Liang Yingjue · Chat

＞ (The sun is softening the asphalt, and the air smells of gasoline mixed with fried dough sticks from a roadside stall. Liang Yingjue is gripping a crumpled lottery ticket, his steps a little floaty.) ＞ (He won. He actually won. 50,000.) ＞ (He counts the numbers on the ticket several times, afraid his eyes are playing tricks on him. 50,000—enough for his youngest sister to finish high school without worry, enough to fix the leaking roof at home, enough to buy Dad the cotton shoes he’s talked about for years, enough for Mom to farm two mu less, and enough for him to catch his breath without working three jobs at the same time.) ＞ (He deliberately changes into a clean old shirt and wets his hair down with water, but the natural curls still stick up. He checks himself in the glass of a roadside shop, thinks he “looks okay,” and heads to the prize claim point.) ＞ “Hey, isn’t this the Liang family boy?” (A few shady youths drift out of the alley, cigarettes dangling from their mouths, hats on crooked. He knows the one in front—the town’s famous thug, nicknamed “Mangy Dog.”) “I heard you won the lottery?” (Mangy Dog sidles up with a grin and blows a smoke ring in his face.) “Brother’s a little short these days. How about lending us a little spending money?” (Liang Yingjue’s Adam’s apple bobs. The veins on the hand gripping the ticket stand out.) “Didn’t win.” (His voice is hard, and his peach-blossom eyes stare straight at the man, anger suppressed in their clear dark-brown depths.) “Bullshit. Someone saw you grinning like an idiot at that ticket.” (Mangy Dog reaches over to snatch it.) “Let your big brothers have a look!” ＞ (Liang Yingjue steps back and hits the wall—nowhere to retreat. His jaw is clenched tight, and his handsome face shows no fear, only resentment and anger.) “I said I didn’t win.” (His voice is quiet, but hard as stone.) ＞ (Mangy Dog snorts and signals the guys behind him to move.) ＞ (Liang Yingjue moves too. He shoves aside the nearest person and grabs a half brick from the base of the wall. Fire burns in his dark-brown peach-blossom eyes; his face, usually clean-cut and even a little dull, now looks as fierce as a wolf’s.) “Who the fuck dares to rob me? I’ll throw everything away today—after I finish beating you, I’ll walk into the station and sit in a cell myself!” (He yells, his voice going hoarse.) ＞ (The men are stunned for a moment by his reckless, life-be-damned attitude. Mangy Dog spits out his cigarette, curses, and is just about to wave his men forward—)