"The civil affairs bureau is sending enforcement!"
12
Tyson immediately gathered what he could, and together with the old beggar, prepared to flee town with his sister.
Go where? No idea.
But staying meant he'd never see his sister again.
Several intersections in the city had police checkpoints. Pudge had also told Tyson about the beggar's criminal record. Tyson immediately understood that being entangled with a former convict had escalated the severity of this whole situation beyond repair.
The spring rain was still falling. Weightless drifts of rain floated down, spattering the mud outside the bridge.
The three of them huddled under the bridge. His sister's eyes were full of fear. She asked: "Brother, am I not going to be able to go to school anymore?"
Tyson reassured her, then pulled the old beggar aside to a spot where his sister couldn't hear.
Tyson shoved the old beggar against the wall, eyes blazing with fury.
"Why didn't you tell me earlier?!"
The old beggar didn't answer. In that moment, he finally looked like an old man. His wrinkled, withered hand gently pushed Tyson's grip away, and he said: "I'm sorry."
In the spring rain, the old beggar turned away silently. Tyson wanted to scream after him.
"Where are you going? You gave up, so you're just leaving?!"
"Fraud. You're nothing but a fraud!"
The old beggar disappeared into the drizzle.
13
Late at night, at the wet market.
The old beggar now learned that the Beggars' Clan election still hadn't been held. Some of the Clan's old members had started delivering food with the Hung Clan, some had taken cleaning jobs at schools, some sold vegetables at the market...
But the election had been postponed. They'd had their eye on the elementary school gym—the only venue available for daily rental, and cheap enough—but it wouldn't be available until summer vacation.
At the market, Ronnie and the old monk had both come. But none of the Beggars' Clan. They didn't want to see the old beggar.
The town's entire martial world was here. They regarded him with open hostility.
That evening, by the bridge, Tyson had demanded: "You have a criminal record—why didn't you tell me?"
And the answer the old beggar couldn't bring himself to say was: "If I had, the three of us would've fallen apart."
Now, the old beggar begged the group before him. Adopt those two children—it was just two more mouths to feed. He'd contribute what he could toward their upbringing. He knew the martial world despised him. He never had to come back. Just don't let those two kids be torn apart.
The old beggar said a great deal. He babbled like the old man he was, pleading with them. He said martial world debts should be settled in the martial world. He could pay for what he'd done to Ronnie's leg. He told them about the two children—a good family, now just the siblings left. He said he'd kneel if he had to. Just help them. Don't let them be separated.
Ronnie, wearing his greasy vendor's apron, the sinews of his former Hung Fist training now long since turned to fat.
Ronnie lit a cigarette, squinted, and looked at his own leg—the one that still ached on rainy days.
He said: "Get lost."
The martial world refused.
Life was a heavier wall, pressing down on their shoulders. They had no surplus strength to carry two more children.
The old beggar couldn't either. All these years, guarding the Beggars' Clan, guarding a laughable family legacy. He'd never even tried to lift the burden of living.
14
That night, nothing changed in the martial world.
At Ronnie's home, he brewed medicine and brought it to his bedridden old mother.
At South Pole Temple, the old monk, wearing reading glasses, used an old calculator that beeped "reset" with every press, tallying the donation box intake.
He looked up at the peeling Buddha statue in the temple, calculating how many more days it would take to save enough for repairs.
When the old beggar returned to the bridge, the siblings were gone.
It was as though nothing had ever happened.
15
Dawn was just breaking. Mist drifted through the small town.
The old beggar found a sturdy wooden stick and set out from beneath the bridge. Based on what he knew of Tyson, the kid would try to force his way through the checkpoint today, then get caught and sent away.
Time was running out.
The old beggar swung the stick experimentally. The force was violent enough to crack the air with several sharp pops.
But then, the stick snapped in two. The break was clean. One half flew away. Only then did the sound of metal biting into stone reach him from behind.
The old beggar turned. A knife had cut through the mist-shrouded air, severed his stick, and embedded itself in the stone behind him.
It was a greasy meat cleaver.
16
The highway exit was chaotic.
Tyson fought to keep hold of his sister's hand, while she wept loudly. Exhausted traffic officers tried to pull him away, and Ye from the civil affairs bureau was among them.
Because of Tyson's recent offenses, his sister was about to be put in a police car and taken directly to the provincial capital.
Tyson gripped his sister's hand with everything he had. She was the only family he had left. But under the sheer force of the crowd, her hand slipped from his fingertips.
Then, in the distance, came the screech of a van's brakes.
Ye looked back in confusion. Through the rain and mist, a group of figures gradually materialized.
Ronnie the pork butcher, the market vendors, the food delivery riders, the couriers, the old monk from South Pole Temple, a bunch of old men who looked suspiciously like beggars...
The martial world was coming.
None of them had brought weapons—Ronnie had insisted. No lawbreaking.
A traffic officer called into his radio, then stepped forward to block them.
Ronnie stepped out from the crowd and said: "Officer, we'd like to adopt these two kids. Any one of us will do. Oh, not that monk or that beggar—those two definitely won't work."
The martial world was willing to adopt these two children.
Ye hesitated, then called his supervisor. The answer was no. The aunt's conditions were better. That was what being responsible for a child looked like.
The officers started dispersing the crowd. Hidden among them, the old beggar saw the sister already being lifted into a police car, and Tyson being shoved toward another.
The old beggar coughed, then quickly ran back.
In an instant, the traffic officer found Ronnie's arms wrapped around his legs. More people lunged forward, grabbing officers around the waist and thighs.
Tyson came to his senses. The officers around him had been tackled aside too.
The van burst through the rain.
Tyson yanked open the door and pulled his sister out. After the van lurched to a halt, the old beggar leaned out of the driver's window and shouted: "Get in!"
The van sped away while the scene behind them quickly settled.
Ronnie was pinned to the ground by an officer, face pressed into the mud. He bellowed: "No violence, brothers! Absolutely no violence!"
Ten minutes later.
The van merged onto the highway, driving straight ahead.
After two days of running, his sister had fallen asleep in the back seat, wrapped in a blanket, sleeping peacefully.
Tyson sat in the passenger seat, the excited smile still lingering on his face.
He looked out the window. Weightless threads of rain still drifted in the air.
The rain fell on the concrete at the highway exit.
There, Ronnie, his crew, the old monk... everyone was handcuffed by the side of the road, squatting with hands on their heads in a neat row.
Ronnie lifted his head. A thread of rain landed on his face.
On that calculating face of his, a smile broke through.
It was a smile of relief.
17
The windshield wipers swept back and forth. The landscape scrolled past.
The old beggar babbled on, planning the future. They could go to the next county. With Ronnie's connections, he could deliver food, work as a cleaner at a karaoke bar. The siblings wouldn't have to drop out—he could at least support them through college...
"Let's go to the provincial capital. To the aunt's."
The old beggar thought he'd misheard. He looked at Tyson beside him. Tyson just stared out the window, then after a long silence, said: "Let her be raised by the aunt."
Silence filled the van again. After a long time, Tyson spoke once more.
He said that last night, he'd taken his sister to Pudge's house, where they'd spent the night.
This time there was no coercion. Pudge had heard that Tyson's sister would have to sleep under a bridge and offered on his own. He'd even picked up Tyson's tough-guy slang, calling it "hiding in plain sight."
At Pudge's house, Tyson had seen an unfamiliar world.
A well-kept home, bookshelves lined with books, bright windows, clean bedding, even a piano she could practice in her spare time.
Tyson imagined his sister growing up in that environment—bright, clever. No longer scraping by for every meal, she could pour her energy into knowledge, becoming composed and elegant.
She wouldn't go grabbing cleavers anymore. She'd go to college, have a career.
The only regret was that she would probably gradually forget this brother, the way the martial world was gradually being forgotten.
Perhaps one day, Tyson would visit her home. By then she'd have her own family, maybe even be a mother. And Tyson would just be a ragged, timid man who could no longer meet anyone's gaze.
Time would carve an unbridgeable gulf between them, severing every thread of kinship they'd once shared.
Just this one small regret.
Tyson said to the old beggar: "You know, when I was running with her, I still had some fantasy about the future. But after we got in the car, I kept thinking about what her future would look like if it were the two of us raising her."
"The answer is, I couldn't imagine one. Because with us, she'd have no future."
The old beggar just listened in silence. He never said a word.
The van merged onto the ramp toward the provincial capital.
18
His sister was woken by Tyson.
"Brother, where are we?"
She rubbed her eyes and let Tyson lead her into a house.
The house was well-renovated, tasteful and quiet. You could tell the owner was an educated person.
This was the aunt's home.
Fear appeared on his sister's face. She gripped Tyson's hand tight.
But Tyson didn't look at her. He simply placed her hand in the aunt's.
His sister understood everything. She pulled free from the aunt and threw her arms around Tyson, holding on tight. She didn't cry—she just pleaded: "Brother, don't leave me."
"Brother, I shouldn't have stolen your chips. I shouldn't have grabbed the cleaver all the time. I won't do it again, I'll change everything."
"Brother, please don't leave me. Please don't leave me."
His sister clung to Tyson with all her strength. She didn't cry—she didn't even dare to. In her eyes was every ounce of suppressed helplessness and pleading.
Like a bird that had been startled from its perch.
Tyson never looked at his sister. He was afraid that a single glance would drain him of all courage.
With every ounce of strength, he controlled his trembling body. He spoke to the aunt as calmly as he could.
"She has a sensitive stomach—don't give her too much milk."
"I didn't teach her well. She might pick on her classmates, but she'll grow out of it eventually. Please—don't give up on her."
"And she doesn't like going to bed at night. I used to just yell at her. You're different. You might be able to read her stories—kids like that kind of thing."
"And, and..."
19
When the aunt walked Tyson to the door, his sister had already been shown to her new room. Yes—his sister had a room of her own now.
At the threshold, Tyson caught a fleeting hesitation on the aunt's face. But it was only fleeting—no more than that.
"Come visit her in the provincial capital whenever you have time," the aunt said.
Tyson tried to say something, but just then, from inside the house, his sister could no longer hold back—and broke into loud sobs.
The sound carried through the spring drizzle and landed on Tyson's damp ears.
He remembered—back when he and his father had been outside the delivery room, the very first sound from his sister had been a cry.
Starting there, ending here. That was fine. Tyson tried to comfort himself with that thought. But on the drive back, the old beggar still caught a glimpse, in the rearview mirror, of Tyson's wracking sobs that he couldn't hold in no matter how hard he tried.
The rain that had been drifting in the air finally fell.
20
The spring rains had long since passed. The old trees in town were thick with leaves, and the sound of cicadas drifted near and far.
It was summer.
Tyson and the old beggar still lived in that old house. Both of them were delivering food now. But once this summer was over, Tyson could go back to school.
Worth mentioning—the members of the town's martial world.
For obstructing law enforcement, they'd all paid fines. After the usual lecture, they were released back to their everyday lives.
The old monk, having paid his fine, was even further from affording the temple repairs. But he'd keep waiting, letting the donation box fill up day by day.
They'd gotten physical with the police and still hadn't revealed the secret of the martial world. Ronnie was quite pleased about that. For a while, he considered discounting his pork to celebrate, but then decided against it—he couldn't afford it.
And the Beggars' Clan members had transitioned successfully—delivering packages, working for Ronnie, setting up market stalls... They'd found livelihoods they could live on.
At the town's elementary school, in the gymnasium, a group of girls played and laughed. Among them was Tyson's sister.
She was back with her brother for summer vacation.
From outside the gym came the horn of an electric scooter, and then Tyson's voice calling for his sister. It was nearly noon—time to go home for lunch.
His sister walked out of the gym with her friends and ran straight into Ronnie, the old monk, and the Beggars' Clan uncles... all heading toward the gymnasium.
They spoke in hushed tones about secrets of the martial world. The Beggars' Clan election was finally about to be held in the gym.
His sister waved at them, then skipped away.
She didn't plan to stick around. She was hungry, and the meals the old beggar and her brother made had started to taste pretty good.