So some branches had fled to this southern town, living under assumed names and keeping their fractured factions alive.
Ronnie the pork butcher—that greasy middle-aged man who'd haggle over a few cents with his customers—was the leader of the Hung Clan. His faction had successfully transitioned; most of his members now ran delivery and takeout routes around town.
And the old monk at South Pole Temple was the head of Shaolin. He'd gotten cataracts a couple years back and had no savings. The various factions had chipped in to pay for his surgery.
"What about the Beggars' Clan?" Tyson asked.
It turned out that back when everyone could still earn work points in the production teams, making a living hadn't been a problem. But after the reforms, figuring out how to put food on the table became a pressing concern.
The various factions changed trades, went into business. They weren't exactly thriving, but they could eat.
Yet by then, the martial world had become a shared memory, rapidly fading in the face of ordinary life.
Only the Beggars' Clan kept on begging.
How could you call it a Beggars' Clan if you didn't beg?
The old beggar was from the generation born into the martial world. The Beggars' Clan had been passed down from his father.
He wouldn't allow it. It was absolutely impossible for him to let his clan just wither away.
The remaining members of the Beggars' Clan—though they'd all reached middle age and beyond—were younger than the old beggar. They didn't see it that way. They wanted to earn money. They even wanted to buy houses and find wives.
And so, matters of the martial world were settled by the martial world.
A week ago, amidst a brawl among a bunch of elderly beggars, the old beggar had escaped.
Tyson was dumbfounded. A whole martial world hidden in this small town—how had he never known?
The old beggar cracked a dry, weathered smile. "If you lot found out, you'd have called the police and rounded everyone up." After coming to this town, every faction had made a pact: never breathe a word about the martial world to ordinary folks. Including showing off any kung fu.
But the most pressing issue was that the old beggar couldn't leave now.
Ronnie was involved too, which meant every delivery rider and courier in town would be looking for him. The safest place to stay was right here in this old house.
Tyson was still reeling from the revelation of the martial world, but he snapped back to reality, despairing: "Then what about the civil affairs bureau?!"
The old beggar looked at him with a grin. "Do you have any other choice?"
07
In his sister's mind, the ideal candidate had always been Jackie Chan.
There wasn't much good programming on their TV. The one highlight was "Project A" on the local station, though the stingy channel aired five minutes of commercials after every fifteen minutes of the movie. Still, it had clearly shaped her fantasy of what a guardian should be.
Big nose, could fight, and polite.
But absolutely not a beggar!
His sister didn't believe a word the old beggar said. She looked at her brother with exasperation: "You've almost completed nine years of compulsory education. How can you believe everything anyone tells you?"
"We should just run away. That's more practical."
But Tyson knew this was the only option. The alternative was beating the old beggar up and throwing him out—and his sister's two cleaver-grabbing incidents had made it clear that doing anything to traumatize a minor was a bad idea.
His sister sighed and finally nodded. "Fine. Let's try it."
08
Back when they first came up with this plan, the siblings had done their research.
Tyson had a classmate named Pudge, whose father was the head of the civil affairs bureau. Before dropping out, they'd had a decent relationship—mostly involving Tyson extorting Pudge, but still.
Under duress, Pudge tearfully delivered a ray of hope.
The civil affairs bureau wasn't the police, after all. The adoption process was simple: verify documents, check employment, and as long as things roughly checked out, the paperwork went through with a stamp.
After that, they'd make monthly home visits for about a year.
After that, the siblings could live however they pleased. Nobody was going to pry them apart.
So identity was key.
Identity mattered.
At the school gate, Tyson lit a cigarette and greeted Pudge, who was heading home: "Miss me?"
Afterwards, Pudge walked away looking like he'd seen a ghost. That night, Pudge would use his father's computer to upload a fake profile into the civil affairs bureau's database.
The photo was of the old beggar, sheared of his matted hair, carefully groomed by the siblings to match a photo their father had left behind.
On paper, he was Tyson's third uncle, an ordinary employee from the neighboring province, a man who couldn't bear to see these two children suffer and had decided to settle in their county as their ideal guardian.
Meanwhile, at the school's print shop, his little sister sucked on a lollipop and accepted the fake ID and employment certificate from a classmate who looked equally miserable.
09
The three of them ate dinner together in the living room.
No more separate meals. After a bath, a haircut, forced teeth-brushing, and a series of other procedures, the old beggar had cleaned up considerably.
But plenty of habits were hard to break. Grabbing food with his hands, hoarding the meat, scraping food into his pockets.
Gotta say, for a Beggars' Clan leader, this was pretty on-brand.
Just this dinner scene alone would never pass the civil affairs bureau's inspection. Remember, they'd be making regular visits for at least a year.
"Something's missing." His sister touched her chin.
"No sense of family." Tyson touched his chin too.
The old beggar sniffed his armpit. "I don't stink anymore."
In a way, their departed father had been a good template.
And so, in the days that followed, the old beggar had to learn to pick up food with chopsticks for the two of them, learn to take sides when the siblings "argued," learn to offer Tyson life advice—though he didn't need to be profound about it. Just put on an air of unassailable authority and he'd be fine.
He learned a lot.
Most of the time, the three of them were locked in an awkward performance, like unprofessional extras in a TV drama. They kept cracking each other up. It seemed the siblings hadn't realized that together with the old beggar, they were re-creating something that could never come back.
10
At night, Tyson stood in the yard, staring blankly at the sky. An early spring night, the chill still sharp.
He'd already contacted the civil affairs bureau. Tomorrow was the home inspection.
The old beggar knew Tyson was missing his father. It was a phase every man went through after forty or fifty—but Tyson had reached it earlier than most.
This reminded the old beggar of his own grudge with Ronnie.
After the economic reforms, it was Ronnie who proposed that the Hung Clan should go into business, sell vegetables at the market. Back then, the Beggars' Clan, being from properly poor peasant stock, had a dominant position in the martial world.
The old beggar, following martial world rules, broke one of Ronnie's legs.
After that, he went to prison for assault. By the time he got out, the martial world had already changed.
Why refuse to change? Why insist on being a beggar? All the old beggar could remember were his father's dying eyes, eyes that said: "The martial world can't just dissolve like this."
"What happened to your parents?" the old beggar asked Tyson.
"We went to our aunt's for a visit. My sister and I didn't like her, so we didn't stay. On the way back, there was a truck. It was raining, the truck skidded. That was it."
The old beggar fell silent for a moment, then said: "Have you ever thought that letting her go might be the right thing?"
The old beggar was surprised at his own words. He'd always assumed this was just a place to lay low, that the siblings were mere strangers. But something had shifted inside him.
Perhaps, in some fleeting moment, the "performance" the three of them put on had become real.
Tyson turned around and smiled.
"Then have you ever thought that not returning to the Beggars' Clan might be the right thing?"
Neither of them had yet learned the meaning of "letting go" from their fathers. And even if they knew, it wouldn't change them, let alone teach each other.
11
The person from the civil affairs bureau was a young man named Ye.
Precisely because he was young, he took a special interest in the siblings' case. It had been him who arranged the aunt's adoption proceedings in the first place.
To their surprise, the inspection went smoothly. The documents were in order, the IDs checked out, and under the siblings' nervous gazes, the old beggar comported himself with the appropriate gravitas of an elderly man.
Ye told them to come by the bureau tomorrow to finalize the adoption. Then he stepped away, already on the phone.
All three exhaled.
But in the time they didn't know about, Ye had discovered the old beggar's criminal record.
It was precisely because Ye cared about these siblings that, back at the office, he insisted on cross-referencing the police database.
The bureau chief—Pudge's father—was dismissive at first. Just an old man who'd lived in another province, all the paperwork checked out. But Ye was persistent, and they contacted the police.
The cross-reference revealed: these two kids were pretty damn impressive.
The ruse fell apart quickly. Pudge was beaten by his parents and tearfully called Tyson with a warning: