Zhu Ling was called in by her teacher for a scolding that day because her part-time singing gig at a bar earlier in the year had been exposed. The teacher was holding a photo of her singing with a yellow wig on—it looked like it had been taken secretly, from an awkward angle that made her look absolutely hideous, like some yellow-haired version of Sadako from The Ring. The teacher was deeply disappointed and lectured her for quite a while.
Ever since she had run away from home, she had refused to go back or even show her face for a long time. She wouldn't even make a single phone call, only contacting Zhu Zhangyang on WeChat when she needed money. Zhu Zhangyang had no choice but to resort to his final measure—economic sanctions. He required her to check in at his office once a week, clocking in like an employee, in exchange for her tuition and living expenses. She refused, and father and daughter had a falling out. She decided to support herself, so through a friend who performed regularly at a bar, she landed a part-time singing gig. She had studied vocal music for a few years and sang reasonably well—not quite professional level, but the bar wasn't exactly high-end, so the standards weren't demanding. Combined with her friend's connection, the owner agreed without hesitation.
The bar wasn't too far from the school, and some of the rougher students would come around to hang out. The bar's clientele ran the gamut from all walks of life. To be safe, she always went on stage with heavy makeup and a wig—not only was her real age impossible to tell, but her face was gaudy and indistinct. She thought that was safe enough. But then one day, the bar owner got a wild idea and somehow got his hands on a blower fan. He aimed it at the singers while they performed to create that flowing-hair-in-the-wind effect.
The first day the fan was used, it blasted at gale-force level eight. With a whoosh, it blew her wig clean off her head. With everyone watching, she couldn't very well chase after it, so she pretended not to notice and kept singing. As luck would have it, the song that day was one of her personal favorites, and she accidentally outdid herself, drawing wave after wave of applause. But when the song ended and she'd barely set down the microphone, some gangster-type came over to harass her, offering money to have her sit and drink with him. She refused, and he started getting handsy and spewing nasty words. Her friend was there too and, to protect her, got into a full-blown brawl with the guy. It ended with her friend bleeding from the head, getting stitches at the hospital, and then being hauled off to the police station for a chat. That friend who fought for her—he was now her boyfriend.
After her friend was discharged from the hospital, he advised her to find a different job—either work part-time at some fast-food joint, or swallow her pride and go home to check in with her father for her allowance.
She loathed her family and that little family shop with every fiber of her being, but she couldn't stand the idea of slaving away at odd jobs just to cover rent and food either. She hated all forms of constraint. At one point she'd considered dropping out of school entirely and wandering off to some place where no one knew her, but the education and discipline she'd received since childhood had ingrained in her a deep-seated belief that she ought to finish university and get that diploma.
She was rebellious, but not rebellious enough. In the end, reality forced her back to that place of misery. Once a week, she reported to the office and collected her weekly allowance from her father.
At her current university, her attitude remained lackadaisical—skipping class was still the norm—but she had reined herself in somewhat, and her grades were barely passable. Plus, she was the type of kid who got favored wherever she went, so the teachers in her class were all quite protective of her, turning a blind eye to her various transgressions. This time was no different—after learning she'd been trying to earn tuition and living expenses, they flipped to comforting her instead, and the matter of holding her accountable quietly faded away.
At this private university, a large portion of the students were the wayward children of wealthy families, so the campus culture was never going to be great, and the student body wasn't exactly high-caliber. Nearly every class had its crew of troublemakers. Some were devoted entirely to dating, others to internet cafes and gaming, and a minority were chronic bullies who picked on people both on and off campus. When the troublemakers roamed outside school and ran into other gangs, they'd at most argue and trade insults. As for someone who would actually report her—there could only be one person: her old nemesis, Shang Xianzi.
Shang Xianzi had also been a student at this school, but she'd been expelled last year. Back when Zhu Ling was singing at the bar, Shang Xianzi would always bring her little crew of girls to serve as the "atmosphere group"—drinking alongside customers, dancing, and raking in tips. Usually, when these young, eye-catching girls showed up, the bar owner would treat them for free, spending a little to keep them around. If some big spender took a liking to one of them, he'd order a fancy imported liquor set to save face, the girls would drink and play along, then squeeze a bit more cash out of him, and the bar would make a killing too. Win-win.
And when the bar had no business, Shang Xianzi would take her girls out wandering the streets, scouting for men to add on WeChat. When they spotted a decent-looking one, they'd go up and say, "Hey, handsome, want to add me on WeChat? Thirty bucks a pop."
Unlike Shang Xianzi, Zhu Ling was a diligent student. She had started dating a boyfriend a few months ago, balancing schoolwork, romance, and hobbies. Every week, she also had to check in at home and sit around for half a day. These activities took up much of her time, and she only went out to hang around when she felt down or bored—a laid-back, non-mainstream type. Naturally, the followers who chose to stick with her were also the kind who drifted through life without ambition. Among this group of followers, only Milia showed a bit of drive, often adding older men on WeChat to hustle some pocket money.
In their circle, there was a term called "hustling old men." Here, "old men" referred broadly to any older male, not necessarily someone in their seventies or eighties. Of course, in the eyes of rebellious teenage girls, any man over thirty could be called an "old man." And "hustling old men" meant using any means to extract money from older males.
Milia only aimed for pocket money, not riches, so her hustling methods were relatively mild. Every morning and evening, she would mass-send her retouched photos to them to keep the connection alive: "Big brother, I went to get a tattoo today, but I'm short fifty bucks. Send me a red packet, and once it's done, I'll show you first."
Or: "Big bro, I'm about to go eat some rice noodles, but I've got no money. Can you send me thirty bucks for the meal? Did you like the no-makeup photo I just sent you?"
Or: "Baby, I was riding my bike and fell into a ditch. My leg hurts and I can't walk. Can you send me twenty bucks for a cab?"
As for Shang Xianzi, she treated hustling old men as a lifelong career. Beyond that, she diversified her operations—accompanying older men, engaging in compensated dating, and sometimes doing livestreams or selling goods. Her merchandise was bizarre and shocking: used sanitary pads, bathwater she had soaked in, and so on—all sellable and with great demand. As for her livestreams, they ranged from singing and dancing to borderline explicit or embarrassing content. In short, she was ruthless.
Zhu Ling had no idea how she had offended her. After racking her brain, the only possibility was that back when they hung out together at bars, Shang Xianzi had taken a liking to Zhu Ling's singer boyfriend. After being rejected, she held a grudge against Zhu Ling. Add to that the fight she had with Milia a couple of days ago, and she had dug up unflattering photos of Zhu Ling from over half a year ago and reported her to the school.
When Milia found out, she remembered the wealthy older man who had been snatched away, and old and new grievances erupted together. The group of followers also rolled up their sleeves, furious, saying: "This is too much! We're not men if we don't get revenge! Zhu Ling, just give the word—when do we go beat her up?"
Zhu Ling was a peace-loving, rebellious non-mainstream girl. She didn't enjoy hustling old men, nor was she good at brawls. Her only hobby as a rebellious girl was complimenting strangers—though not just anyone; she only praised those she admired and genuinely liked. After being egged on by her followers for a while, she felt stuck between a rock and a hard place, sensing that this fight was unavoidable. Of course, she was also quite angry herself, saying: "I've put up with her for too long. Enough is enough. This time, I have to teach her a lesson."
A few days earlier, Shang Xianzi had gotten into a street fight and nearly been taken in for questioning. This time, she was cautious. Though she accepted the challenge, she refused to brawl out in the open again. So they agreed to settle it this Friday afternoon at Caoxi Park. Caoxi Park was a small park in Xuhui District—not large, with few visitors, and free admission. Finding a quiet corner there for a group fight was perfect. And if someone called the cops, there were small gates in every direction, making escape easy.
Friday noon, Zhu Ling snuck out of school, disguised herself, gathered her group of followers, and headed to Caoxi Park for the showdown. From school to Caoxi Park, it was just under eight kilometers. None of them had money, so taking a cab was out of the question. Some even had negative phone balances and couldn't scan to unlock a shared bike. But her followers roamed the streets daily, averaging 30,000 to 50,000 steps a day. A mere eight kilometers was nothing to them.
Zhu Ling could afford a cab, but since her followers crashed at her rental place and she always footed the bill when they ate out, they wouldn't let her splurge. They all blocked her: "Save the money for what matters! Every one of us walks tens of thousands of steps from the moment we wake up! This little distance, we can just walk it!"
Milia also said: "I suggest you think hard—why do we humans have two legs? Isn't it for walking?"
After walking a bit over two kilometers, with two-thirds of the journey still ahead, the weather turned sour and a light rain began to fall. Zhu Ling was exhausted and couldn't go on, so she stopped in her tracks, fished out some soft candy from her pocket to eat, and told her followers: "I've got something to do, so I'm heading back. Let's fight another day."
Her followers knew she was just being lazy and couldn't help feeling disappointed, scolding her in unison: "Zhu Ling! You're too pampered! You can't even walk this little distance or endure this little hardship!"
Zhu Ling stood at the roadside, refusing to move, saying, "We've already walked three kilometers in one go, that's plenty, alright!"
"Last year, Shang Xianzi raced against an electric scooter. When the scooter ran out of battery, she kept walking for a long distance! And you still want to fight Shang Xianzi? How could you possibly win!"
A yellow-haired kid wasn't convinced: "What's so great about Shang Xianzi? A long time ago, just to eat a cheap bowl of beef noodles, I walked from Puxi all the way to Pudong. After finishing, I turned around and walked all the way back to Puxi!"
Zhu Ling was taller than everyone else, at 1.7 meters, but due to lack of exercise, her stamina was far inferior to these lean, short young boys and girls. Being complained at, she had no choice but to listen. However, she had a special trick for dealing with the younger crowd, so she said, "Let's go back and have some spicy hot pot. My treat."
Most of the young boys and girls had no income. When they got a bit of pocket money, they'd spend it on getting tattoos, and usually went hungry three meals a day, which was why they were all extremely skinny. Hearing this, they clapped and cheered: "Great!"