On summer nights on South Street, the air is always filled with the stuffy smell of cheap beer mixed with sewer rust. The neon lights flashed uncertainly, like an old man having an asthma attack, reflecting the water in the potholes on the ground in colorful colors.
Lin Ye squatted on a plastic chair at a food stall on the corner of the street, holding a lit wooden sausage skewer in his mouth, his eyes like a Siberian wolf that had just woken up. He was wearing a black vest that had been washed a little white, and his muscle lines looked as clear as a knife and an ax under the dim street lights. As the recognized "talker" of South Street No. 13 Middle School and the three nearby blocks, Lin Ye has never had the word "coward" in his dictionary.
"Brother Ye, it's them!" A little yellow-haired man ran over with a bruised nose and face, pointing to a large group of people approaching the street in a menacing manner, with a cry in his voice, "I was just collecting an old battery over there. The bald man from the Tiger Gang said that I was stepping on their territory, so he beat me up without explanation. He also said... He also said that they have the final say on South Street from now on, so you'd better avoid him when you see him!"
Lin Ye spit out the wooden stick in his mouth and stood up slowly, his bones making a crisp crackling sound. He patted Xiao Huangmao on the shoulder, grinned, and showed his white teeth: "Okay, stop crying, save the tears for them to use in their graves. Your wild brother will teach them today what the rules of South Street are written in."
