“You’re fucking amazing! You’ve got some serious guts!”
Sun Mingzhu was trembling all over, flailing her arms and legs as if in a frenzied trance.
“You actually went to get the money from Sheng Lang all by yourself? And you actually got it! I heard Sheng Lang got a brutal beating from his dad—his head was even split open. We’re done for, we’re done for! Sheng Lang is definitely going to retaliate! He’ll surely find a chance to kill you.”
“Not for the time being.” Lin Zhixia didn’t even look up from his worksheet. “He injured one of Brother Chai’s guys during a fight last time. Brother Chai’s men have been out looking to corner him ever since. He’s too busy trying to stay hidden to worry about me.”
“You’re pretty well-informed, aren’t you?”
Delivering milk meant weaving through the neighborhood streets; Lin Zhixia chatted with countless aunties and grandmas every day. With his sweet, well-behaved face—the kind women loved—he gathered a wealth of information.
Lin Zhixia said, “By the time he’s free, school will have started for me, too.”
“But he’s going to No. 9 Middle School too. Once you’re at school, he can still give you trouble.”
Lin Zhixia looked up at Sun Mingzhu, a faint smile playing on his refined features.
“Don’t worry. At school, no one can mess with me.”
Just as Lin Zhixia had predicted, the next few days passed without incident.
Brother Chai’s men were scouring the streets for Sheng Lang—chasing him like a dog after a rat—so Sheng Lang was only truly safe when hiding at home.
For Sheng Guangquan, this ‘cheap’ son of his actually made for a useful laborer.
Sheng Lang was young, but he was big for his age. He could handle most of the work at the small inn—from changing sheets and cleaning to waiting tables and serving food.
Every day at sunset, the gathering darkness veiled the chaos and squalor. Neon signs in the South District flickered to life one by one, transforming this neighborhood—once an eyesore like a patch of psoriasis—into a dazzling, multicolored mini-metropolis.
The ground floor of the Sheng family inn housed a restaurant, where Sheng Guangquan served as the head chef; he actually cooked up some pretty decent home-style meals. With bellies full and warm, the patrons—accompanied by their female companions—headed upstairs to indulge in the pleasures of the flesh.
Sheng Lang had mastered the art of weaving through the dining hall while balancing a tray laden with four or five dishes in one hand.
“Hey, look at that—the kid’s got green eyes!” a customer exclaimed, noticing Sheng Lang’s distinctive feature. “Come here, lad, let us have a look.”
Sheng Lang remained impassive as he cleared the plates from a nearby table.
From the kitchen, Sheng Guangquan let out a loud, deliberate cough.
Only then did Sheng Lang set aside his work and walk over.
The guests at Table 2 were flushed with drink; one man grabbed Sheng Lang by the collar, forcing him to bend down.
“They really are green—like glass marbles!” the whole table roared with laughter.
“Is your mom a foreigner, or is it your dad?” the customer asked. “How old are you?”
Sheng Lang said nothing.
“Don’t understand Chinese?” The man seemed even more amused by this. “You don’t only speak English, do you? Say something for us.”
Sheng Lang’s eyes shifted; in the shadows, they took on a sinister, dark green hue.
The customer, too drunk to notice anything amiss, pulled out a fifty-yuan note.
“Come on, you little half-breed—say something in English for the boys, and this is yours.”
The other guests at the table banged on the table, egging him on.
At the sight of the money, Sheng Lang’s expression shifted; the corners of his mouth curled into a smile.
“Hello,” he said. “You son of a bitch.”
The customers rocked back and forth with laughter.
Sheng Lang had picked up the phrase from foreign movies; the customers clearly didn’t understand what it meant.
“He said it! He really only knows English! Hey, Boss—where’d you find a foreign waiter like this?”
Sheng Guangquan remained silent in the kitchen. The customer shoved the fifty-yuan note into Sheng Lang’s hand and patted his cheek. “Here, kiddo—study hard.”
Sheng Lang went into the kitchen, where Sheng Guangquan pointed a ladle at a bowl of soup. “Take this to Table 2. Do your job properly and don’t give me any attitude.”
Sheng Lang walked to a secluded corner, spat a glob of thick phlegm into the soup, and then—his expression impassive—carried the bowl over to the customers.
It was late; the customers had moved from the dining area to the rooms upstairs.
Sheng Lang had finished cleaning up and sat at the foot of the lobby stairs, his body coated in a layer of kitchen grease.
Crude, suggestive sounds drifted down from upstairs, but Sheng Lang paid them no mind as he rubbed safflower oil onto the bruises on his body.
The medicinal oil had a pungent, stinging odor that made the boy’s eyes well up with tears.
“Oh my, what happened here?” A middle-aged man walked in.
He wore a short-sleeved white shirt and black trousers; rimless glasses sat on his face, and his greasy bangs hung limp across his forehead.
Sheng Lang looked up, his eyes narrowing warily.
“Xiao Lang, did your dad hit you again?” The man sat down beside him, feigning concern. “Geez, why is your dad always so rough? You’ve got swim team training coming up—if you’re injured, you won’t be able to get in the water. What’s this? Are you crying?”
The man reached out to touch Sheng Lang’s face.
Sheng Lang jerked backward, dodging the man’s hand; he stared at him guardedly, his eyes cold and hard like polished jade beads.
“Hey now.” The man gave an awkward, sheepish laugh. “You’re a stubborn kid, aren’t you? Uncle really cares about you. Oh, by the way—”
The man took a box out of his bag.
“I just got back from a business trip to Shanghai and bought you a gift. Nike swimming goggles—a brand-name pair. See if you like them.”
Sheng Lang hesitated, then took the box and opened it to look inside.
In the dim, amber light, the boy’s profile was strikingly handsome—like a beautiful youth in an oil painting. The curve of his nose and chin was graceful and fluid; his deep-set eyes were framed by long, thick, curled lashes that fluttered like butterfly wings whenever he blinked. And those lips—so rosy and full; even with a bruise at the corner of the mouth, they looked utterly kissable.
Thirteen—just beginning to mature, with no beard or prominent Adam’s apple yet; it was the age when a boy looked his absolute best…
The man instinctively leaned closer, inhaling deeply, trying to catch the boy’s own fresh scent amidst the reek of cooking fumes and sweat.
Sheng Lang stood up abruptly, looking down at the man; his tall, lean frame blocked out much of the light.
“Thanks, Uncle Ma. I’ll go get my dad.”
Having taken the gift, he ran off without a backward glance.
The man remained seated on the stairs, lingering in the moment, a dazed smile still on his face.
When Sheng Guangquan came downstairs and saw that lovestruck look on Old Ma’s face, he felt a wave of disgust.
In a place like the Yong’an South District, teeming with lowlifes and thugs, Sheng Guangquan had seen it all. Yet, a guy like Old Ma—who got his kicks chasing after young boys—was the sort of trash even other scumbags looked down on.
“Why are you here today?” Sheng Guangquan asked irritably. “We agreed that money wouldn’t be paid back until the beginning of next month.”
“I’m not here to collect a debt,” Old Ma said with a smile as he stood up. “Remember how you said you wanted to try flipping unfinished properties? I brought a friend along this time—he works at the City Planning Bureau. He knows exactly what the city’s future development plans look like.”
Sheng Guangquan was intrigued. “Where is he?”
“Over at the mahjong parlor across the street.”
“Mahjong again?” Sheng Guangquan waved a hand dismissively. “You’re just trying to trick me into losing money.”
“Oh, come on—how can you talk business without sitting at the table?” Old Ma put on a serious face. “If you don’t lose a little money to them, why would they share insider info with you? Anyway, I’ve found the guy for you; it’s up to you whether you want to go or not.”
With that, he turned and started walking out.
Sheng Guangquan rubbed his hands together and stomped his foot. “Hey, wait for me! Let me go change into some clean clothes first!”