The cold wind pierced to the bone as Wan Zheng Yu wandered across the bridge, lost in his thoughts. Dim lanterns cast twisted shadows upon the cracked asphalt, while the distant lights of the night city flickered, indifferent to his fate.
Just a month ago, his life had been entirely different. A simple boy from an ordinary family, he had never yearned for anything more. His childhood unfolded within the narrow confines of a small apartment on the city's outskirts, where his mother cooked the most delicious dumplings, and his father, weary after work, told tales of his youth. School days drifted by with a languid rhythm — lessons, friends, first loves. Zheng was never a top student, nor did he fall behind — a golden mean, as his teachers would often say.
At sixteen, he met Mei Ling. She was like a spring blossom — tender and radiant. Their first encounter happened in the school library, where Zheng, frustrated, struggled to find the book he needed for a report. Mei Ling simply approached and handed him exactly what he had been searching for, as if she had read his mind. From that moment on, they were inseparable.
But fate is a mocking creature. One evening, returning home, he found his mother in tears. His father, desperate to provide a better life for the family, had plunged into debt. Heavy, crushing debt. The gangsters wasted no time — they took everything: the apartment, the savings, even the father's battered old car. The family was left homeless, crammed into a tiny room offered by distant relatives.
Zheng tried to hold on. "The most important thing is that we're together," he repeated to himself, clutching Mei Ling's hand. But then he appeared — Li Chun Sik. Tall, athletic, impeccably mannered, and razor-sharp. The captain of the school basketball team, a champion of academic competitions, the son of a successful businessman. He looked as though he had stepped straight out of a glossy magazine.
Zheng saw how Mei Ling's gaze began to change. How she lingered after classes, claiming extra lessons. How her smile grew distant, hollow. And then, one day, she simply said: "I'm sorry, but we are different. You and I... we walk separate paths."
And now, standing on the bridge beneath the shroud of night, Zheng felt utterly hollow. The gusting wind tugged at his battered jacket — the last decent thing he still owned. Suddenly, footsteps echoed behind him. Many footsteps.
"Hey, kid!" a hoarse voice tore through the silence. "We've been looking for you."
Turning, Zheng saw five men in black jackets. Their faces were hidden in shadow, but he recognized the tattoo on the leader's neck — the very same man who had thrown their belongings out into the street.
"Your old man owes us a pretty penny," the leader said, stepping closer. "Since he's gone, you'll have to pay the family's debt."
Zheng staggered backward. Behind him were only the bridge's railing... and the dark, yawning abyss of the river below.