Wei Chain froze for a second before an indescribable warmth surged within his chest -- a bond detached from biological bloodlines that tugged gently at the very core of his heart.
Relaxing his body, he leaned back against the cool ceramic rim of the sink, letting the chill numb the dull ache in his bruised ribs.
"What kind of nonsense is that?" Wei Chain looked down at him, letting out a sudden, raspy chuckle as he teased, "How much do you think you're even worth, kid? A little girl can be bought as a child bride, but who the hell wants to buy a half-grown boy? To fatten you up for stew?"
Wei Zhi Yuan realized he had said something absurdly childish. Whenever he spoke under intense emotional distress, he seemed to regress to Song Lee Lee’s level of blundering idiocy, picking the most foolish words imaginable.
The boy decided right then that he couldn't go on like this. Being cute, obedient, and pampered wasn't enough anymore.
Straightening his spine like a young pioneer taking a solemn oath before the national flag, Wei Zhi Yuan declared with ringing clarity, "When I grow up, I'll take care of you. I'll make money and support you, all right?"
Wei Chain’s heart softened completely. For the very first time, he felt a solid piece of his soul anchor itself into bedrock. Feeling awkward and unaccustomed to such earnest affection, he put on the stern, mocking air of a grumpy guardian. "Then you'd better grow faster! Even radish sprouts grow faster than you."
Wei Zhi Yuan swore fiercely, "I want to grow up by tomorrow! I... I'll treat you well for my entire life, and I won't let you suffer a single hardship ever again."
"Grow up by tomorrow?" Wei Chain bent down, scooped the boy up by his waist with one arm, and dropped the bare-footed cub onto the mattress. "Where am I supposed to find fertilizer with that kind of instant result?"
His bruised bicep twitched with a sharp jolt of pain, causing his grip to wobble slightly. Wei Zhi Yuan instinctively reached up to wrap his arms around his brother's neck, only to pull his hands back with sudden self-consciousness -- he felt a faint sting of shame, as though he had abruptly outgrown such childlike clinging.
Flicking off the bedside lamp, Wei Chain drifted off to sleep almost immediately.
Partly because he was completely exhausted, and partly because he drew a sense of strength from his little brother -- the kind of strength that belonged to a true adult -- grounding him in composure and peace.
Want me dead? It’s not that easy. Even Brother Leh hasn't had time to reincarnate yet.
Wei Zhi Yuan kept his mouth shut. In the pitch-black room, he opened his eyes wide, studying the blurred silhouette of his brother's profile.
Wei Chain slept peacefully, the sharp bridge of his nose and the curve of his lips looking as distinct as an ink painting. His messy hair was slightly overgrown, a few dark strands slanting across his forehead, revealing a fleeting trace of the boyish youth that was rapidly slipping away.
In Wei Zhi Yuan’s fledgling worldview, there was no one on earth more handsome or dependable than his big brother. His brother was like an invincible god of war -- bearing every blow of suffering that should have crushed their heads, holding up a sturdy shelter amidst the raging storms.
The next morning, Wei Chain still didn't dare eat too much; his bruised abdomen throbbed whenever solid food hit his stomach.
Wei Zhi Yuan dashed downstairs to the Sze Chwan eatery to request a day off. Returning to the room, he resumed his relentless pestering, demanding that they pack their bags and head back north immediately. The little brat had tried so hard to play the mature man the night before, yet now he reverted to playing the shameless rogue, deploying tantrums, whining, and puppy-dog eyes in full force.
...His resistance was promptly rewarded with a strip of clear packing tape slapped right across his mouth by Wei Chain.
After doing some light stretches to loosen his battered joints, Wei Chain sat at the small table to pore over the secondhand textbooks he had hauled from home.
High school curriculum was a notoriously dry affair -- monotonous, dense, and thoroughly boring. Yet Wei Chain devoured the pages with a famished appetite. Having been out of school for three long years, he was terrified of falling behind once he returned.
Every time he opened those weathered pages, a miraculous calm washed over his mind. Besides, the books were surprisingly entertaining; the original owner appeared to have been an eccentric student with a penchant for scrawling personal commentaries across the margins. Even abstract trigonometric formulas had been transformed into bizarre running jokes.
The previous owner was also an expert at doodling turtles -- every empty corner of the text was crammed with tortoises scratching their heads, dancing, and posing.
On the final flyleaf, the eccentric scholar had inscribed: When the Divine Tortoise rises, who dares challenge its reign? Yet to achieve tortoise mastery, one must first castrate oneself.
Wei Chain couldn't help wondering what kind of lunatic had owned these books before him.
The room remained peaceful until noon, when the motorcycle courier arrived with lunch.
The courier carried two packed lunchboxes. Wei Zhi Yuan usually worked across the street and ate at the diner, so the deliveries were strictly single portions. Furthermore, Wei Chain hadn't requested an extra meal that morning due to his lack of appetite... which meant Chao Lao-9’s people were actively monitoring their daily movements.
The inn was arranged by Chao Lao-9, which meant it was likely their private property. In that case, the room itself wasn't necessarily secure; hidden surveillance was a distinct possibility.
Keeping his face completely blank, Wei Chain calmly retreated to the vinyl armchair by the desk. He pulled out a pad of sticky notes, casually doodling the cartoon turtles from the textbook while turning the situation over in his mind.
Wei Chain was a seasoned judge of human nature. He knew that most low-level underground fighters were just like him: destitute, desperate for quick cash, and eager to take their cut and walk away. Once their appearance fees were secured, few had any real interest in fighting to the death for bonus prize money.
If a brawler survived their second bout relatively unscathed, they would inevitably step in for the third match -- but they would never resort to lethal stimulants. If they found themselves outmatched, tapping out, pleading for mercy, or taking a few knocks on the floor was the standard exit.
And if they were battered to the brink of death in the second match, they would almost certainly refuse to fight the third.
Wei Chain couldn't be certain of the extent of their surveillance. He assumed the hotel belonged to them, but whether the room was bugged, his phone tapped, or their movements tailed on the street remained an open question. There might be one or two traps laid, but it was unlikely they had covered every base -- Chao Lao-9 had resources, but he wasn't omnipotent.
Assuming the syndicates held absolute control over the district, leaving the fighters with zero room to flee, a fighter could still feign defeat in the third bout. Stepping onto the canvas half-dead and collapsing after a single punch was a universally accepted outcome.
Wei Chain sketched a curved tortoise tail with a fluid stroke, the tip of his pen pausing on the paper: How exactly do they force these money-hungry, life-clinging brawlers to risk their actual lives in the final match?
By targeting their vulnerabilities? Kidnapping their families?
That seemed improbable. Most low-level fighters were rootless vagrants, drifting bachelors from every corner of the country speaking thick regional dialects. Tracking down distant relatives across provinces was a logistical nightmare -- expensive, slow, and fraught with leaks.
The leverage had to be far simpler and more direct: either sheer greed or raw bloodlust.
He deduced that the interval between the second and third matches had to be extraordinarily tight -- perhaps they even forced fighters into two consecutive bouts on the same night. But how?
The mechanism had to be simple, ruthless, and brutally effective.
Wei Chain shaded the turtle's shell over and over. Greed was something he could regulate within himself; he knew his limits and planned to walk away once he secured his tuition. As for bloodlust... these men were hardened street drifters; their tempers weren't easily provoked into suicidal frenzies.
Unable to crack the puzzle for the moment, he set down the pen, turned to Wei Zhi Yuan, and said, "Get dressed. Come with me to wire some money to Grandma."
Stepping onto the street, Wei Chain feigned complete unfamiliarity with the city grid. He bought a tourist map from a street stall and deliberately led Wei Zhi Yuan in wide, rambling circles through the alleys. After two loops, the boy caught on.
Incredibly sharp, the child instinctively moved to glance over his shoulder. Wei Chain immediately placed a firm hand against the back of his head, halting the movement.
They drifted toward the post office. Keeping five hundred yuan for emergency expenses, Wei Chain wired the remaining thirty-five hundred yuan to Old Mrs. Song up north. Afterward, he pulled a handful of loose coins from his pocket, bought two popsicles from a cart, and handed one to the boy.
Once they turned down a wide, deserted lane with clear sightlines, Wei Chain whispered under his breath, "Watch what you say from now on. Find a way to get ahold of your Third Brother, but do it completely off the radar. Tell him that once he arrives, under no circumstances is he to come looking for us."
Wei Zhi Yuan grasped the subtext instantly, asking in an equally hushed tone, "Why are we calling him down here?"
"I don't know yet. I'm still piecing it together." Out of the corner of his eye, Wei Chain caught sight of a loitering figure at the corner pretending to inspect a storefront while tracking their movements.
It was an amateurish tail.
Wei Chain kept his gaze forward, raising his voice naturally as he smoothly shifted topics. "By the way, I forgot to ask -- how did your final exams go?"
Wei Zhi Yuan’s eyes lit up instantly. He puffed out his chest, declaring proudly, "First place in the entire grade!"
The boy had spent years alternating between playing the dim-witted cub and the ultra-reliable prodigy; his transition was so seamless that Wei Chain was momentarily stunned.
Pausing for a beat, Wei Chain asked, "Was anyone tied with you?"
As they crossed the intersection, brushing right past the lookout as if they were completely oblivious to his presence, Wei Zhi Yuan launched into the obnoxious bragging routine of a textbook honor student: "Nobody in my grade has ever tied with me! Oh, right, Brother -- I forgot to mention, Little Bao placed in the bottom ten of her class. Her teacher called you out by name and said you need to come in for a private meeting next term."
"...Is that so?" Wei Chain offered a dry chuckle. "How honored I am."
Even while navigating a high-stakes covert crisis, the brat didn't miss a single chance to throw his sister under the bus!
This little wolf cub really is something else, Wei Chain mused inwardly.
That evening, Wei Chain received a courtesy call from Chao Lao-9. The man offered warm pleasantries, instructing him to order whatever meals he liked and reminding him that after his first bout, he was entitled to a full week of rest to acclimate to the southern climate. If he wished to explore the city, the courier on the motorbike could double as their personal guide.
Chao Lao-9 made a pointed reference to Wei Zhi Yuan: "Your little brother is growing like a weed. Those shorts he wore when you first arrived were fine, but now they look a whole size too short... Ah, kids at this age really burn through clothes."
That afternoon, the courier arrived with a brand-new set of clothes that fit the boy with tailored precision.
They had been in the city for less than a fortnight. Wei Zhi Yuan hadn't ingested magic fertilizer, nor had he mutated into a beanstalk overnight; clothes didn't shrink by inches in a matter of days.
Wei Chain understood the message clearly: Chao Lao-9 was using the child as collateral to keep him in line.
In response, Wei Chain accepted the clothing without a flicker of emotion. He casually asked the courier to recommend the most high-end dining establishment in the district, eventually settling on a French restaurant to treat the boy to an expensive meal.
On the way, Wei Chain played the part of a bumbling country bumpkin who couldn't tell east from west, clutching the map, asking naive questions, and systematically coaxing the chatty courier into spilling local details.
Wei Chain had zero interest in French cuisine; he had selected the venue because the walking route passed right behind the underground boxing arena.
As they neared the rear perimeter, Wei Chain glanced toward the facility, giving Wei Zhi Yuan’s hand a subtle, sharp squeeze.
The boy took the cue immediately, playing the curious child: "Brother, what are you looking at? What kind of building is that?"
Wei Chain feigned awkward embarrassment, glancing at the courier while whispering, "Keep your voice down. That's a private corporate office."
A smug, mocking smirk flashed across the courier's face before he quickly smoothed it away, playing along with the lie: "That's right, little bro. Only the most powerful bosses in our district get to work in there. Study hard so you can work in an office like that when you grow up."
Just then, a foul stench drifted across the humid evening breeze. Wei Zhi Yuan pinched his nose, scowling at the courier. "You two are full of it! It stinks like rotten garbage -- I don't think that place is impressive at all!"
Around the corner, a large municipal dump truck rumbled out of a narrow alley, loaded with massive industrial waste bins and stacks of black plastic bags.
Wei Chain rubbed his nose, a sudden spark flashing through his thoughts: Where do all the bodies go?
Fighters who had family were eventually claimed, but what about the nameless transients who fought under aliases and died on the canvas?
Spinning the wheel of his thoughts, Wei Chain put on an exaggerated display of rustic amazement. "Wow, you guys even have dedicated garbage collection services here? Back in our district, we have to haul everything ourselves. The local open-air dumps reek so bad they could knock satellites out of orbit."
The courier, clearly a low-tier grunt outside the inner circle, replied offhandedly, "Yeah, they haul the whole district's waste out to the western outskirts. Anything recyclable gets stripped and sold, and the rest gets torched in the industrial incinerators... Hey, we're about to eat -- why the hell are we talking about trash?"
The western outskirts?
Wei Chain brought up the mental layout of the city map. The western sector was a vast, undeveloped expanse with no prominent landmarks or government facilities -- largely deserted scrubland flanked by a winding tributary that flowed out from the city center.
In a flash of cold deduction, the missing pieces fell into place.
And just like that, the week of respite evaporated in the blink of an eye.