reached out a hand to soothe Little Bao’s matted hair, only for his arm to be viciously slapped away by Mrs. Song’s ferocious strike.
The old woman was truly remarkable; even while howling in ghostly sorrow, it didn't impede her capacity to curse. "Don't touch my granddaughter, you filthy rascal! You murderer! Sooner or later, the law will shoot you dead! You'll die a horrible death!"
For a fleeting second, Wei Qian actually thought she was right. Coming down from the massive shock, his grief and anger suddenly evaporated into a profound, hollow disheartenedness.
Mrs. Song packed a simple traveling bag and led Little Bao out of the flat. Wei Qian merely leaned against the peeling wall, watching them leave without making a single move to stop them, unable to utter a word.
Holding her grandmother’s hand, Little Bao followed passively, constantly throwing desperate, lingering glances back at her big brother. His bloodshot eyes were hollow with an all-consuming exhaustion as he watched her drift further and further away. Little Bao thought he would say something, anything, to make her stay. But he remained utterly silent. That silent, broken gaze branded itself onto her simple, clueless heart for the rest of her life, never to be erased.
The front door slammed shut with a heavy bam in Wei Qian’s face.
For a long time, he sat flat on the floorboards as if all the strength had been violently drained from his bones. He lit a cigarette, leaning his head back against the wall. Dangling the smoke between his lips, his mind went completely blank. He couldn't cry, and he couldn't laugh. He wanted nothing more than to fall backward and sleep forever, but he knew sleep would remain elusive.
Pocky was gone. Little Bao was gone. Sleep? Sleep could go to hell.
Wei Zhi Yuan silently crept over, placing the ashtray into Wei Qian’s hand, pressing his small body carefully against his side. Observing that his big brother wasn't annoyed by his presence, the boy ventured closer, wrapping his arms tightly around one of Wei Qian’s biceps. Realizing the older youth didn't object, he tentatively squeezed himself entirely into Wei Qian’s embrace, burying his face into his chest, inhaling the sharp, acrid scent of cheap tobacco.
"...Pocky is dead," Wei Qian spoke suddenly.
Wei Zhi Yuan raised his head. He saw Wei Qian’s unfocused gaze staring blankly at the floorboards, intuiting that these words weren't actually meant for him. Whenever Wei Qian addressed the two cubs regarding the street brothers, he never called him "Pocky" -- it was always "your stuttering brother Pocky."
Thus, Wei Zhi Yuan possessed the sense to remain silent, listening quietly.
Wei Qian pulled the boy a little tighter into his chest, the child's radiating warmth offering a small, indescribable comfort to his frozen body. After that single sentence, Wei Qian’s voice died out. He had nothing left to pour out. Suffering had thoroughly dulled his nerves; he had long since lost the ability to express his feelings truthfully.
By the time Wei Qian finished smoking every last cigarette on his person, he finally remembered Wei Zhi Yuan. The child had already fallen fast asleep in his arms like a tailless bear cub clinging to a tree branch.
The boy was beginning to experience his adolescent growth spurts; his feet had shot up first, approaching the size of an adult man's. Though his bones were still tender and limber, he was no longer short when standing up, yet when curled tight, he still shrank into a small, vulnerable ball.
Growing up so damn slowly... Wei Qian lowered his eyes, letting out a sharp, quiet sigh.
Stubbing out the final ember, he bent down, carefully scooped the sleeping child into his arms, and carried him to the bed. Flicking off the switch, he lay down beside him in the dark.
There was something terrifyingly powerful about the sudden weight of the darkness. It crushed his braced strength and self-righteous numbness almost instantly.
Wei Qian opened his dry, burning eyes into the void. I really am nothing but a trashy, filthy hoodlum, he thought bitterly. Even the sister I raised with my own two hands refuses to stay with me. A person like me, scraping by such a miserable, difficult existence... my life doesn't possess a single shred of value. What's the point of living? Might as well be dead.
Wei Qian had been born in the dead of winter, at the tail end of the twelfth lunar month. Technically, he hadn't even reached his seventeenth birthday. He hadn't lived long enough to become a man, yet thoughts of the grave claimed him first.
Of course, despite the dark pull of the thought, Wei Qian didn't die. Dying wasn't as simple as a passing whim. Even if he despised his own existence, he didn't dare die. He still had to figure out how to care for Pocky’s mother. He still had to retrieve Pocky’s corpse from the morgue -- he couldn't wash away the sins and suffering his brother had carried in life, so the only thing left to do was clean up his remains and grant him a proper, dignified burial.
Weighted down by the heavy shackles of the living, he couldn't afford the luxury of death.
Wei Qian continued to live his days wrapped in a gloomy, hollow numbness. Every day, he reported to Brother Le’s nightclub to work as a street enforcer, taking the man's dirty money while burying a roaring, monstrous hatred deep within his chest. Only in the dead of night, staring wide-eyed at the stained ceiling, would he remind himself over and over again: Sooner or later, I will take Le Xiao Feng's life. During the day, he forced himself to sit down with Fatty San to manage the aftermath of Pocky’s death, debating whether they should break the news to his mother and calculating when they could discharge her from the ward.
Only Wei Zhi Yuan, who was home for the winter school vacation, remained by his side in peaceful, absolute silence -- at least offering a living, breathing presence in the empty flat. Only the boy could make Wei Qian feel a faint spark of life; the cub was still so young, still innocent of the world's horrors, still possessed a future, and still relied on him with unreserved devotion.
Wei Qian was raising Wei Zhi Yuan, yet he was simultaneously drawing a microscopic sliver of hope from the child. For the first time, he deeply understood the profound, heavy weight of the phrase depending on each other for survival.
When Fatty San came over, he initially marveled at the quiet flat. After asking why Little Bao and Old Mrs. Song weren't there, and subsequently being snapped at like a rabid dog by Wei Qian, he quickly read the room and stopped bringing up her name entirely. For a long time, no one dared utter the name Song Lee Lee anywhere near Wei Qian’s ears.
The atmosphere in the house remained suffocatingly dull for weeks. Wei Qian even began eating perfunctorily, barely consuming enough to survive. Fearing that the youth would starve himself alive, Fatty San began coming over every single day like a masochist, coaxing the kids and cooking meals like a desperate bellhop. He made sure the television set blared entertaining, humorous crosstalk programs twenty-four hours a day.
Unfortunately, the tactics were entirely ineffective. The more cheerful the television became, the colder reality felt.
On screen, the legendary crosstalk master Ma San Lee was delivering his iconic line -- "I'm just pulling your leg" -- and Fatty San was laughing so hard his shoulders shook and his fat flesh trembled. Wei Zhi Yuan only curled his lips for a fraction of a second before glancing at Wei Qian. Seeing his big brother's face completely blank, the boy instantly retracted his smile, mimicking the exact same mask of cold indifference.
The two brothers, big and small, listened to the comedy routine with the grim expressions of men attending a funeral.
Fatty San’s laughter grew increasingly isolated, finally dissolving into a dry, awkward chuckle. He helplessly shut his mouth, finding the comedic display entirely tasteless.
Wei Qian remained silent for a long moment, lit a cigarette, and turned toward the frosted window. He was constantly shrouded in a heavy, suffocating cloud of tobacco smoke; Fatty San frequently complained that he was turning into a tall, skeletal pipe.
And that was precisely when Song Lee Lee came back.
Wei Qian had genuinely believed he would never see the girl again in this lifetime. When he pulled the door open and saw her standing there, his brain short-circuited for a full thirty seconds.
His utter shock manifested as a completely expressionless stare, making Little Bao increasingly anxious. The little girl looked like a criminal awaiting execution, timidly whispering, "Brother..." She clutched the straps of her tiny schoolbag, standing alone on the threshold with her chin pressed against her chest in a posture of deep, profound penitence.
Only then did Wei Qian’s sanity slowly trickle back. His first instinct was to sweep his gaze across the dark hallway outside -- realizing that the stubborn, wretched old bitch hadn't followed her, it became clear that Little Bao had snaked back all by herself.
The dam in his heart finally burst without a care in the world.
Wei Qian slowly dropped into a half-squat, bringing his gaze level with the girl's. Reaching out, his trembling hands gripped her tiny, thin shoulders. He opened his mouth to speak. "How ... erh ... how did you get back?"
He tried his absolute best to maintain his tough, indifferent facade, but he still couldn't manage to finish the sentence in one go. His voice cracked violently in the middle, forcing him to clear his throat and drag out his words, which inadvertently made the question sound incredibly gentle.
Little Bao’s eyes welled with tears. "I missed you, Brother..."
Wei Qian quietly lowered his head. In a space where she couldn't see, he gently closed his eyes. In that singular, breathtaking second, the little girl's words textually hauled him out of the suffocating swamp of his own mind; he discovered that the dark, suicidal thoughts that had constantly hovered around his head had miraculously vanished into thin air.
He didn't know how to express the violent upheaval of emotions within his chest. Should he pull her into a tight embrace? Or weep openly alongside her? Wei Qian didn't think himself capable of either, so he merely stood up in silence, offering a clipped, flat: "Mm."
He couldn't seem to formulate anything else. He pulled the door wider to let her in, and seeing her frozen in trepidation, he remembered to add, "Get inside, then."
Little Bao knew she was a traitor. She hadn't expected her big brother to still want her, and her entire soul felt deeply, profoundly flattered. She walked in with hesitant, tiptoeing steps, letting out a massive sigh of relief as if granted a royal amnesty. Yet, seeing her big brother's seemingly indifferent attitude, a surge of pure, childish happiness flooded her heart. Operating on her simple logic, she was merely glad she had sneaked back in time; perhaps if she had waited two more days, her brother truly would have decided he didn't want her anymore.
Approaching Wei Qian, she was immediately blasted by the sharp, pungent reek of stale tobacco. She had always despised the smell, and she couldn't help but pinch her nose, but she didn't dare utter a single complaint. She was terrified her big brother would change his mind and kick her back out into the snow.
Wei Qian, however, caught the subtle gesture keenly.
He bent down, pulled a fresh set of clothes from the wooden wardrobe, and turned to Fatty San. "Is there any fried rice left in the wok? Scoop a bowl for her."
Fatty San watched their interaction with a quiet, knowing look. Letting out a soft sigh, he waved Little Bao over, kindly stroking her matted hair. He shot a glance at Wei Qian, asking casually, "What are you doing?"
Wei Qian: "Taking a shower."
Fatty San: "It's nowhere near bedtime, why the hell are you washing now? Besides, did you even boil the water?"
Wei Qian: "No. Using cold water."
Fatty San: "A cold shower in the dead of winter? Are you losing your goddamn mind?"
Wei Qian shoved him out of the way with the bundle of clothes in his hand. At the speed of light, he broke out of his walking-corpse state, resuming his usual domineering, asshole persona: "I felt like it. What are you clucking around for like an old hen? You trying to lay an egg?"
Fatty San: "..."
Fatty San realized that with his simple brain and smooth-as-an-egg cerebral cortex, he really couldn't keep up with Master Wei's erratic train of thought.
In truth, Wei Qian’s logic wasn't complicated at all; he was simply terrified that the foul stench of tobacco clinging to his skin would choke his little sister.
Furthermore ... he had just experienced a moment of pure disbelief that left his brain completely fried.
Little Bao was his flesh and blood. In this wretched world, she represented the tiny, remaining fraction of blood that connected him to life. He had raised her from the time she wasn't even as long as his forearm, nurturing her until she reached this age. How deep that affection ran, he couldn't even articulate to himself -- at times, she felt less like a little sister and more like his own daughter.
Little Bao was practically the sole anchor of his entire childhood and teenage years; even if Wei Qian had to sacrifice his own life to the streets, he could never abandon her.
...Even if Song Lee Lee was a smelly, turncoat girl who only cared about hot food.
Standing beneath the freezing spray of the cold water, his body turning numb from the chill, Wei Qian thought to himself: How cheap am I? Back in the living room, Little Bao looked at Wei Zhi Yuan expectantly, whispering, "Second Brother."
Wei Zhi Yuan found the very sight of her utterly irritating. He didn't want to spare her a single glance. On one hand, his heart bled for the immense suffering his big brother had endured; on the other hand...
He had coldly witnessed the entire interaction between his big brother and Little Bao. Wei Qian’s subtle, introspective displays of deep affection were completely misread by the oblivious girl, and even Fatty San remained blind to them. Wei Zhi Yuan was the only one who somehow comprehended the profound depth of his brother's love, and the realization only left him increasingly upset and jealous.
Suddenly, without anyone ever teaching him, Wei Zhi Yuan realized that ruthlessly competing for his brother's favor was the only true path forward in his life.