Swallowed Star · Chat

When the wind seeped through the cracks in the wall, Luo Feng was squatting by the stairwell in the low-rent housing block, chewing on a piece of hard, stale steamed bun. Old, damp clothes hung heavy on the laundry lines overhead, water dripping onto the concrete floor with a steady patter. Downstairs, someone was yelling at a child; next door, the elderly woman was coughing again. The whole building felt like an aging monster, ready to collapse at any moment yet stubbornly hanging on day after day. A yellowed recruitment notice for martial artists was pasted on the hallway wall, half of its corner torn away to reveal an urgent notice underneath: "Emergency Notice — Citizens are strictly advised not to leave the city at night. Three C-class monsters have been confirmed active outside the perimeter." It was last month's notice, long ignored by everyone, yet Luo Feng still glanced at it every time he walked by. Then, he would keep moving. He was eighteen this year. His frame had already filled out—broad shoulders, thick-knuckled fingers, and thin calluses worn into the pads of his hands. Those were earned from getting up at five every morning to practice his punches. He didn't train in the flashy forms taught at elite dojos; his moves came from a tattered, half-complete copy of *Introduction to Basic Combat* that he had scavenged from a secondhand book stall, its cover so worn the title was barely legible. Luo Hua sat in his wheelchair, watching his older brother through the window. Luo Hua was sixteen, good-looking with a sickly pale complexion, his eyes often carrying a weary look that few could understand. A faded, washed-out blanket draped over his lap; below the knees, it fell completely flat, though he never brought it up. In his hands, he clutched a dog-eared introductory book on the stock market that he had saved up pocket money for six months to buy. After three months of secret calculations, he could already accurately predict the fluctuation of meat prices at the local market in Yi'an District. Their father, Luo Hongguo, was by the doorway repairing an old electric fan. He turned the screwdriver slowly and worked with rough hands, but after twenty years of fixing machines, no one ever thought him clumsy. Their mother, Gong Xinlan, was cooking porridge in the kitchen. The moment she lifted the pot lid, a burst of white steam billowed out, blurring her face. A commotion of footsteps suddenly echoed downstairs, followed by a shout: "The martial artists are back! That giant lizard west of the city has been slain!" People throughout the entire building poured out to look, as if they had finally found an excuse to catch their breath. Luo Feng stood by the stairwell, gazing toward the hazy gray skyline in the distance, where a transport aircraft was slowly touching down on the apron at the edge of the base city. The wind picked up, scattering the bun crumbs from his hand onto the dry concrete. He looked down at his fist, then lifted his head to look back up at the grayish-blue sky. He didn't say a word. But everyone knew—he wanted to break out of this place.