Night.
In a tiny kingdom of only a few million people, inside its capital city.
Several yellow-skinned men were punching and kicking an old man.
"Hahaha, stinking beggar, daring to come out at night—don't you know your stench is unbearable?" A burly, thick-waisted man cackled as he stomped down again and again.
The three beside him rummaged through the beggar's rags, fishing out a handful of small coins and worn-out notes.
"Hmph, still got a bit of cash—enough for a couple more beers." One of the thugs grinned smugly.
"Please, don't take my money—that's for my grandson's medicine." Seeing the cash snatched away, the old man hugged his head and begged.
They ignored him. A bruiser lashed out again: "Screw you. Letting you live is mercy enough, and you still want medicine?"
Around the corner, an ordinary-looking young man in a trench-coat had just got off work. Watching the scene in the distance, his face twisted in conflict.
'Liu Zhiyuan, don't butt in—you can't take those guys.'
His mind kept wrestling, yet as he watched the old man being casually trampled, his fists clenched tighter.
A nameless fire rose inside; he couldn't bear it any longer.
He reached into his coat, pulled out a Mask and put it on. The moment it covered his face, courage surged—nothing felt impossible.
While the four thugs kept beating the old beggar—
"Stop!" a loud shout came from behind them.
The four turned; at this hour the narrow street was practically empty.
Not far away stood a man in a black windbreaker and a Mask; white and red paint outlined its features.
One thug pointed at the masked man and burst out laughing: "Haha, what cosplay is this at night—want to play hero?"
The thickset, tattooed leader sneered: "Which asylum did you escape from? Scram while you can, or we'll deal with you too."
The masked man's legs trembled slightly, yet he stepped closer: "Give him his money back, or don't blame me for being rude."
"Oh, we're so scared—boys, teach this clown a lesson!" The big man's face turned mocking.
"Die, kid!" The three punks charged with savage grins.
Liu Zhiyuan clenched his fists and ran to meet them.
As they closed in, he hurled a wild swing at the nearest thug.
The leftmost thug flinched and dodged.
The middle one promptly kicked Liu Zhiyuan in the gut, dropping him to his knees.
"Damn, thought you knew kung fu—just a useless weakling." Seeing the masked man floored with one kick, the left thug rushed in to punch and stomp.
Bang-bang-bang!
The three ringed Liu Zhiyuan, kicking away; the Mask flew off, revealing an utterly ordinary face.
"Crap, a loser like you trying to act tough—lost sight of your own level, huh?"
"Lesson for today: don't show off when you can't back it up."
The thugs wore sneers, their feet never stopping.
Liu Zhiyuan could only shield his head, pain written across his face.
Gradually his consciousness blurred.
In a daze he felt someone rifling his pockets; a thug pulled out his wallet.
Opening it, the thug found a thousand blue star coins and lit up: "A grand—bonus loot."
"This Mask's neat too; looks like an antique—can sell it."
'Mask?' At that word the fading Liu Zhiyuan jolted awake.
With his last strength he yelled, "Put… the Mask… down!"
Bang! A size-45 boot smashed into his face; the blow was too much—his mind sank into darkness.
"Boss, a thousand bucks—feast time!" The punks swaggered over to the big man with the cash.
"Come on, boys—grub's on me!" The bruiser laughed and led them off.
Clatter-clatter-clatter!
One thug tossed the old man's coins back as he passed: "Take your stinking money and scram."
The old man propped himself up and gathered the scattered notes.
Without a glance at the unconscious Liu Zhiyuan, he shuffled off down the street.
Rumble— After who knows how long, thunder rolled overhead; lightning tore across the sky and wind swept the street.
Pitter-patter!
Raindrops slapped Liu Zhiyuan's face; his eyelids fluttered open.
He watched the rain fall and splash onto his skin.
Tap-tap-tap. Footsteps approached; an old man in a black tang suit stood over him holding a large black umbrella.
The umbrella blocked the rain. In the lamplight Liu Zhiyuan barely made him out and croaked, "Thank… you."
Chen Xingwen smiled kindly: "Knowing you couldn't win, why still step forward?"
Liu Zhiyuan's expression turned complex: "My grandpa taught me: when you see the weak bullied, stand up for them within your power. Maybe people like us are their last straw, giving them hope to keep living in a dark life."
"But you couldn't even protect yourself, let alone others—and the one you saved didn't care, just walked away." Chen Xingwen eyed the bruises on Liu Zhiyuan with satisfaction.
He seemed pleased with the answer; though he was a Monster, he admired this type—weak yet still shielding those even weaker.
Liu Zhiyuan forced a pained smile: "I acted so my conscience could live with itself."
"Hahaha, well said—for conscience' sake! Lad, I like you. Want power to wipe out such scum?" Chen Xingwen laughed, flung the umbrella aside and let the rain drench him.
Liu Zhiyuan didn't understand until he saw the old man pull a throbbing lump of flesh from his coat.
Chen Xingwen crouched, watching him: "Swallow this and you'll gain mighty strength—enough to destroy the villains your conscience can't abide."
For some reason, though the words sounded absurd, Liu Zhiyuan felt an eerie pull from the flesh.