It was a scorching summer afternoon in June, the sun blazing down hard on Xinshui Road Market in downtown L City.

Around 2 PM, inside a small diner patched together with corrugated iron, Edison Young sat hunched on a plastic stool behind the counter, a cheap five-yuan Huanghongmei cigarette dangling from his lips. He stared absently at the chaotic market outside, waiting for the last group of diners to finish up.

Edison was 23, tall and lean with striking features—thick eyebrows, sharp eyes, fair skin, and about 180cm tall. If it weren’t for the grimy apron around his waist, no one would have guessed he was the owner of this humble hole-in-the-wall eatery.

In the time it took to finish his cigarette, the final customers drained the last of their drinks and got up to leave. Spotting this, Edison stubbed out his smoke and stood up with that easygoing smile of his. “All done, Mr. Clement?”

“Yeah, food was solid as always,” Milward Clement smiled back, pulling out his wallet. “How much?”

Edison glanced at the tab and laughed, “Eighty-seven. But just give me eighty.”

Milward slapped a hundred yuan note on the counter. “Nah, keep the change. Go treat yourself to a better pack of cigarettes.”

Edison shook his head with a grin. “Mr. Clement, your office has a canteen, but you still swing by regularly just to help me out. That’s already more than enough.” He pulled twenty yuan from the cash tray under the counter and handed it back. “If you keep leaving money on the table, I won’t be able to serve you like usual.”

“You punk,” Milward chuckled, clearly amused. “I watched you grow up. What’s wrong with supporting your business a bit?”

Edison smiled, a little embarrassed. “Help is great and all, but it doesn’t mean you gotta hand out cash.”

“You’re such a stubborn kid,” Milward muttered, though he did take the twenty back. Then, after a brief pause, he changed the subject. “Edison, you’re barely in your twenties. You really planning to run this tiny diner forever?”

“For now, yeah,” Edison said, mouth twitching into a crooked grin. “Running this place at least keeps me fed.”

“Come on, that’s your whole dream? Just not starving?” Milward lit up a Yuxi cigarette and offered Edison one too. “I asked around yesterday—our company canteen is available for lease. All in, rent and contract fees are just shy of 210k for the year. If you're interested, I can help you look into it.”

Edison hesitated, then refused softly, lips quirked. “Thanks, Mr. Clement, but don’t worry about me. My cooking’s barely passing here. Running a whole canteen? I’d mess it up for sure.”Edison Young did feel tempted by Milward Clement’s offer. Milward, being the deputy director of a department at the shipyard, oversaw close to a thousand workers. Taking over their canteen would be a solid, steady-income deal. But Edison had to turn it down—no matter how good it sounded, he just didn’t have the money. A 200,000-yuan contract might as well have been a castle in the sky for someone in his situation. He didn’t want to stay stuck in this tiny restaurant that could be demolished any day, but right now, a deal like that was wishful thinking.

Milward didn’t push. He grinned and changed the topic, “Your brother—still gambling?”

“He quit,” Edison answered calmly. “Sold the house, he’s broke, and the loan sharks won’t even bother lending him cash anymore. No money, no gambling.”

“That’s a relief. Gambling—it’s a dead-end road.” Milward gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. “Edison, flowers don’t bloom forever, and we aren’t getting younger. While you’ve still got energy, it’s worth taking some risks. Think more about the canteen offer. If you change your mind, just call me.”

“Yeah. Let me see you out,” Edison said, pulling off his apron.

They chatted a bit more at the entrance. Edison watched as Milward got into a Nissan sedan and drove off.

Inside the car, Milward’s colleague smirked, “Hey, Milward, what’s with this kid who runs the restaurant? You've been dragging us there like clockwork ever since it opened. He your long-lost son or something?”

“Shut up,” Milward chuckled, “I’m only seven years older than him. Even if I had the guts back then, don’t think I even had the equipment.” Then he added seriously, “He’s been through a lot. Our families used to live in the same housing compound. I went to school with his brother. When they lost their parents in an accident, his brother raised him. But the brother got hooked on gambling, lost his job, blew through everything their parents left. Edison had to drop out of college and start working just to survive.”

“Wait, didn’t you say he got a scholarship or something?”

“Yeah. All went to pay off his brother’s debts.”

“Damn, rough deal.”

“He had a guaranteed spot at one of the top universities. Look at him now—what a waste.”

Milward sighed, then put the car in gear and drove off slowly.

---

By two in the afternoon, the sun was blazing like a blowtorch. The air was thick and still, pressing down like a lid. Heat waves shimmered up from the empty pavement, making people feel even more on edge.

After Edison saw Milward off, he gave the restaurant a quick clean, locked up, grabbed the packed meals he’d prepped, and hopped on his rickety bike—it was missing one pedal. Swaying from side to side, he pedaled toward the edge of the market.

His place was in a village-in-the-city area of Gjingzi District, five or six kilometers from the market. By the time he reached the alley, his cheap T-shirt was soaked through with sweat, clinging to him like he’d just walked through a downpour.

“Bang! Clatter!”

He had barely rolled his bike up to the courtyard gate when a loud crash came from inside. Freezing for half a second, Edison ditched the bike and bolted toward the open gate in three big strides.The place where Edison Young and his brother Preston rented was basically a makeshift shack tacked onto someone else’s yard. Right past the gate was a cramped yard, barely ten square meters, and now packed with four or five guys.

In the middle, Preston was on his knees, blood all over his face, two guys pinning him down hard. One of his hands was splayed flat on the step, trapped under someone's grip. In front of him, a buzz-cut kid in his early twenties stood with a steel blade, waving it over Preston’s hand.

“Chop off a finger,” he grinned, “I’ll give you another week. Fair deal, right?”

Preston raised his head just a little, barely glancing at the guy. “I’ve got nothing. If anything here’s worth a damn, go ahead—take it all.”

The kid didn’t take that kindly. “Screw you. Chasing debts is my job, you think you’re smart with that mouth? You think you can get away from this? Stretch your hand out. Quit shaking. Today, I’ll give you a hands-on demo of what makes people on the street remember me.”

Just as the blade was about to come down—

*Swish!*

Edison lunged forward, grabbed the guy’s wrist with one hand, and with the other, smashed a half-brick he’d been holding straight down.

*Whack!*

The guy was caught off guard, let out a scream, and crumpled. The knife flew from his hand with a sharp clang as it hit the ground.

Without missing a beat, Edison turned and slammed the brick into one of the men holding Preston, dropping him fast.

Seeing two of their own get knocked down, the others snapped out of it and charged Edison. He gritted his teeth and dove headfirst into the chaos.

But they weren’t here to play nice. A kid swung a pick handle hard into Edison’s back. He spun around—only to take another blow right to the face. His vision blurred, darkness closing in, and he collapsed.

“Edison!”

Preston tried to get up, but before he could move, a boot slammed into his chest, knocking him flat again.

The buzz-cut kid, now limping but somehow upright, barked at the others, “So he likes playing hero? Pin him down! Break his arm—I’ll take full responsibility if anything happens!”

That was all it took.

The others, already pumped with anger, scrambled up from the ground, swarming Edison. He tried to push himself up, but feet crushed down on his head, forcing him face-first into the dirt.

*SCREECH!*

Tires screeched outside as a cab slammed to a stop out front, and then the door flung open.

A massive guy—over 6’3”, built like a freaking tank—stormed out holding a baseball bat in one hand and charged straight into the yard.

*Whoomph!*

Just the sight of him made the debt collectors freeze. Nobody wanted a piece of that monster.

The hulking guy glanced over the mess, eyebrows raised. He reached down, grabbed Edison, and yanked him up.

“You good, Eddy?” he said, his deep voice full of concern.“Jett, what are you doing here?” Edison Young let out a breath of relief the moment he saw who it was. Jett Rowe—real name Justin Rowe—had always stood out. Ever since his uncle ditched his family to become a monk at Mount Wutai when Jett was just six, his friends started teasing him with the nickname "Little Monk." Later, after four years in the army and bulking up, the name “Jett” stuck—like a walking tank.

“Passed by the alley and saw your bike toppled at the gate, figured something was up,” Jett said casually. Without missing a beat, he raised his baseball bat and pointed it at the debt collectors in front of him. With a quick crack of his neck, he challenged, “Alright, which one of you feels lucky today?”

The group glanced at each other. Seeing Jett’s wrist was thicker than the bat itself made them hesitate hard. None of them wanted to test their luck fighting this human bulldozer, let alone Edison, who'd already proved he didn’t pull punches.

The guy holding the knife clenched his jaw. “You guys got any idea who I am? I’m Herschel Lee from Dadonggou!” he shouted.

Jett’s voice exploded like a gunshot. “Kid, try scaring someone else! I count to three, and if you’re still here, I’ll send you straight to Hongling Road. Believe me?”

Just then, a few neighbors who rented next door happened to walk past. Seeing the commotion, one called out, “Edison, what’s going on? Need a hand?”

“I’m alright, Liu,” Edison threw a thankful smile their way, then turned his glare back on Herschel. “Leave. Now.”

“Fine. You’ll regret this,” Herschel spat. But one good look at Jett’s beastly frame and the watching neighbors, and he bailed in under three seconds. His buddies scurried after him like rats abandoning ship.

Once they cleared out, Herschel shot a dirty look at Jett’s taxi parked nearby, memorizing the plate before storming off toward the alley.

“Hey Herschel,” one of his guys piped up curiously, “What’s this Hongling Road the meathead mentioned?”

“The crematorium,” Herschel snapped, his face grim.

“Dude, he basically threatened to burn you to ashes.” The guy blinked.

“This was the first loan I gave out,” Herschel growled, puffing his cheeks. “No way I let this slide. If I don’t get my money back, I won’t even be able to show my face around town. Ryder, figure out who those two punks were that threw hands just now. I want to know how they’re tied to Preston Young.”

“On it.”

...

Inside the yard, Preston Young struggled back to his feet and staggered over to the outdoor faucet. Water gushed down his head, washing the blood away as he leaned under it.

Watching the blood swirl into the dirt, Edison trembled with rage. “Tell me you didn’t gamble again?” he snapped, voice shaking.