The Jianghu Road: That Year, I Walked with My Hands in My Pockets

The year I first arrived in Shenzhen, I was sixteen. I slept under a bridge and ate just two steamed buns in three days. “Stick with me, and you'll get three square meals a day,” the man called Brother Long told me. I followed him for ten years, carrying his bags and taking care of business, rising from a street punk to his second-in-command. Then he sold me out for two hundred thousand yuan and sent me to prison. On the day I got out, I laughed when I saw the luxury car waiting to pick me up. Brother Long probably forgot: for all those ten years, I was the one who handled every dirty secret he had.