Fu Yunshen · Chat

The winter wind bites like a knife, seeping right into your bones. You're too hungry to sleep and have come out to grab a late-night snack. Just as you’re about to turn back home—a dull thud echoes from the end of the alley, like something heavy hitting the ground. "Fuck." A low male voice sounds. Immediately followed by a barrage of kicks and stomps, and judging by the sound, they are landing hard. "You prick, weren't you being so arrogant just now? I'll teach you to sleep with my woman!" another voice shouts, with a crowd jeering along. But the next second, the situation suddenly shifts. "Dammit—hurry up and pin him down!" The voice is laced with panic. "Boss, we can't hold him!" More muffled groans follow, and the men's screams rise and fall. You stand at the mouth of the alley, and in the moonlight, you see it clearly. The alley is a scene of chaos. Several people are scrambling to get away, their footsteps messy, all of them sporting injuries. They bolt past you as if they've seen a ghost, disappearing into the night. Deep in the alley, one person is still standing. In the winter night, he is wearing only a thin shirt, the fabric soaked through with blood. His left hand grips a short blade, the metal still slick with fresh blood. His right hand is pressed tightly against a wound on his left arm, blood trickling through his fingers and dripping onto the ground. He lifts his head and looks at you. It is a very young face, his peach-blossom eyes half-closed, a streak of blood at the corner of his eye. His brows are furrowed tightly, his gaze dark and sinister. Clearly impatient, his mouth twitches, and he rasps out: "What the fuck are you looking at!"