Chen Mingfeng · Chat

<scenario>The old town at night feels like a long-neglected exhaust fan, trapping a stifling heat in the air that just won't dissipate. Two streetlights along the road are broken, and the only remaining one flickers erratically, its light casting a pale glow on the tangled wires running along the outer walls of the old residential buildings. The clatter of spatulas from the food stalls at the street corner drifts over from two blocks away, mixing with the sour stench of cheap alcohol and fermenting gutters. This is the most common backdrop of the slums—rough, dilapidated, and unrefined.</scenario> <narration>Chen Mingfeng had just stepped out of Old Zhou's underground clinic. He wore a faded, dark, short-sleeved shirt with a loose, stretched-out collar that revealed his cool, wheat-toned collarbones. An old black cord hung around his neck, swaying slightly with every step. The cuffs of his cargo pants were casually rolled up, and his worn-out black Martin boots made a dull thudding sound as they stepped on the uneven asphalt road. He had just finished a tough fight. His opponent was a reckless newcomer who didn't know how to hold back. Right now, the fresh bandages wrapped around his right forearm still smelled strongly of pungent safflower oil, and his abdominal muscles, strained from overexertion, still held a faint tension beneath his loose clothing. He didn't care much about it; his body had long grown used to this kind of battering. To him, pain was as ordinary as eating or drinking.</narration> <action>He walked to Uncle Wang's convenience store, fished a few crumpled coins from his pocket, tossed them onto the counter, and grabbed a bottle of ice-cold mineral water. Twisting the cap off with one hand, he tilted his head back and gulped down half the bottle, his Adam's apple bobbing. The icy water rushed down his esophagus, barely suppressing the lingering taste of blood in his throat.</action> <narration>Carrying the remaining half-bottle of water in his hand, he turned into the narrow alley he had to pass to get back to his rented room. The alley was even darker than the street outside, with self-built houses on both sides crowding so close together they almost squeezed the sky into a single line. Air conditioning units overhead dripped condensation with steady "tick-tocks," splashing into the mossy cracks of the brick floor.</narration> <scenario>This alley had always been a breeding ground for drunks and thugs. Ordinary people would consciously take a detour at night, terrified of getting tangled up in trouble they couldn't shake off.</scenario> <narration>But tonight, there seemed to be an intruder who didn't know the rules. Chen Mingfeng's steps halted about a dozen meters from the mouth of the alley. He tilted his head slightly, his hearing incredibly sharp from years of keeping his guard up. Aside from the dripping of the air conditioners, several coarse, greasy voices drifted from up ahead.</narration> <message>"Why are you running... *hic*, I-I don't bite..."</message> <message>"Yeah, coming to a dump like this in the middle of the night dressed so neat and clean—aren't you just looking for some fun?"</message> <narration>The dull clink of a glass bottle hitting the red brick wall echoed, accompanied by a few malicious, vulgar laughs. The smell of alcohol in the air was nauseating. With his eyelids half-drooped, Chen Mingfeng used the faint light reflecting from outside to scan the scene a dozen steps away. Four shirtless, dead-drunk punks had formed a semi-circle, cornering someone against a dead-end deep in the alley. The person pinned against the wall completely did not belong in this place of sweat and rust. They carried a clean aura that even the streetlights couldn't dim, standing out in this mud like a piece of pristine white porcelain. Right now, their escape route was completely blocked by these lowlifes emboldened by alcohol.</narration> <action>He wasn't one to meddle in others' business. In the underground boxing scene, the first rule of survival was to see less, hear less, and mind your own business. He bit down on a bit of loose skin on his lower lip, pulled out a lighter, and flicked his thumb twice against the metal wheel. With a "click," a flickering blue flame leaped up, illuminating the faint, roguish scar at the tail of his left eyebrow.</action> <narration>The flame flickered in his eyes and went out. He didn't light a cigarette, but casually stuffed the lighter back into his pocket. His long eyes, which usually carried a sleepy, careless look, slowly curved up slightly in the darkness. The drunks ahead were still closing in with vulgar remarks, their dirty hands about to grab your clothes. Suddenly, heavy footsteps cut into the narrow dead-end without warning. With a splash, the hard, thick sole of a Martin boot stepped directly into a puddle of dirty gutter water, splashing onto the foot of one of the punks.</narration> <action>Chen Mingfeng walked steadily, his broad, tall frame blocking almost all the faint light filtering in from outside the alley. He was like a wild beast strolling through its own territory, carrying an undisguised, oppressive ease.</action> <narration>He didn't bother pushing the punks aside. Instead, he squeezed past the outermost man's shoulder, his large frame physically tearing a gap in their circle. He stopped right beside you, so close that the hem of his shirt almost brushed your arm. The next second, a broad, rough, heavily calloused hand reached around from behind, firmly wrapping around your shoulder. That arm was heavy and powerful, its muscles hard as iron. The moment their clothes touched, a scorching heat immediately transferred through the fabric, carrying a mix of dry, cheap tobacco, sharp safflower oil, and the raw, wild pheromones of a grown man who had just finished intense exercise. The scent wasn't unpleasant; rather, it carried an extremely dominant sense of aggression and security, instantly shielding your exposed back and side entirely under his domain. With a slight pull, he nudged you closer to his side. The movement was natural, carrying an absolute possessiveness that said "this one is under my protection," yet without any uncomfortable restraint.</narration> <action>He tilted his head, his gaze sweeping down over the top of your head at the dazed drunks. His jawline formed a sharp, clean angle in the dim light, but his lips curved into a half-smile.</action> <message>"Hey."</message> <narration>He spoke, his voice low and raspy like sandpaper scratching a table. His tone still held a bit of his usual careless casualness, but in this cramped dead-end, it fell like a heavy lead weight.</narration> <message>"Get lost."</message> <narration>Those two simple words were spoken lightly, without him even raising his voice, let alone shouting in anger. The drunk closest to him was about to curse, but using the dim light, he caught a clear view of Chen Mingfeng's face. The signature faint scar at the end of his eyebrow, the old bandage wrapped halfway around his wrist, and that careless gaze that looked like he didn't care about anything but would fight to the death. In the old southern district of the city, a place where all walks of life mixed, no one failed to recognize someone dressed like this. It was the one in the underground boxing ring who dared to put his life on the betting table—"The Undying," Chen Mingfeng. The drunk who had been cocky just a second ago instantly choked on his curses, looking like a duck being squeezed by the neck. The alcohol in his system mostly evaporated the moment he recognized that face. The man's hand trembled, and the beer bottle in his hand fell to the ground with a loud crash, shattering glass everywhere.</narration> <message>"F-Feng-ge... Sorry, my bad, I didn't see clearly that they were yours..."</message> <narration>The leading punk swallowed hard and stammered, backing away two steps with a pale face, not even caring about the broken glass on the ground. The others didn't even dare to breathe loudly, pulling each other along as they scrambled and crawled out of the alley. Their footsteps were ten times more frantic than when they arrived, terrified that if they were a step too slow, they would be used as punching bags and get a few ribs broken. In less than half a minute, the cramped and suffocating alley fell empty again, leaving only the distant hum of the exhaust fan and the sound of water in the gutter. Danger resolved. Chen Mingfeng didn't linger. The moment the men vanished, the firm arm wrapped around your shoulder retracted cleanly. The release was swift and decisive, without any lingering touch or overstepping. He took half a step back, widening the tight space between you to a polite distance. He turned halfway, casually tossing the half-empty water bottle in his hand. The cool, wheat-toned muscles of his arm flexed slightly with the movement, then relaxed under his sleeve. With his eyelids half-drooped, he used the faint light filtering from the alley entrance to shamelessly size you up from head to toe.</narration> <action>His rough gaze swept from your head to your feet. After confirming there was no actual harm done, he let out a soft huff. The reckless smile returned to his lips, carrying a lazy amusement as if watching a show, and he spoke in a relaxed tone.</action> <message>"Hey, kid, this isn't a place you should be."</message>