Ten years later, Liang Zhenyi became the most tragically fated roommate I’d ever met after graduating college and working away from home.

He was a good man.

I didn’t know much about his past, but during our months living together, I rarely heard him complain about life. My job kept me up late, and believing his snoring might disturb me, he’d always bury himself under blankets at night—or retreat to the mosquito-infested living room. Every morning, he’d bring me breakfast. When we watched movies or played games in our dorm, he’d wear headphones and tap the keyboard softly, doing everything possible not to disrupt my routine.

At first, I thought Liang had many friends. He often took calls or went out with them. Later, I realized every single one only came to borrow money or ask favors. No matter how tight his own finances were, Liang always prioritized their requests. Once, he’d barely enough left to eat—but still scraped together two thousand yuan for a "university classmate’s" girlfriend to pay for an abortion. For a whole month, he survived on plain rice with Lao Gan Ma chili sauce.

Liang often told me: "Help our brothers now. When I’m in trouble later, they won’t abandon me."

His family was poor—both parents were farmers. This country boy struck me as genuinely kind. And painfully naive. None of those "friends" ever repaid him. Not even with a meal.

"Everyone struggles out here," he’d say. "If they can’t repay now, it’s fine. As long as they remember in their hearts."

Mornings began with self-help quotes. He greeted colleagues with smiles, worked hard, kept strict hours. That was Liang Zhenyi’s life ten years on.

Reality bit hard three months later. Every new hire at his company got promoted—except honest, hardworking Liang. His raise? Just two hundred yuan.

No one mentioned repaying debts. More kept asking to borrow.

As a programmer, Liang earned over six thousand yuan monthly with bonuses—enough to live comfortably in Shangjing City. Yet to help his "friends," I often saw him rush home after work, finish company tasks late into the night, skip dinner, and collapse into bed.

I didn’t know how to advise him. It wasn’t my place. We hadn’t known each other long. I was pinching pennies myself to pay loans.

Life rolled on in this blur—until the hospital called.

He was sick. Gravely sick.

Out here, what we truly fear isn’t human nature, wages, or housing prices. It’s losing our health.

"Brother... sorry. You’re stuck with my debts *and* taking care of me."

That was Liang’s first words to me from his hospital bed.

I scanned the empty room silently and sat beside him.

For over a week, I took leave to care for the first friend I’d made alone in this city.

Not one of his "friends" visited.

I can’t imagine what drove him to ask *me* for help.

When someone facing crisis must turn to a near-stranger... that wound cuts deeper than any physical pain.

Half a month later, I attended Liang Zhenyi’s funeral.

His parents wept. So did his "friends."

That was Liang Zhenyi’s life.

Ten years ago, he’d been a punk brawling with thugs in internet cafes. Now, he died as Shangjing City’s kindest soul.

Humans are strange creatures. The middle-school troublemaker who skipped class and scaled walls often becomes the quietest high-schooler. The star student praised as "model youth" in high school? They’re often the outcasts in college.

"Rest well. I’ll handle this."

I said this to Liang—still dazed from my fierce tone—then beckoned to Floral Snake. "Lead the way."

"W-wait!"

Floral Snake finally snapped to attention, blocking my path with disbelief. "Xiao Yao, Brother Long’s unreachable. Is this really wise?"

I shot him a glare. "Should we wait until those bastards finish their fun and vanish? Then beg Brother Long to scour the streets for justice for Lao Liang?"

The room froze.

Well. They’d never seen this side of "Yi Yao" before.

My sister would never take initiative like this. She’d never snap at Floral Snake. At most, she’d fuss over Liang’s bedside, then make excuses to leave.

They didn’t know "I" had trained in martial arts for years. Brother Long always shielded me during fights.

"Uh..." A timid underling near the bed edged closer. "Xiao Yao, what happened?"

"Nothing." I waved him off, striding to the door. "Simple question: Are you coming or not?"

In the polished door reflection, I saw him signal the others.

"We’re coming! Brother Long’s not here—your word is his. Since the boss’s girl commands it, we’d be cowards not to follow!"

Under his cue, everyone stood.

"Should we bring tools?"

"Unnecessary."

Yi Yao’s combat training included real fights. Though modern taekwondo focused on fitness, it was more than enough against chain-smoking middle-schoolers. The Yi Yao in my memories could take down five green-belt students alone.

"We’ll take Lao Liang with us then, Xiao Yao."

Floral Snake’s tone lacked conviction—he didn’t plan to actually fight. I didn’t care.

I could handle this alone.

"Just go through the motions," Liang’s voice drifted from the room as we left. The antiseptic corridor carried his whisper clearly. "If things turn ugly, protect Xiao Yao. Brother Long will break our legs when he returns."

Floral Snake filled me in as we walked.

The attackers were from the "Jiangnan Gang"—a notorious crew at Shangjing No. 4 Middle School. They robbed lone pedestrians for internet money. Being minors, they slipped through police fingers.

Three hours ago, Liang just wanted to play one quiet game. Suddenly, Jiangnan Gang members swarmed him, demanding his seat. Mid-battle, Lao Liang refused to yield immediately. His sharp tone triggered them. Outnumbered and overpowered, they broke his right leg.

The internet cafe was far from Fifth Hospital. Floral Snake and I walked thirty minutes. Luck held—the kids were still inside, whooping over games.

"Xiao Yao! How many hours today?"

The cafe owner, an old acquaintance, beamed at me leading four underlings. His oily face showed no trace of Lao Liang’s earlier ordeal.

"Not playing. I’m here for someone."

My sister sometimes came here with her "boyfriend." Usually, she just watched him play while her own computer sat idle.

"Quick! Garen! Use Q on him! Ultimate! ULTIMATE!"

Following Floral Snake’s nod, I stopped behind a kid. On his huge screen, his champion slashed through virtual enemies.

*So League of Legends was still huge in 2016?*

I yanked off his headphones.

Disturbing a LoL player mid-game was the fastest way to ignite fury.

"Who the hell—?!"

He spun around, fist slamming the keyboard—then froze seeing a girl. "Uh... beauty? What’s up?"

"I need a word. Outside."

"Busy."

He shoved the headphones back on, dismissive.

*Huh. Good restraint.*

If I were male now, he’d have punched me already.

"Xiao Yao... let’s drop this..." Floral Snake gripped my shoulder, shaking his head.

"Why drop it? What does ‘drop it’ even mean? Tolerate them today, and tomorrow they’ll beat *us*. Let them grow bolder—maybe stab your parents on their way home. Would that make you happy?"

The cafe reeked of smoke and sweat. My least favorite smell.

Floral Snake stared at me like I was an alien.

"Same offer: Scared? Go home. I’ll handle this alone."

I crouched and pressed the power button on his CPU.

"You—!"

His screen died mid-teamfight. He ripped off his headphones, surging to his feet. "Looking for trouble, bitch?"

The shout drew every nearby gaze.

"Exactly. I came looking for trouble."

I smiled faintly. "Call your friends. We settle this outside."

Spotting Black Snake behind me, he caught on. He waved to seven nearby thugs. "Log off! Trouble’s here!"

A street code existed: Never fight inside internet cafes. Don’t ruin others’ games.

"Damn. Lost that ranked match."

They tossed headphones aside, chairs scraping as they stood. Their eyes flicked from me to Floral Snake’s imposing frame. "Bringing a girl to a fight? The streets will laugh you out of town."

"Laugh?" Floral Snake’s grin turned venomous. His usual caution vanished now that I’d forced his hand. "Know who this is? Our boss’s girl. Smart move: Kneel at Fifth Hospital. Apologize to Lao Liang. Or—"

"Apologize? HA!" The red-haired leader spat gum on the floor. "Funniest shit I’ve heard. Even Brother Long can’t save you today. Leave one hand each here, or we quit the Jiangnan Gang."

Surrounded by onlookers, both sides spilled into the empty lot outside.

"Ruined our ranked match," the red-haired thug sneered, chewing fresh gum. "How you gonna fix that?"

"I—" Floral Snake started.

I pulled him back.

"This way," I said calmly, looking at the half-grown punk. "No kneeling needed. You started this trouble, and our man got hurt. Just go to the hospital, apologize to Old Liang, and cover the medical bills. We're all from the same school—we see each other every day. Let's spare each other some face."

"Who are you... Oh, quite a pretty girl," Red sneered, his face twisting into an exaggerated grin. "Haven't you heard women shouldn't butt into men's fights? Little beauty, you planning to reason with me?"

"This isn't reasoning—it's an order," I replied, forcing down his lecherous stare. "I've been clear: apologize, pay up, and we won't pursue this."

Enduring his gaze, I continued in a calm tone, "I'm in a bad mood today. Don't force my hand."