The noisy sounds of Hong Kong movie fight scenes from the video hall were shut out by the thick fog, as if they came from another world. Chen Haifeng took one step into the alley, and the damp, icy air instantly enveloped him, carrying the stench of slops, cheap liquor, and a faint hint of urine. Tall, mottled old walls towered on either side, streaked with strange water stains. Dark bricks showed through where the peeling plaster had fallen away, like hideous scars. The alley stretched deep into the distance, with only a dim yellow light at the far end, where several figures swayed. His footsteps rang unnaturally clear in the empty, narrow passage, accompanied by his heavy, desperate panting, which he tried to suppress but couldn’t stop. Every step felt like sinking into a bottomless mire, dragging him deeper and deeper. Behind him, his father’s agonized gasps and the low, mocking laughter of Achao and the others were muffled by the fog, yet burned into his mind with unbearable clarity.
He wasn’t some low-level thug, but the vortex of fate had swept him, against his will, to the edge of this foul, black mire. To save the people closest to him, he would enter a dark world destined to twist his life out of shape. Once he took that step, there would be no turning back.
