Fists can't cross Tianjin

Chapter 11 Hunger

Deep in the alley, gloomy.

The further you go in, the more yellowed posters and faded slogans remain on the peeling red brick walls, rustling loudly in the wind. The stench in the air, a mixture of urine, rotting garbage, and coal smoke, grows stronger, making your lungs ache.

Chen Zhuo pushed the tricycle with its flat rear tire and deformed frame, choosing a direction and stumbling along towards the freight yard of the train station.

That place was the most chaotic in all of Tianjin, but also the most lucrative.

It's also the closest place to him right now.

Maybe we can find some food.

Chen Zhuo pushed the tricycle with its flat rear tire and deformed frame, each step feeling like walking on cotton.

My feet feel lightheaded, and I feel top-heavy.

The world spun around.

That feeling of weakness emanating from his very bones was slowly consuming his consciousness.

Double images began to appear in front of my eyes.

The sound of the wind in my ears became distant and indistinct, replaced by a sharp tinnitus.

Nourishes—

It felt like ten thousand cicadas were chirping inside my brain.

"Thump."

His footing gave way, and he tripped over a protruding patch of frozen earth. Chen Zhuo and his vehicle tumbled down next to a pile of foul-smelling garbage.

The tricycle fell on him, the cold handlebars digging into his ribs, the pain almost making him faint.

But he didn't even have the strength to groan.

He tried to get up, but his limbs wouldn't obey him; they just twitched weakly on the ground.

His cotton-padded coat was soaked with cold sweat, and the wind was biting cold, like countless ice needles pricking his skin. Every pore was trembling, screaming for warmth.

My vision began to darken rapidly.

It's as if someone is slowly turning off the lights of this world.

The sound of my heart beating grew louder and louder, thump, thump, thump... each beat was like a heavy hammer hitting my chest, the drumbeat of impending death.

Finally, even that sound could not be heard anymore.

He completely lost his memory.

……

I don't know how much time passed.

cold.

Bone-chilling cold.

Chen Zhuo was awakened by the cold.

He struggled to open his eyes and found that it was pitch black all around, with only a few dim streetlights swaying in the wind and snow in the distance.

it's dark.

I've been unconscious since around 3 PM, and I don't know how many hours have passed. If it weren't for my relatively strong constitution, I probably would have frozen solid by now.

Looking around, he realized he was still at the edge of the freight yard.

"Hungry……"

Chen Zhuo opened his mouth, and a bellows-like hiss came from his throat.

That wasn't ordinary hunger.

That was the despair of every cell devouring itself.

At this point, he would put even a moldy, hairy cornbread or a handful of clay into his mouth without hesitation.

At that moment, all dignity, all decency, all the pride of being a successor of Xingyi School—it was all utter bullshit.

That was the biological instinct for survival, which overwhelmed all reason.

"Squeak—"

Just then, several shrill cries suddenly came from the garbage heap not far away.

Chen Zhuo's pupils, which were already dilating, suddenly contracted.

He struggled to lift his heavy eyelids and looked in the direction of the sound.

By the dim moonlight, he saw several large gray rats gnawing on half of a rotten apple that had been thrown away.

These days, the area around the train station freight yard is lucrative, with plenty of spoils. These beasts eat the state's grain, live in caves that are warm in winter and cool in summer, and are all fat and strong, with glossy fur, bigger than cats, and their eyes are incredibly bright.

They live a more comfortable life than most people.

meat.

That's meat.

Live, running meat.

Chen Zhuo stared at the rats, and the deathly gray despair in his eyes was instantly replaced by a layer of eerie green light.

That's the look in a hungry wolf's eyes when it sees its prey.

The body's previously depleted energy surged forth in a fleeting, desperate burst of life under the frenzied stimulation of "appetite." Adrenaline was squeezed to its limit at this moment.

He slowly reached his hands into his robes.

I found the half-pack of "Hengda" cigarettes. Useless. I can't smoke.

He touched those coins again and the gold coin he had just taken from Gangzi.

A large, solid gold ring with a lifeless "福" (fortune) character on it, a heavy lump of metal.

Useless.

Gold is inedible; it's too tough to chew or bite. If he could turn it into a steaming hot bun right now, Chen Zhuo would kowtow three times to the heavens.

His fingers groped on the ground, touching the cold frozen soil and broken bricks and tiles.

Finally, he touched a piece of broken tile with a sharp edge.

Hold on tight.

The knuckles turned white from excessive force.

He lay on the ground, like a lizard with a broken spine, slowly and silently moving towards the rats.

The movements were slow and gentle.

Breathing was deliberately suppressed to the limit; that was the "breath-holding method" of Xingyi School. When hunting, the hunter must be more like an inanimate object than the prey.

three meters.

Two meters.

one meter.

The mice were still fighting over the rotten apple, squeaking and squeaking, completely unaware that a huge shadow was approaching from behind.

Perhaps in their eyes, this human lying motionless on the ground is already a corpse.

Chen Zhuo dug his fingers into the frozen ground, his fingernails filled with black mud and ice shards.

He was gathering his strength.

He had all his remaining strength in this final pounce. If he missed, he would truly starve to death here, becoming the rats' breakfast tomorrow.

Nearly.

closer.

He could even smell the distinctive stench of rats.

Just as he was about to launch an attack.

"Bang!"

A metal door not far away was suddenly kicked open from the inside.

The enormous sound was like thunder in the silent night, causing the accumulated snow to fall in a rustling sound.

"squeak--!"

Startled, the rats flicked their tails and darted into the nearby sewer, disappearing in an instant.

Chen Zhuo lay prone in the shadows, still holding the tile in his hand, pouncing in the same position.

He cursed under his breath.

Hold.

The cooked duck flew away.

但他不敢动.

They even held their breath, their bodies pressed tightly against the ground, becoming one with the darkness.

Then came several blinding beams of flashlight beams swaying wildly, piercing the night, accompanied by noisy footsteps and unrestrained laughter and curses.

"This weather is fucking weird today, it's as cold as an icebox."

"Alright, stop complaining. Second Brother went to 'settle things' for someone tonight, so we brothers have to keep a close eye on this batch of 'wet goods.' If anything goes wrong, we'll be stuck with these thousands of pounds of meat, and Manager Hua from the recycling company will chop us up and feed us to the dogs."

"Wet goods" is underworld slang. Regular water-injected meat is called "dipped water," which means water is injected into the pig's heart, and at least it's still edible. But these people are too ruthless; they directly use a high-pressure water gun to "inject water" into the blood vessels, injecting three or four ounces of water into a pound of meat. That's what they call "wet goods."

"Hey, do you think Gangzi will go and stand up for Erga tonight?"

"Nonsense! Brother Gangzi has 'Iron Arms' and he also knows that 'Little Sleeve Hand' trick. That Erga is a good-for-nothing, he can't even handle a tricycle driver, Brother Gangzi has to take care of him personally."

Chen Zhuo lay crouching behind the pile of garbage, squinting to make out the people by the faint light from their flashlights.

What a coincidence!

Enemy road is narrow.

Does this mean that these people dealing in watered-down meat are in cahoots with Gangzi? Or is Gangzi just there to keep watch for them?

Moreover, judging from this, are they illicit meat vendors?

These days, unauthorized slaughter is a serious crime, but that doesn't stop some people from being bold and resourceful. They specialize in collecting sick and dead pigs in the urban-rural fringe areas, and then force-feed water into the pork, sometimes adding three ounces of water to every pound of meat.

Even worse, some people add saltpeter to make the flesh look better.

These men always carried weapons, and being butchers, they exuded a menacing aura that made ordinary people avoid them. Though called butchers, they were no different from highway robbers.

"Hurry up! All of you, get the hell out of here!"

"This batch of goods must be processed tonight; it needs to be in the market first thing tomorrow morning!"

"Know!"

Five or six burly men wearing cotton-padded coats were unloading goods from a Jiefang brand truck parked at the back door and carrying them into an abandoned warehouse next door.

Those rows of white pork slabs steamed in the cold air, the distinctive raw meat odor condensing into wisps of white mist. By the light, you could see the eerie blue "quarantine certified" stamps on the pigskins—no doubt, they were fake stamps carved from radishes, meant to fool anyone.

Water was still dripping from the pork, staining the snow on the ground red.

Chen Zhuo's nose twitched twice suddenly.

Amidst the raw, pungent smell of meat, he detected an even more deadly odor.

It was a steaming, overpowering aroma.

It's the aroma of braised pork.

Intense and mellow, with the aroma of star anise, cinnamon, and aged broth, it was like an invisible hand that gripped Chen Zhuo's stomach tightly.

Follow the scent.

All I could see was a broken table by the warehouse entrance.

On the table were two bottles of Erguotou (a type of Chinese liquor) with the labels torn off, a large plate of sliced ​​braised pig's head, a whole roasted chicken glistening with oil, and a stack of white flour flatbread.

That was their late-night snack while they were working.