At sixteen, Zhang Tong and I joined the Qinglang Gang.

At seventeen, we wore short jackets, acting fearlessly. We no longer needed to scavenge, taking revenge on some of the organized scavengers, crushing them under our feet.

At eighteen, Zhang Tong, thanks to his ruthlessness, was noticed by the second-in-command and taught a set of martial arts. I was incredibly envious.

I wanted him to teach me, but he refused, saying there were rules in the gang—you had to earn your right to learn.

At nineteen, Zhang Tong’s martial arts improved significantly, his punches becoming harder, his arms and shoulders stronger than my thighs and buttocks.

At twenty, Zhang Tong performed another outstanding feat, and the gang took control of 978 Street. We no longer had to scavenge; every business on that street had to pay protection money.

The money went to the gang, but Zhang Tong received a bonus due to the second-in-command’s favoritism. I only got what he gave me.

At twenty-one, Zhang Tong was put in charge of several massage parlors. He was more powerful and gained two more underlings.

At twenty-two, I finally saved enough money to study knife techniques at a martial arts school. I trained hard every day, but my progress was slow. My constitution was too weak. I started drinking heavily and realized why drunk people like to fight—because of the fire in their hearts.

Zhang Tong noticed my desperation. He advised me not to rush, to drink less, and that he would take care of me for the rest of my life.

At twenty-three, I decided to listen to Zhang Tong. I drank less and stopped training. Following Zhang Tong was fine.

At twenty-four, I followed Zhang Tong everywhere, helping him oversee the massage parlors. We drank together every night, enjoying every day.

At twenty-five, Zhang Tong said he didn’t want to manage massage parlors for the rest of his life. He wanted to climb higher. The second-in-command had given him a mission.

He decided to do it.

I was worried for him, and asked what it was, but he wouldn’t tell me. I pretended to understand.

Late last night, after Zhang Tong and I drank together, he secretly left. I wasn’t asleep; I knew he was leaving.

The next day, I heard about the death at the hospital and instantly understood that Zhang Tong had done it.

He’d killed someone, someone insignificant. The problem was, the woman was sent to the hospital by the precinct, and they would investigate.

I was both shocked by Zhang Tong's audacity and worried about him.

Tonight, Zhang Tong and I drank heavily at the massage parlor. He patted my shoulder happily, saying he was about to move up in the ranks.

I gestured excitedly, even happier than Zhang Tong, and loudly congratulated him. We drank over a dozen bottles, and feeling nauseous, I vomited on the street, choking on my tears.

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Was I truly happy?

We questioned ourselves, unable to understand our own feelings. My face showed laughter, but my eyes were filled with tears.

Zhang Tong left, and I quickly wiped my mouth and followed him.

Zhang Tong laughed, mocking my vomit-stained shoes. I scratched my head awkwardly and walked with Zhang Tong towards a low building in the shantytown.

The building was previously occupied by a father and son. The father was a gambling addict, the mother had run away, and the son was a schoolboy.

It was later seized by Zhang Tong, the father having accumulated gambling debts and losing his home. The man was stripped of his organs and fed to the dogs, and the boy was thrown out to scavenge.

The room was on the second floor.

Zhang Tong, drunk, leaned against the railing, and I took the key from my pocket.

The hallway lights were flickering. I had to press my face against the keyhole, trying again and again before managing to open the door.

While turning the key, I unconsciously looked down.

Two shadows overlapped—Zhang Tong and I.

The lights flickered, and suddenly, a third shadow appeared behind us.

I froze, staring again, only to find the shadow solidifying.

I turned my head, and a pair of cold eyes met mine in the darkness.

The world around me plunged into darkness. Time seemed to slow, and the events of my life flashed before my eyes.

So,

Am I going to die?

...

Zhang Tong’s eyes were blurry with intoxication. He only saw Ma Wei stumble forward, his head hitting the floor with a thud. He lay still.

The sudden shock sobered Zhang Tong. He instinctively ducked, feeling a cold sensation graze his scalp. A handful of hair and skin came away, clattering to the floor.

His scalp burned, and the warm blood trickling down his face blurred his vision, making him want to close his eyes.

But he dared not. Zhang Tong glared, his shoe crushing Ma Wei’s back as a glass from a broken whiskey bottle flew across the room, smashing the wooden coffee table into splinters.

Zhang Tong scrambled to his feet, reaching behind him, his hand covered in blood and broken glass.

He gritted his teeth, tearing open his shirt and pulling a shard of glass from his flesh.

The tense muscles in his back finally relaxed slightly, though some glass remained embedded. The injury, however, didn’t significantly affect his ability to move, although his back was a bloody mess. It hurt like hell.

Drunk, and still that fast? Or was my strike too slow?

Ivy silently regretted her actions, her breathing slightly ragged behind her mask. She lacked combat experience; her movements hadn’t been smooth enough, allowing the second man to evade her attack.

The murder of Zheng Hang didn't count as combat experience. That kill had been easy, mostly serving to desensitize her to blood and foster her ruthlessness. This time, the experience was invaluable.

Adrenaline surged. Her fingers, gripping the knife, were stiff, leaving deep indentations on the handle.

Ivy took a deep breath, mimicking the demeanor of a villain in a film, baring her teeth in a cruel smile while kicking Ma Wei away and locking the door.

These three quick movements conveyed seven parts madness and dispelled five parts tension.

It seemed that under certain circumstances, acting like a villain was indeed effective. Or perhaps, turning evil amplified her abilities tenfold.

The room was dark, only the aquarium light casting a faint glow. Two geckos clung to the wall, their bulging eyes darting around.

Zhang Tong watched Ivy kick Ma Wei and lock the door, his heart sinking.

“What kind of person are you? Why did you wear a mask? At least, let me know when I offended you,” Zhang Tong ground out through gritted teeth, glancing at the security camera outside the window, regretting not having destroyed it.

Ivy didn’t remove her mask or respond, afraid of revealing her nervousness. Her silence sent a chill down Zhang Tong's spine.

Zhang Tong had killed someone at the hospital two days ago. He hadn't spoken during the entire process, simply acting mechanically, demonstrating the ruthlessness and determination of a killer.

“No time for negotiation?”

Zhang Tong wiped the blood from his face, his eyes flashing with rage. Before he could finish, his shoe scraped harshly against the floor. He moved three meters in a single stride, his fist the size of a bowl hurtling towards Ivy’s head.