Chapter 1: A Cut in the Alley
The city air felt heavy and hot, pressing down on Yang Dingtian's shoulders like a physical weight. Or maybe it was just the shame. He adjusted the stiff collar of his one good shirt, the one he'd bought specifically for job interviews. It was starting to feel like a costume.
Another interview. Another polite, empty smile from a manager. Another "We are very impressed, but we have candidates with more experience." The words were a broken record in his mind. At 21, with a fresh university degree, he had thought the world would be waiting for him. Instead, it felt like every door was slammed in his face.
He kicked a loose pebble, watching it skitter across the cracked pavement. His small, rented room was in a cheaper part of the city, and his walk home took him through a network of older, quieter streets. The grand office buildings downtown felt like they belonged to a different planet.
It was in one of these quieter streets that the sound reached him. It wasn't loud, but it was wrong. A sharp, frightened gasp, followed by the low, rough laughter of men.
Yang Dingtian stopped. His eyes were drawn to the mouth of a narrow alley, squeezed between two old brick buildings. The fading afternoon light didn't penetrate far into it, leaving the space filled with gloomy shadows.
There, he saw them. Two men, dressed in scuffed leather jackets, had a young woman cornered against a grimy wall. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, her face pale with fear. One of the men had a firm, cruel grip on her wrist, twisting it slightly as she tried to pull away.
"Please," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Just take my bag. Let me go."
The second man laughed, a nasty, grating sound. "We'll take the bag, sure. But we're not in a hurry, are we?"
A fire, hot and sudden, flared in Yang Dingtian's chest. It was a mix of the day's frustration, the humiliation of being judged and found lacking, and a raw, simple anger at seeing someone vulnerable being preyed upon. His brain screamed at him to be smart, to call the police, to not get involved. But his feet were already moving, carrying him into the alley before his fear could catch up.
"Hey!" The word burst from him, louder and more confident than he felt. "Let her go!"
All three figures turned to look at him. The woman's eyes were wide with a flicker of hope. The men's faces twisted with annoyance and then amusement. They saw a young man in a cheap suit, not a threat.
The one holding the woman smirked. "Get lost, kid. This doesn't concern you. Go play somewhere else."
The dismissal, so similar to the ones he'd faced all day, was the final spark. Without another warning, Yang Dingtian lunged forward and threw a wild punch. It connected with the smirking man's jaw with a satisfying thud, snapping his head back and forcing him to release the woman's wrist. He stumbled back a step, more surprised than hurt.
The surprise lasted only a second. The second hooligan's face darkened with fury. "You little idiot!" he snarled, and charged.
The fight was messy and brutal. Yang Dingtian was no trained fighter, but he'd been in his share of scuffles growing up. He knew how to take a hit and how to throw one. But these men were brawlers. They fought dirty, using their weight and experience.
A fist caught Yang Dingtian in the ribs, driving the air from his lungs with a painful grunt. Another blow glanced off his cheekbone, making his vision swim. He fought back, landing a solid punch to one man's stomach, but it was a losing battle. Two against one was simple math. He was being pushed back, his arms up to block blows coming from both sides.
As he grappled with the first man, his hand clawed at the man's jacket for balance. His fingers brushed against something hard and metallic in the outside pocket. A knife! They had a weapon but hadn't even bothered to use it. They thought that little of him.
The insult fueled his desperation. In a split second, he yanked the small folding knife from the pocket, fumbling with the blade until it snapped open.
The owner of the knife saw it and roared, swinging a heavy fist at Yang Dingtian's head. Yang Dingtian didn't think. He purely reacted. He slashed outwards, a frantic, sweeping arc meant to keep the man back.
The blade didn't stab. It sliced. A clean, sharp cut opened across the back of the man's swinging hand.
The man froze mid-swing. A look of pure shock replaced his anger. He stared at the line of bright red blood welling up from the cut on his skin. The alley fell completely silent, the only sound a sharp intake of breath from the woman.
The two hooligans stared at the blood, then at the knife in Yang Dingtian's shaking hand, and finally at his face. This was no longer a game. The mood had shifted, turning cold and dangerous.
The fight was over. But something new had just begun.