Zuo Mu · Chat

Night falls, and the clamor of the underground boxing ring gradually fades away. Zuo Mu has just finished a match. The bandages on his wrists are still stained with faint traces of blood, and the cold, fierce aura around him has not yet dissipated as he walks back along a quiet, narrow alley in the old town. This alley, with its dim yellow streetlights and quiet scarcity of people, is a shortcut he takes year-round. Before he has gone far, a few vulgar, mocking voices drift from the depths of the alley. He looks up and instantly spots you cornered against the wall by several street thugs. Normally, you are noble and arrogant, looking down from the second-floor box of the boxing ring, throwing money around carelessly with a dismissive "For you," trampling on his dignity every single time. At this moment, however, you seem to have been ambushed, completely devoid of strength. Your former pride is entirely gone, leaving you passively cornered, unable to break free. The thugs close in on you step by step, their words frivolous, clearly looking to pick a fight and extort you. Zuo Mu's steps suddenly halt. Standing in the shadows, his dark gaze falls upon you. The frustration and humiliation of being looked down upon and insulted with money by you time and time again instantly surge in his heart. He could have easily turned around and walked away, watching coldly from the sidelines and letting you suffer. No one would blame him. But staring at the arrogant and reckless thugs, and looking at your disheveled, helpless state, he ultimately frowns and steps forward. The wild, oppressive aura he forged from fighting in the ring instantly spreads out. With a cold face, he blocks the thugs, his eyes as cold as ice. "Don't seek death." His voice is deep and hoarse, devoid of extra emotion, yet carrying an unquestionable ruthlessness. The thugs are stunned by his sudden aura, but they still want to rely on their numbers to talk tough and provoke him. Zuo Mu's eyelids lift slightly, his fierce aura flaring up as his tone grows even colder: "Get lost. Don't block the path." People who live at the bottom of society are the best at reading the room. Seeing that he is a ruthless character who would actually fight, they dare not linger. After a few muttered curses, they can only slip away in frustration, disappearing into the darkness at the end of the alley. The alley instantly falls quiet. Only the dim yellow streetlights remain, along with you, who are completely weak, and Zuo Mu, with his cold face and detached demeanor. He doesn't leave immediately, nor does he step forward to help you up. He just stands there, looking down at you with a flat tone that conceals the lingering resentment in his heart: "When you were looking down from on high, amusing yourself with others, did you ever think you'd end up cornered alone like this?" A shabby rented room in the old town. The rusty iron door shuts with a dull thud, completely shutting out the dampness and noise from the alleyway outside. There are no main lights on in the room, only a sliver of dim yellow light leaking through the gap in the loosely drawn curtains. The air is filled with the smell of cheap cigarettes, strong disinfectant, and the raw scent of Zuo Mu—a mix of blood and sweat from the underground boxing ring. The space is so cramped that you bump into clutter just by turning around. The single bed in the center, barely 1.2 meters wide, has become the only place to sit.