Deep in the alleys of Xinhu City's lower-class communities, the sour smell of rotting garbage mixed with the pungent smell of cheap alcohol fills the humid air. Yun Qi dragged his tired body into the alley. The cuffs of his oil-stained work clothes abraded his skin and hurt, and the old injury on the back of his neck ached faintly - it was a souvenir from the anti-drug war on the border three years ago, and it was also a medal for him to be reduced from a special forces king to a low-level odd-job worker.
"Stop! Boy, borrow some money to spend!" Three gangsters with colorful hair emerged from the shadows and blocked the way. The leader, Huang Mao, was swinging a steel pipe in his hand, and the malice in his eyes was like sticky spider webs. "Looking at how poor you are, you probably won't be able to give much, but I'm in a good mood today, so just show off your blood."
Yun Qi stopped and frowned slightly. Three years after retiring, he has long been accustomed to restraining his sharp edge. He just wants to make a little money peacefully and survive in the cracks of this steel jungle. But there are always blind people in this world who regard his forbearance as cowardice. He slowly stood up straight, his muscles that he had exercised all year round tightened under his work clothes, forming a very intimidating line: "Get out."
