In the western district of Fent City’s agricultural market, bustling pedestrians and vehicles weave through the evening. The ground is strewn with vegetable leaves and dirty water, while the signs of various shops, their paint peeling, and a few flickering neon lights add to the scene. Workers heading home, children leaving school, elderly people buying groceries, and various other weary passersby make the sky seem even gloomier.
Perhaps in such an international metropolis, this area is like the stain on a person's soul that they despise the most, wishing it had never existed.
By a low wall near an intersection, a man leisurely engages in an activity others might not consider respectable.
He is a young man selling lamb skewers, wearing a white tank top stained with oil and grime, brown shorts, and dull blue plastic slippers.
The young man's hair is a bit messy, but his slightly mature, handsome face is still well-proportioned. If you look closely, there's a hint of masculinity. However, regardless of his appearance, the girls passing by won't give him a second glance because he's just a lamb skewer vendor.
The young man sets aside a few freshly grilled skewers. It's easy to grill in the hot weather, but selling them is hard. Even at just fifty cents for two skewers, he only earns a few dollars a day, barely enough for two meals.
Nevertheless, his face shows little frustration. Instead, he has a satisfied and leisurely expression as he sits on a small stool, watching the busy, anxious scene before him as if it were the most beautiful landscape.
"Peter, the money you promised a few days ago is due!" A jarring voice, resembling a duck's neck, suddenly appears beside him.
Three boys, seemingly under twenty, approach. The one leading has spiky hair, a silver metal chain, and ripped jeans. His thin face holds a cigarette.
Peter, a vendor of fried snacks next to the young man, is also struggling in the heat with little business, sitting anxiously.
"Well..." Peter's face contorts in pain. "Young master, please bear with me. Look at this hot weather, how can I pay you without any business..."
"Peter, don't be ungrateful. If it weren't for us protecting you, your stall would have been torn down by now," the follower threatens and flatters.
The leader, called Pines, grins proudly, pats the flatterer on the shoulder, and turns to Peter. " I need the money now. Otherwise, I'll flip your stall right now!" He grabs a sausage, takes a couple of bites, and throws the rest on the ground.
Peter, at a loss, clutches a small wad of bills in his pocket, intended for his wife's medical expenses. How could he possibly give it to these thugs?
"I'll pay for him," the young skewer vendor suddenly steps forward, pulling a few dry bills from his pocket, barely a hundred dollars, and hands them over. "This is all I have. Peter is old and urgently needs money. You should show some mercy."
The thug squints and laughs, taking the money and handing it to his follower. "William, you're playing the hero, but you haven't paid your own protection fee yet!"
William frowns, feeling pity for these young thugs who should be in school instead of causing trouble, but he isn't their father and doesn't want more conflict. "Tomorrow, I'll pay tomorrow."
"Fine, I'm reasonable. We work together—you pay, I protect your business. I'll collect tomorrow." With that, the thug swaggers off with his followers to harass other vendors.
Peter, eyes red with tears, looks at William with bitterness. "William, why do you keep paying these thugs for me? I can't bear it..."
"Peter, don't say that. When I first came here, not knowing anyone, you helped me. You're my benefactor, and this is my way of repaying you."
"You... what can I say..." Peter sighs, knowing he can't argue with William.
William smiles lightly, unaffected by the extortion. "By the way, how's your wife?"
Peter's eyes fill with gratitude. "Thanks to the money you lent us for her surgery, she just needs regular check-ups and medicine now."
"That's good. I hope she recovers soon," William nods, satisfied.
Peter forces a smile. "William, I'll repay your money, even if it takes my whole life. My daughter will pay if I can't. If it weren't for me, you could have used that money to open a decent shop instead of selling skewers and enduring this harassment."
William shrugs. "I quite like this life. Selling skewers is simple and feeds me."
Peter, exasperated, says, "William, you're only twenty-three or twenty-four. Others your age are in college or climbing the career ladder. You don't even have a girlfriend. Are you planning to sell skewers forever? I'm worried for you."
Seeing Peter's genuine concern, William's smile turns a bit bitter. He hadn't really considered those things.As night fell, William packed up his stall and pushed his one-wheeled cart back to his rundown rented apartment.
The building, of indeterminate age, cost only one hundred a month in rent. It was cheap because no one else wanted to live there, fearing it might collapse. William, however, was unbothered by such worries and gladly moved in, attracted by the low cost.
William’s room was simply furnished with almost everything being second-hand items he had picked up outside: a bed, a cabinet, a chair, and an old TV that only received the national channel.
After wheeling his cart into his small room, William glanced at the calendar on the wall, counted the days, and suddenly remembered something. He immediately ran into the bathroom.
Within five minutes, William had taken a cold shower. Emerging from the bathroom, his skin was a healthy tan, and his body, though not overly muscular, had a well-defined and masculine appearance.
At the large wooden cabinet by his bed, William scratched his wet hair in frustration as he looked at the mess of clothes inside. After selecting a few items, he finally put on a beige shirt and light linen trousers, but kept his plastic slippers on.
After leaving his apartment, William headed straight for the most bustling commercial street in the western district. This street, the only respectable part of the rundown area, was known as "Bar Street."
The nightlife was already in full swing, with colorful skirts and various perfumes filling the air. As soon as one entered Bar Street, the urban atmosphere swept over them.
Unlike other young men who either openly ogled or discreetly stared at the women’s legs, William walked directly to a bar called "ROSE."
The bar's neon sign was not particularly flashy. It was a medium-sized bar with an ambiguous atmosphere, its sign adorned with multicolored rose-shaped lights.
Inside the bar, William navigated his way to the bar counter along the edge and sat down in a corner.
"William, you're here," the young bartender in a black waistcoat greeted William with a warm smile, handing him a glass of water. "Sister Rose has been waiting for you."
William smiled back, taking a sip of water. "Is Sister Rose upset? I got home late and came here as soon as I could."
"No, not at all," Jet, the round-faced bartender with a few pimples, replied with a grin. In a whisper, he added, "William, teach me your secret. How did you win over Sister Rose? You know, there are enough men in Fent City interested in our boss to form a line from the western district to the sea. She’s never shown this much interest in any man before. Just today, she’s asked me at least five times if you were coming..."
"Stop it, there's nothing between me and Sister Rose like you think," William replied with a faint, resigned smile.
Jet wore a look of disbelief but continued, "Man, William, you’re the epitome of cool. Any other guy who managed to catch the eye of a beauty like our boss would be clinging to her every day. But you? You rarely show up and still keep her waiting. They say the unattainable is the most desirable, and that applies to women too..."
As Jet was pontificating, a soft yet commanding voice interrupted from behind him, "Jet, what are you doing?"
Jet froze as if struck by lightning. He quickly moved aside, pretending to focus intently on mixing drinks, but the sweat on his forehead betrayed his nervousness.
A stunning young woman in a modern, exquisite cheongsam with a slit up to her thigh, revealing a hint of sensuality, approached William. Her full bust, slender waist, and face as smooth as porcelain, combined with shoulder-length hair tinged with a hint of lavender, made her look like a painting come to life.
William met her gaze with a smile, unflustered. "Sister Rose, you look beautiful. Happy birthday."
