Before long, a knot of people pushed their way through the corridor. Wei Chain was jostled aside as someone who looked like an on-site paramedic lazily pressed two fingers against the scarred man's carotid artery, then peeled back his eyelids.
A moment later, the man stood up and announced with absolute indifference, "Haul him away. He's gone. Little bastard overdosed on stimulants -- sudden cardiac arrest. Couldn't fight for shit, yet insisted on climbing into the ring. Served him right."
That casual verdict ignited immediate outrage. Gamblers who had just dropped heavy cash on the bout surged forward, screaming that the bookies had rigged the outcome. While the next life-and-death struggle was already kicking off on the bloodstained canvas, an all-out brawl erupted on the floor below. The opening night had barely begun, yet the madness was already at a fever pitch.
Dodging a few wild punches that grazed past him, Wei Chain slipped out into the thick, humid night air. He crossed the street to a small roadside convenience store, bought a pack of cheap cigarettes with trembling, clumsy fingers, tore open the foil, shoved a smoke between his lips, and struck a flame.
An elderly passerby heading into the shop took one look at his hollow eyes and drenched forehead, froze in terror under the assumption that the youth was high on hard drugs, and hurriedly took the long way around.
From start to finish, Wei Chain’s face remained an expressionless mask. Only his palms, slick with cold sweat, trembled uncontrollably against his thighs.
By the time he returned to the inn, Wei Zhi Yuan had already fallen asleep.
Having not smelled that thick, choking stench of tobacco for months, the boy blinked awake in a daze, murmuring groggily, "You smoked?"
Wei Chain answered softly, "Yeah. Won't happen again. I'm taking a shower -- go back to sleep."
Wei Zhi Yuan didn't utter another word. He didn't mind the smoke at all; in truth, he found a strange, grounding comfort in that familiar scent.
The room Chao Lao-9 had arranged for them was a twin standard -- clean, well-kept, with powerful air conditioning. Crucially, it had two separate beds. While squeezing together was an unavoidable necessity in their cramped home up north, Wei Chain had no desire to crowd himself here. After a brief rinse, he collapsed onto the other mattress.
Wei Zhi Yuan, now completely awake, found the physical distance unbearable. Waiting until he thought his brother had drifted off, the boy slipped into his plastic sandals and quietly padded across the linoleum to crawl into Wei Chain’s bed.
Wei Chain, however, was wide awake. The instant the mattress dipped, his eyes snapped open.
Exhausted and irritable, Wei Chain gave the boy's back a stinging slap. "What are you crawling over here for?"
Wei Zhi Yuan said nothing, merely burrowing further beneath the cotton sheet.
"Are you out of your mind?" Wei Chain muttered. "There are two perfectly good beds in this room and you still have to crowd in with me?"
"I want to sleep next to you, Brother," Wei Zhi Yuan whispered.
Wei Chain stared down at him in the dark.
Shrinking slightly to dodge that piercing gaze, the boy looped both arms tightly around Wei Chain’s bicep, staging a silent, stubborn siege.
Wei Chain let out a dry, helpless scoff. The kid was pushing eleven or twelve, yet he clung like a toddler. He had shadowed him across provinces all the way south, and now he was refusing to leave his bed... It was infuriating, yet deeply pathetic.
Deciding against kicking him out, Wei Chain’s mind drifted back to darker territory.
The thousand-yuan advance Chao Lao-9 had handed him sat heavy in his shirt pocket on the chair, feeling like a lead weight pressing into his ribs. He turned over the possibility of taking the cash, slipping out into the night, and vanishing back north -- washing his hands of this cesspool forever.
Yet Chao Lao-9’s parting words echoed relentlessly in his ears. Wei Chain realized with bitter frustration that the scout had read him like an open book.
Throwing one's life into an illegal meat grinder for a few thousand yuan was something only an idiot would consider.
Rationally, Wei Chain knew this. Yet that stack of crisp banknotes lingered in his mind like a phantom, refusing to dissipate. There was no shaking that desperate, suffocating craving.
Wei Chain found himself drawing a grim, mocking parallel: he finally understood why people trapped in abusive marriages wept and clung to their tormentors rather than leave. That wasn't logic -- it was sheer, unyielding obsession.
He chuckled inwardly. His devotion to cold, hard cash was every bit as twisted and all-consuming as the most obsessive love on earth.
Soul-binding and inescapable.
A war raged inside his skull -- money versus life -- fiercer even than the night he had contemplated ending his mother's misery with a folding knife.
Right then, Wei Zhi Yuan broke the silence.
"Brother, I have something to tell you."
Wei Chain answered absently, "What?"
"There’s a Sze Chwan eatery on the ground floor. I spoke with the owner. Starting tomorrow, I’m working for them -- clearing tables and carrying dishes. The boss promised me five yuan a day."
Wei Chain froze, turning his head sharply. "What did you say?"
"They thought I was too small at first and worried about labor inspections," Wei Zhi Yuan explained softly. "So I told them I could pretend to be their nephew helping out during summer break. Brother, I checked their hiring flyer and asked around. If they hired an adult, it would cost at least ten yuan a day. As long as the boss isn't stupid, he’ll keep me."
Wei Chain remained silent for a long beat. Fearing his brother was displeased, Wei Zhi Yuan rushed to add, "I won't cause any trouble. I'll head down at ten in the morning and come back straight after dinner."
Wei Chain reached over, hauling the boy firmly into his shoulder. "Do you think your brother has gone completely broke? Like I'm desperate for your five yuan?"
"I can earn money too," Wei Zhi Yuan mumbled, his voice dropping so low it was nearly lost against the pillow. "I'm not a burden."
The word burden was barely a breath, yet Wei Chain caught every syllable.
A strange, hollow ache twisted in Wei Chain’s chest. After a long hesitation, he asked in a raspy murmur, "Xiao Yuan... has Brother treated you poorly?"
Wei Zhi Yuan stiffened, shaking his head frantically.
Wei Chain rested a heavy hand on the boy's crown, leveling his voice to keep it steady. "You're not a burden. Neither is Little Bao. You're still children -- raising you is my responsibility, and mine alone."
Wei Zhi Yuan looked up at him with wide, shining eyes. Wei Chain roughly shoved the boy's head back down onto the pillow. "When you two grow up, just make sure you look after me in my old age... Go to sleep."
The moment the words left his mouth, a strange, absolute clarity settled over Wei Chain’s heart. The internal struggle vanished. He made up his mind: tomorrow, he would contact Chao Lao-9, take a week to study his opponents, and then step into that ring.
What if I die?
Then I die.
Fate was cast in stone; wealth was carved from bone. Coming all this way to fight underground wasn't entirely for others -- it was for himself. He wanted a ticket to a real future, and he had to bleed for it. Nothing to complain about. Completely fair.
Had Wei Zhi Yuan known that his desperate attempt to help was the very catalyst that pushed his brother into the ring, he would have preferred to tear out his own tongue.
The first week passed in deceptive calm. Wei Zhi Yuan had no idea what his brother did during the day; every morning, Wei Chain walked him down to the eatery like sending him to school, picking him up punctually at dusk. Meals were delivered to their room on time, occasionally featuring fancy takeout the boy had never seen before, giving him the fleeting illusion that they were merely on vacation.
Yet the week evaporated, and on that eighth evening, Wei Chain was late for the very first time.
The dinner rush had passed, and the diner was empty. Sitting on a wooden stool by the door, Wei Zhi Yuan stared anxiously into the darkening street, checking the clock every few seconds. Only when the night turned pitch-black did someone lift the beaded curtain and step through. The figure offered a polite nod to the owner before waving to the boy.
Having just pocketed his five-yuan daily wage from the owner's wife, Wei Zhi Yuan bounded toward Wei Chain like a small cannonball. Usually, his brother would catch him with one arm and hoist him cleanly off his feet; this time, however, Wei Chain instinctively flinched.
As the boy lunged, Wei Chain hunched his back slightly, arresting the child's momentum with a rigid forearm rather than a full embrace. Turning sideways to shield his torso, he guided the boy out toward the street.
The smile on Wei Zhi Yuan’s face vanished, his brow knitting instantly. "Brother, what happened to you?"
"Nothing," Wei Chain muttered.
Wei Zhi Yuan leaned closer, his nose twitching. "Then why do you smell like blood?"
Without missing a beat, Wei Chain fabricated smoothly, "Ran into someone slaughtering a pig down the alley. Got pig's blood splashed all over me -- took me a hell of a time to wipe it clean."
Wei Zhi Yuan felt his basic intelligence had been blatantly insulted.
Wei Chain, however, gave him no room to press, steering him into a nearby McDonald's. In those early years, the Western fast-food chain was an exotic luxury, its bright decor and fragrant fries holding an irresistible pull for children.
Slipping through the doors right before closing, Wei Chain ordered a Happy Meal and a soft-serve ice cream cone.
"Let me make this clear," Wei Chain warned, leaning against the table. "Eat up, but keep your mouth shut when we get home. If your sister finds out, she'll whine for a month. Got it?"
Torn between childish appetite and mounting dread, Wei Zhi Yuan nodded sullenly, holding the ice cream up toward his brother's face. "You try it."
Wei Chain recoiled slightly, a sharp spasm of pain flickering across his pale features before he waved a dismissive hand. "I'm stuffed. No appetite."
To sound more convincing, he added with practiced disdain, "Junk food for toddlers."
Wei Zhi Yuan pulled the cone back with a flicker of guilt, savoring a small lick while quietly scrutinizing his brother under the pale glare of the streetlights.
Wei Chain’s complexion was ghastly pale, his temples damp with cold sweat that pasted dark strands of hair against his skin. His brows remained drawn in a tight, rigid furrow.
Wei Chain was a creature of sharp contrasts. In the streets, he could play the smooth, deferential brother to strangers; only before his own family did his raw, stubborn temper show through.
Over the years, Wei Zhi Yuan had learned to read him like an open book:
An expressionless face paired with relaxed shoulders meant he was in a decent mood.
A scowl accompanied by sharp curses meant mild irritation that would vanish within minutes.
A cold, stony silence with sharpened eyes signaled dangerous fury.
But when his brows remained locked in a steady, unconscious pinch while maintaining an unnervingly calm demeanor -- that was when he was silently bearing agonizing physical pain.
Finishing his meal in silence, Wei Zhi Yuan allowed himself to be tucked into bed. He closed his eyes and feigned sleep -- a survival tactic he had mastered years ago when he lived in constant terror of being tossed back onto the streets.
Sure enough, moments later, he heard the rustle of sheets. Wei Chain’s movements were stiff and labored, his arms trembling faintly as he pushed himself up.
Wei Zhi Yuan cracked his eyelids open by a hairline. Wei Chain suddenly glanced toward the bed, forcing the boy to snap his eyes shut.
Not noticing the deception, Wei Chain retrieved a jar of bruise ointment from the nightstand drawer and slipped into the bathroom, pulling the door partially shut.
Stripping off his sweat-stained shirt, Wei Chain barely had time to touch the medicine before he gripped the rim of the porcelain toilet, dry-heaving violently. Nothing came up except bitter, burning bile. A devastating body blow to his midsection during the match had left his stomach convulsing -- the very thought of cold ice cream earlier had triggered waves of violent nausea.
When the spasms finally subsided, Wei Chain checked the bowl carefully. Seeing no dark traces of blood, he let out a shallow breath of relief.
He was still young; his internal organs had held together.
Leaning his forehead against the cold tile wall for a few moments, he rinsed his mouth at the sink and began assessing the damage.
His lean torso was mottled with gruesome, purplish contusions. A massive, spider-webbed hematoma bloomed across his pelvic bone where the waistband of his shorts sat. Gritting his teeth, Wei Chain unbuckled his belt, lowered his trousers slightly, scooped a generous glob of herbal paste, and drove his palm hard into the swelling. He needed to disperse the pooled blood before the joint locked up.
Anyone who had suffered blunt trauma knew that once a joint bruised heavily, letting it stiffen meant it would freeze like rusted iron by morning. He had to force the joint to move through the agony while the tissue was still pliable.
The underground circuit was far deadlier than he had anticipated. Even at the lowest preliminary tier, Wei Chain had barely scraped by with a grueling, bloody victory. Yet with three thousand yuan of appearance fees and bonus prize cash sitting in his pocket, there was no turning back -- not until he survived the mandatory three bouts Chao Lao-9 demanded.
Still, at this preliminary level, though broken skin and bruised bones were inevitable, the risk of outright fatality was relatively manageable. Besides, the rules required only three fights; they didn't require him to win all three. If pushed to the brink, he could tap out -- assuming Fourth Master Hu and his scouts played by the book.
The image of that scarred fighter collapsing into a foaming corpse on opening night continued to haunt Wei Chain’s mind. In illegal rings, performance enhancers and stimulants were an open secret, but any veteran knew that an overdose caused irreversible trauma or immediate cardiac failure.
The scarred man had looked seasoned; he wouldn't have recklessly poisoned himself. His opponent hadn't been an insurmountable titan either.
Either external pressure had forced his hand, or the compound he ingested wasn't an ordinary street stimulant.
As the searing pain from his bruises sharpened his mind, a horrifying realization struck him: What if Fourth Master Hu isn't just scouting expendable northern brawlers to warm up the venue... but to test experimental narcotics?
Lost in his dark calculations, Wei Chain failed to notice that Wei Zhi Yuan had slipped out of bed on bare feet, standing silently in the narrow gap of the bathroom door.
The boy's eyes were bloodshot with an untamed, feral rage. He clenched his jaw so hard that the veins along his temples throbbed violently, feeling as though his molars were grinding to dust.
After a long time, Wei Chain capped the ointment jar, braced both hands against the sink with a low, hissing gasp, and splashed freezing water over his face to wash away the cold sweat.
Only then did Wei Zhi Yuan snap out of his trance, retreating soundlessly back under the covers.
Moments later, Wei Chain emerged from the bathroom, radiating cold water vapor and the sharp stench of herbal ointment. Remembering the boy's sensitive nose, he paused, pulled the sheet neatly over the child's shoulders, and turned toward the opposite mattress.
Unable to contain the suffocating agony in his chest, Wei Zhi Yuan choked out a muffled voice from the pillows:
"Brother."
Wei Chain jumped slightly at the sudden sound.
Through the quiet room came the child's broken, trembling sob:
"If we run out of money... sell me."
Wei Zhi Yuan hadn't planned those words; he had no idea why they had spilled past his lips.
Perhaps... because he truly had nothing else left in this world to give.