Dust churned through the room, hanging thick in the air.
The boys' breathing was heavy and uneven, mixed with the dull thump, thump of fists landing on flesh.
Wei was curled tightly on the ground, arms locked over his chest.
Pain came in violent waves, sharp enough to make his vision swim. Each breath felt like it scraped against something broken inside him.
The boy beneath him finally caught his breath. Seeing that the situation had turned in his favor, he started shouting again, voice hoarse but triumphant.
"Beat him! Don't stop—beat him to death! Drag him off me!"
Several of his companions grabbed at Wei, trying to pull him away.
But Wei clung on like glue.
The second kick landed.
Then the third.
He forced himself to inhale deeply, but the pain in his chest didn't ease at all. If anything, it grew heavier, darker, like something spreading.
Wei clenched his teeth.
Enough.
He stopped caring.
He swung his fist again.
He didn't even look back to see who was attacking him.
There was only one thing in front of him. One target. Once he locked onto it, he refused to let go.
His punches stopped being wild. They became precise. Solid. Heavy.
The lazy boy's heart lurched. His legs went weak, and he collapsed with a dull thud.
Before he could even gasp, Wei was already on top of him.
Clean movement. No hesitation.
Wei pinned him down, all his weight pressing forward.
The boy barely managed to lift his head—
And then three more bodies slammed down on Wei's back.
Like sacks of grain.
One.
Two.
Three.
They dropped from above, crushing him.
Wei's spine screamed, each segment feeling like it was being torn apart by iron hooks.
His breath was cut off completely.
The world shrank to nothing but breathing—
rough, animal breaths, thick and wet, like the last gasps of a dying beast.
Someone was shouting nearby.
"Hua—help me—please—"
It was Minnow.
His voice was sharp, torn, like cloth being ripped apart.
He was on the verge of tears.
Hua moved.
Just a little.
His toes scraped the ground, leaving a faint mark in the dust.
Then he pulled his foot back.
He stood still.
Like a nail driven in place.
Not nailed to the floor—
nailed inside his own heart.
He watched.
And did nothing.
He stood there like a wooden post stuck into the ground, rigid and empty.
Outside, a guard saw the chaos through the cracks in the wooden walls and reached out to shove the door open.
A hand stopped him.
"Wait. What's the rush?"
Iron-Throat's grip was like a clamp on the door plank. He leaned in, pressing his greasy, smiling face close to the gap. His breath carried a sour stench. Inside, the riot reflected in his eyes, which gleamed like a rat that had found oil.
"What a perfect chance," he murmured, almost lovingly, as if whispering to the door itself.
"This time, you won't slip out of my hands."
He licked the corner of his mouth, patient and pleased, like a cat waiting for a fish to swim closer.
"Bang."
When the fist came down, the sound was like a stone smashing into a puddle—short, vicious, and deep.
The boy's face changed instantly.
It was as if someone had poured ink over it. The color spread, dark and thick, until nothing else showed through.
All that lazy swagger—
gone.
Shattered into the grass, into the mud.
"You… you dare hit me—" he rasped."You're dead… you're dead…"
The words never finished.
Another punch crashed down.
He rolled, flailing wildly, clawing at the air like a drowning dog.
"I—I can't breathe…" he croaked.
Wei didn't respond.
His fists were steady.
His face was cold.
It was the kind of cold that didn't belong on a boy's face.
He knew exactly what he was doing.
With every punch, his heart beat once.
With every punch, the world shrank a little more.
The seventh punch split the corner of the lazy boy's mouth.
The eighth sent two teeth flying.
He screamed, the sound sharp and animal.
"Stop! I give up! Please! Stop!"
He cried like a little girl.
The fists kept coming.
Another punch, heavy and deep, like a nail driven into flesh.
Another.
The boy stopped moving.
Even the noise inside the wooden shed couldn't drown out the sound of fist hitting meat. It echoed, slow and hollow.
Then came the tenth punch.
The eleventh.
Wei pressed him down, just like when he'd faced the wild mountain goat in the forest.
This time, he chose to finish it in one breath.
He found a weak point—and refused to let go.
No hesitation. No retreat.
Punch after punch, each one heavier than the last.
Every time his fist landed, the boy's head jerked in the hay.
Before long, the other eye swelled shut too, bloated and shining.
"I—I can't see!"
"I can't see anymore!"
The voice cracked, thick with tears.
Wei didn't hear it.
Or maybe he did—but it didn't matter.
Wei wasn't doing well either.
His face had turned blue. Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth. Several lumps had risen on his forehead.
His lungs burned with every breath, like they were filled with fire.
Still, his fists kept falling.
The rhythm was fast and relentless, like rain pounding the forest during monsoon season.
The air grew cold, as if it had been torn open.
The lazy boy's screams were high and shrill, like an animal being slaughtered, bouncing wildly off the walls.
"Stop—please—I give up! I give up! Please stop!!"
He sobbed like a lost little girl.
Wei's fist came down anyway.
Smack.
Again.
The entire wooden shed seemed to shudder with each blow.
"Bang!"
At that exact moment, the door exploded inward.
Several guards stormed in like a sudden gale, their vine whips cracking through the air, lashing down on Wei's head without mercy.
"You again! You again!"
"You little wolf cub! I don't believe we can't beat the wild out of you!"
Iron-Throat's whip whistled again and again through the air, screaming as it fell.