Chapter Twelve: The Dragon of the Transverse River

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Piano City, 69th Floor, F23 Residential Area.

The dim underground street was littered with trash everywhere, and the air was tinged with a faint sour and rancid stench—the smell of rotting things.

Few lights on the corridor ceiling still worked; the scant illumination cast the surroundings in a foggy, blurred haze.

Bang—bang—

Violent impacts echoed repeatedly from one corner, shaking dust off the nearby steel framework.

Despite the loud noise, the few households along the hallway kept their doors tightly shut; no one peeked out or asked questions, maintaining a stifling silence. Only the glowing indicator lights on the doorframes confirmed these homes were still occupied.

“Brother Long, that guy still isn’t opening the door.”

Finally, the nerve-wracking banging ceased. A stout man about two meters tall emerged, bending down to speak to a young man beside him.

“Tsk…” Leaning against the steel wall, the young man took a drag from his cigarette without replying. His black bangs shielded the only light above, obscuring his face from view.

“I’ll knock again.” Seeing the dark-haired youth ignore him, the stout man returned and spoke briefly to another companion before resuming the pounding on the steel door.

Bang—bang—

Rust fell from the walls, and dust drifted down from the ceiling.

Minutes passed as the young man finished his cigarette.

He flicked the burning tip into the air; it bounced, struck the wall, then dropped straight down, splattering faintly red droplets on the ground before wisps of pale smoke rose.

He stepped out from beneath the light. His simple short-sleeved shirt barely contained the scarred, muscular arms stretching the sleeves to their limit.

“Brother Long, you’re here.” Two underlings, one stout and one lean, stepped aside to reveal the locked steel door behind them.

“Hmph.” The youth strode straight to the steel door and kicked it fiercely. The door exploded with a thunderous crash, triggering alarms in the nearby hallway.

The specially reinforced steel door, about 25mm thick, was dented inward by the kick.

“Brother Long is amazing.” The two underlings lowered their heads in admiration, then advanced to continue kicking and battering the door until it was completely destroyed.

Half a minute later, the three stepped inside over scattered debris.

“Home, where are you hiding? Come out now. Brother Long’s here. If you’ve got any conscience left, get out!”

The stout and lean men searched the rooms while the dark-haired youth stood in the hall, gazing at a photo on the wall. It showed a woman smiling with a child of about ten; though her face bore signs of hardship, her eyes held happiness. The photo’s corners were curled and stained, clearly old.

“Brother Long, found him. He’s under the bed.” The stout man dragged a thin, emaciated figure into the hall and threw him onto the floor like a dead dog.

“Don’t play dead. Lift your head. It’s your Brother Long.” The lean underling grabbed the man’s hair, forcing him to look up.

The dark-haired youth sat on the sofa, one knee bent with his foot on the cushion.

“Home.” He looked at the lifeless, half-dead man before him.

Seeing no reaction, the stout man slapped Home twice, drawing blood from his mouth.

“I—I’m speaking, I’m speaking…” Home regained slight clarity but soon lapsed back into incoherent murmuring.

“Brother Long, I found many needles in his room. He probably got high on hallucinogens.” The lean man holding Home’s head spoke.

“Get him some water. Make him drink it.”

“Yes, Brother Long.” The stout man filled a basin from the kitchen tap, placed it on the floor, and pressed Home’s head repeatedly into the water.

The room fell silent except for the splashing water and faint heavy breathing.

After over ten minutes, Home began to struggle and whimper.

“Enough. Stop.” The dark-haired youth leaned back on the sofa, watching the man before him.

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“Ah Long… you came.” Home looked at the youth on the sofa, his eyes weary.

“Yeah, I came to see you. Didn’t you say your aunt was sick? I brought some gifts. After all, she used to cook for me; I still remember.”

“I… I…” He seemed about to speak but couldn’t find the words.

“I’m sorry to everyone.”

Slap—

A fierce slap struck his face, sending him flying against the wall, unconscious.

“Bring him here and wake him up.” The dark-haired youth lowered his hand and continued leaning on the sofa.

More muffled splashes followed. After a while, Home, bloodied on his head, slowly regained consciousness but now looked at the youth with pure terror.

“I ask, you answer.”

“Y-yes, Brother Long.” Finally, he learned to address him properly.

“Where did Aunt go?”

“She died, a month ago. The doctor said it was incurable. We had no money…”

“But didn’t you get some money from me? Where did it go?”

“I… I gambled it away. Thought I could win it back.” Hearing this, the two men beside him showed a flash of contempt and pity.

No one wins big in a casino; it’s laughable.

“So you’ve been avoiding me.” The dark-haired youth kicked him in the shoulder, forcing him to look.

“We’ve known each other nearly twenty years. I remember in elementary school, we walked to and from school together, often sneaking out to play…”

Home stayed silent.

“At that time, Aunt had just divorced and was raising you alone. She worked late and still cooked for you. Since I often played at your place after school, she made food for me too. I remember all that.”

“Yes…” He turned his face away.

“We were both from poor families, always looked down on and bullied by classmates. We fought back together. They called us the two mad dogs of Class C.” The dark-haired youth continued.

“That was a good time, wasn’t it?” He put his foot down, stood, and slowly surveyed the room, as if searching for traces of the past.

“How the hell did you become like this?!” Suddenly, the dark-haired youth shouted in Home’s ear.

“It’s one thing if you wronged me, but that was your mother! You took the money meant to save her and gambled it away?” He grabbed Home’s collar and lifted him up.

Home struggled, reaching for the wrist, but the youth’s grip was ironclad.

The brown eyes beneath the dark hair locked onto Home’s with a dragon-like fury that sent chills down the spine.

After a moment, Home stopped struggling and looked away.

“I… I… yes! It’s me! I’m a damn scumbag. You were wrong about me.” He choked up again.

“That’s right, we grew up together, but can people be the same?!” He suddenly shouted again.

“You were bad at school but found a master to teach you. Me? I had no talent! Bad at studies, no one would hire me for work. I could only follow you around like a lapdog!”

“Is that a future? My mother worries I’ll die out there someday. I’m not like you—strong, capable of fighting and resisting. What else can I do?!”

“I had to gamble! Gamble my life! Bet that my fate wouldn’t be so tragic, that I could win once or twice!”

“Now that I’ve lost, can’t I just accept it?”

His hoarse shouting ended in a harsh cough. The man was put down and curled on the floor, trembling violently.

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“Is that really what you think?” The dark-haired youth looked down at the man curled like a bug on the ground.

“Yes, cough cough… that’s what I think. What, you don’t like it? Kill me then.” He lay there, utterly defeated.

The youth said nothing, silently watching him.

After a long pause, he spoke.

“Where was Aunt buried?”

“In the cemetery on Gray Quiet Street, Section G23, Plot 631…” The man on the ground replied slowly, tears streaming down his face.

“Let’s go.”

The dark-haired youth left the room, followed quickly by the other two men, who did not forget to spit on Home as they walked away.

———

An hour later, the three stepped down from a hovercar in front of a gray stone monument marking an underground cemetery.

“This is it, Brother Long.”

“Buy some flowers.”

“Yes, Brother Long.”

“Wait, buy two bouquets.” The youth added as if remembering something.

“Okay.”

More than ten minutes later, the stout and lean men watched from a distance as the dark-haired youth stood solemnly before a tombstone, spoke softly, and laid down a bouquet of blue flowers.

Holding another bouquet in his hand, he turned to leave, puzzling his companions.

“Brother Long, what’s that for?”

“Going to another cemetery. I’ll lay flowers for my master too.”

“Master? Could it be Brother Long’s master also…”

“Shut up.” One companion covered the other’s mouth and dragged him forward.

…

At dusk, the lights in the cemetery gradually went out. The young man standing before the tombstone was swallowed by darkness, having stood there for a long time.

“Master, I’m leaving.”

“Though you are not my blood, over these years you taught me much: cultivation, fighting, and the ways of life… To me, you were like a father.”

“Though your health was poor, I thought you could last another decade or so—after all, you were a physically robust Dragon-class. But I didn’t expect that at your age, you still chased youthful dreams, forcing yourself to advance.”

“Trying would be one thing, but you didn’t tell me, worried I’d worry. Then you failed midway, went mad, attacked some children, and finally were killed by a 16-year-old girl…”

“Sigh… I wanted to avenge you, but I felt ashamed.”

“Still, this is not only your fault. I must prepare for my own advancement. To do so without distractions or regrets, I must meet that girl. I won’t kill her, but I must settle this lingering regret.”

“I’ll talk to you next time. But next time, the one you see won’t be who I am now.”

“It will be Qiao Long, the Hengjiang Dragon who has drunk the Dragon’s Blood.”