Chapter 21: A Failed Ambush, The Villain’s Way

At sixteen, we pledged our loyalty to the Green Wolf Gang.

At seventeen, I donned the short jacket of a gang member, acting with impunity. I no longer had to scavenge for trash; I took revenge on several scavengers, trampling them beneath my feet.

At eighteen, Brother Tong, recognized for his ferocity, earned the favor of the second-in-command and was taught a style of martial arts. I was green with envy. I begged Brother Tong to teach me, but he refused, saying the gang had rules: one must perform a meritorious deed before being allowed to learn the fist.

At nineteen, Brother Tong practiced his punches well. His fists grew harder, and his arms were soon thicker than my thighs.

At twenty, Brother Tong performed another meritorious deed, and the gang seized 798 Street. From then on, we didn't have to do anything; every merchant on that street had to pay protection money to the gang. Of course, the money went to the gang, and because of the second-in-command’s favor, Brother Tong got a larger share. I could only spend what he gave me.

At twenty-one, starting that year, several hair salons fell under Brother Tong’s jurisdiction. He became even more prestigious and gained two lackeys of his own.

At twenty-two, I finally saved enough money to learn leg techniques at a street martial arts school. I practiced bitterly every day, but my progress was minimal; my natural aptitude was too poor. I started to enjoy drinking, and I finally understood why people hit others when drunk—there is a fire in the heart that simply cannot be suppressed. Brother Tong noticed my anxiety and urged me not to rush, to drink less, and promised he would look after me for life.

At twenty-three, I decided to listen to Brother Tong. I drank less and stopped practicing martial arts, deciding that following at his heels for the rest of my life was good enough.

At twenty-four, I followed Brother Tong every day, helping him watch the hair salons and drinking with him at night. Life was happy day by day.

At twenty-five, Brother Tong said he didn't want to spend his life just managing two hair salons. He wanted to climb higher. He said the second-in-command had given him a task, and he decided to do it. I was worried for him and asked what the task was, but he wouldn't tell me anything. I told him I understood.

The night before last, after Brother Tong got me drunk, he snuck out. In truth, I wasn't asleep; I knew he had left. The next day, I heard news from the gang about a death at the hospital, and I instantly knew it was Brother Tong’s doing. Brother Tong had killed someone. Killing a person or two didn't matter much, but the problem was that the woman had been sent to the hospital by the police station, and they would inevitably investigate. I was both shocked by Brother Tong’s audacity and deeply worried for him.

Tonight, Brother Tong and I drank a lot at the entrance of the hair salon. He patted my shoulder happily, saying that this time, he would truly rise in the ranks. I danced around, appearing even happier than he was. I congratulated him with a loud laugh, and together we downed over a dozen cans of liquor. My stomach churned; I hiccuped, vomiting by the roadside, tears stinging my eyes.

Was I truly happy?

I asked myself, but I could no longer fathom my own heart. There was a smile on my face, but tears in the corners of my eyes.

Brother Tong walked ahead, and I hurriedly wiped my mouth to catch up. Brother Tong laughed heartily, mocking me for soiling my shoes. I scratched my head in embarrassment, and we leaned on each other as we turned into the low-rise tenement building in the shantytown.

The building used to house a father and son. The man was a gambler, his wife had run off with someone, and the boy was of primary school age. Later, Brother Tong set a trap, the man fell into heavy debt, mortgaged the house, and had his liver and kidneys harvested to feed the dogs. The boy was thrown out to scavenge for scraps.

The apartment was on the second floor. Brother Tong leaned drunkenly against the railing, and I fished the key from my pocket. The light in the corridor was broken, flickering on and off. I had to press my face against the keyhole, inserting the key once, twice, three times before it finally slid in.

As I turned the lock, I subconsciously glanced at my feet. There were two overlapping shadows—mine and Brother Tong’s. The light flickered, and suddenly, a third shadow appeared, right behind us. I froze. As I looked again in a daze, the sudden shadow solidified. I whipped my head around, and in the darkness, a pair of cold eyes met mine.

My world plunged into darkness. Time seemed to slow down, and everything from my past flashed through my mind like a lantern.

So, am I going to die?

...

Zhang Tong, his eyes bleary with alcohol, saw Ma Wei pitch forward. His head hit the door, and his face slammed hard onto the floor, unmoving.

His drunkenness was instantly replaced by terror. He instinctively ducked and bent his waist, feeling a chill graze his scalp. A large clump of hair, along with a piece of scalp, slapped onto the floor. His bald patch burned with searing pain, and warm blood trickled into his eye, stinging so badly he wanted to shut it.

But he dared not close his eyes. Zhang Tong glared, stomped his foot onto Ma Wei’s back, and rolled into the living room like a desperate beast. The wooden coffee table was smashed, and the liquor bottles scattered on the floor shattered into glass shards. Zhang Tong scrambled to his feet and reached back, his hand coming away drenched in blood and shards of glass.

Zhang Tong gritted his teeth, tearing off his shirt. He pulled a piece of jagged glass out of his flesh along with the blood-soaked fabric. The tight muscles on his back relaxed slightly; although some glass remained, it no longer hindered his movement. However, his entire back was a mess, bleeding profusely, and the pain was agonizing.

"Drunk and still so quick to react? Or was my strike too slow?"

Feng Mu felt a secret pang of regret. His breathing beneath the mask was slightly rapid. He lacked combat experience, and the transition between his attacks on the two men hadn't been smooth enough, allowing the second one to dodge. The previous time he had killed Zheng Hang didn't count as a real fight—that had been too easy. It had only served to let him see blood, bolster his courage, and cultivate a bit of malice. Combat experience was better than nothing.

Adrenaline surged, and his fingers, gripping the handle of the knife, were so rigid that they left indentations in the hilt. Feng Mu took a deep breath, imitating the behavior of the villains in movies, and forced a ferocious grin. At the same time, he kicked Ma Wei aside and stepped back to slam the door shut and lock it.

With just those few movements, he feigned a sense of arrogance that dispelled five parts of his tension. It proved that in certain situations, acting like a villainous antagonist truly had a miraculous effect—no wonder they say that "turning dark" makes one ten times stronger.

The room was dark, lit only by the white light emanating from the fish tank. Two blue lizards clung to the wall, their round, bulging eyes rolling about.

Zhang Tong stared fixedly as Feng Mu lifted his foot to close and lock the door. His heart sank to the bottom of a pit.

"Brother, which path do you walk? Why not take off the mask and show your face, so I can remember where I offended you, enough to make you come kill someone in the middle of the night?" Zhang Tong gritted his teeth, his peripheral vision darting to the security bars on the window; he cursed himself for forgetting to remove them.

Feng Mu did not remove his mask, nor did he answer. Fearing that speaking would betray his nervousness, he remained silent—a silence that made Zhang Tong’s hair stand on end. Zhang Tong had gone to the hospital to kill someone just two days ago, and he hadn't uttered a sound during the entire process, just mechanically thrusting his blade. He knew from personal experience that those who didn't waste words while committing murder were the truly ruthless ones.

"Is there really no room for negotiation?"

Zhang Tong wiped the blood from his face, a fierce light in his eyes. Before his words had even landed, his feet dragged harshly against the floor. With a step covering three meters, his fist, large as a bowl, aimed directly for Feng Mu’s head.