"Life—just a few short autumns… if I'm not drunk, I won't stop…To the east, my beauty— to the west, the Yellow River flows…"
A bold, full-throated singing voice echoed out from the dining area behind the barbecue stall. People passing by at night—whether strolling or working—were drawn in by the emotion in that voice and turned to look.
They saw a scene that looked almost absurd:
A young guy who still looked practically like a kid had his arm slung around a scruffy, unshaven "uncle," both of them holding beer cans high, belting out a song at the stall of the neighborhood-famous "retired Fixer."
When the mood hit its peak, the two of them would pause mid-verse just to take a swig.
After finishing the song, Zhou Zhuang dragged the uncle back to the table, wobbling. His finger traced the air as his drunken vision split everything into three shaky afterimages. Slurring, he said to Gregor:
"U-Uncle… I think I'm kinda drunk. While I still have a bit of clarity… I wanna tell you something. Don't worry—if you don't wanna join after I say it, I won't force you."
Unlike Zhou Zhuang—who could barely form words—Gregor still had enough awareness to react. He hesitated, but considering his own circumstances, he decided to at least hear the kid out.
And besides… listening didn't mean agreeing. The kid himself had said as much.
Zhou Zhuang's eyes were too blurry to read Gregor's expression. With alcohol anesthetizing his brain, the lack of an immediate refusal registered as consent.
"Mm! You didn't say no—then I'm saying it!"
Gregor was about to respond that yes, he'd listen—only to realize Zhou Zhuang had already barreled forward. Watching the kid flip between clear and incoherent phrasing, Gregor sighed and focused hard, bracing himself to translate "drunk speech."
"Uncle… I heard the barbecue old man say you're… run away from home right now?"
That was the first usable thread Zhou Zhuang managed to pull from his sludge-like mind—probably because the old man's earlier yelling was still lodged in it.
Gregor answered quietly:
"Yeah. That's right. Alone in a shabby rental… killing time by staring at meaningless memories."
Zhou Zhuang latched onto the thread and tried to export his half-formed "recruitment script" as quickly as possible—because at this rate, his brain might fly off to some unrelated topic any second.
"Ah! That's great—ah, I mean that's… uh…"
He realized what he'd blurted out, panicked that he'd just killed the conversation, failed to find a recovery line, and finally bowed his head.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to mock you."
Gregor lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, and exhaled. Seeing Zhou Zhuang apologize like that, he waved it off.
"It's fine. I'm an adult—I thought through the consequences when I did it.More importantly, tell me what you want to say. If you don't hurry… you're going to black out once the afterkick hits.Yeah, it's 'just beer,' but this kind of beer still has bite."
Gregor spoke like he was coaxing a drunk friend back onto the rails.
Zhou Zhuang blinked… and realized he really couldn't keep his eyelids up anymore.
Is the City's beer defective or something? A whole case and I'm about to pass out? Or am I just physically weak…?
As he mentally cursed his liver's metabolism, his thoughts slowed, his body slipping into brief involuntary micro-sleeps.
So, purely on instinct, he turned to the side and called—like some kind of emergency hotline—
"Angela… help…"
Angela, who had been calmly observing her manager's entire "drunk behavior catalog," immediately produced a small pill from her coat pocket. She walked up to Zhou Zhuang—who had already shut his eyes and drifted into sleep—and softly said:
"Ah."
Even asleep, Zhou Zhuang's brain interpreted that as "open your mouth," and he obediently did so.
Angela popped the pill in, then returned to her seat.
Gregor stared, completely baffled—kid suddenly "sleeping," woman calmly feeding him something like medicine, no explanation, no context.
He took another hard drag from his cigarette—
And then watched Zhou Zhuang snap his eyes open like he'd never had a drop of alcohol in his life.
Zhou Zhuang flexed his fingers, amazed.
How to describe it?
One second he'd been foggy, unresponsive—like his body had stopped listening.
The next second it was like waking from a dream: as if the "drunk" state had just been his body idling for a moment.
He looked at Gregor—who was still gaping—and apologized.
"Uh… sorry. I think I fell asleep just now. To avoid wasting more time… I'll speed it up."
Then, cleanly and fast, he launched into the pitch—no more timid hedging.
"Uncle, since you're currently in a 'runaway from home' situation… and from the fact you bought a bunch of cheap 'fill-the-belly' stuff at the convenience store, you probably don't have a stable income source, right?"
Gregor nodded, speaking with a joking tone that didn't match the content.
"Yeah. Correct. I'm living off a tiny bit of leftover savings.And about the 'income source' part—let me clarify…"
He inhaled, exhaled a ribbon of white smoke.
"I can honestly say I have zero income right now."
Zhou Zhuang frowned, confused.
"Huh? Why? You don't look like a lazy guy. You're still in your prime—shouldn't you be able to find at least some work to scrape by?"
Gregor gave a self-deprecating smile. He realized his cigarette was already burned down to the butt, tossed it, pulled out another, lit it, and took a slow drag.
Then he asked, very quietly:
"Kid… do you know what it means to be a Feather from a Wing that's been broken?"
....
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