Chapter 4: The Drifting White Stripe

Beijiang County, Songjiang City.

Xu Lang hid in a rather dim corner, smoking a cigarette, his eyes flickering restlessly.

In his line of sight was a boy about six or seven years old, the younger brother he had just accepted, named Rong Hao.

At that moment, Rong Hao’s arms bulged with something hidden inside his clothes as he lingered in front of a small shop that bought and sold cigarettes and alcohol, peering inside. Before long, the door opened, and Rong Hao slipped in with the stealthiness of a street cat.

A carton of premium Zhonghua cigarettes retailed for 45 yuan per pack, but when delivered to this place, only 20 yuan per pack. This time, Xu Lang had managed to get two cartons in total, expecting to sell them for about 400 yuan.

Xu Lang took a deep drag on his cigarette, then flicked the butt to the ground and ground it out with his heel, muttering to himself: All businessmen are crooks, and there isn’t a decent soul in the world!

After a while, Rong Hao’s small head poked out from the shop doorway. He glanced left and right, then sprinted over to Xu Lang, excitement written all over his face. “Brother, that shop owner gave me lots of money!”

“How many red bills?” Xu Lang asked.

“Three red bills and one green one,” Rong Hao replied.

Xu Lang frowned, glancing at the shop’s entrance and cursing venomously, “That black-hearted bastard will die a miserable death!”

But cursing was just a habit—he quickly put the matter out of his mind. He didn’t dare truly offend these people, or he’d have nowhere to sell his goods in the future.

Rong Hao handed the money to Xu Lang, but Xu Lang shook his head and said, “I don’t want the money. You keep it. When you’ve saved enough, I’ll send you to school.”

Rong Hao blinked, looking pitiful. “Brother, I don’t want to go to school… I… I want to eat fried meat skewers…”

Xu Lang chuckled, tweaking the boy’s nose. “How many times have I told you, don’t eat too much fried food…”

Instantly, Rong Hao looked aggrieved, his two grubby hands clutching the hem of Xu Lang’s jacket.

After all, he was still a child. Xu Lang tousled his hair indulgently, a little helpless, and said, “All right, all right! Just this once…”

Suburbs. An abandoned factory complex.

Rong Hao gleefully opened the take-out box filled with meat skewers and began devouring them, but after only a few bites, he stopped. He looked around and spotted Xu Lang.

“Brother… come eat some too. There’s too much for me to finish alone.”

Xu Lang lay on a tattered quilt, gnawing on a piece of bread, waving him off. “Fried food isn’t good for you. You eat it…”

The factory was large, but that only made it feel emptier. Built from colored steel panels, it was stifling in summer and freezing in winter.

This was home for Xu Lang and Rong Hao.

An old executive desk, a battered sofa, a few small stools, and boxes of milk, bread, and instant noodles scattered everywhere…

All the furniture had been salvaged from the trash heap, and Xu Lang, of course, was the one who brought back the food.

Yet Xu Lang himself disliked milk; he preferred carbonated drinks. The milk was for Rong Hao.

As he put it, Rong Hao was still young and badly needed nutrition, so he should drink more milk.

At some point, a gaping hole had torn open in the colored steel roof; through it, one could see the blue sky and drifting clouds outside.

Xu Lang curled up, trying to make himself more comfortable. The battered cotton quilt was a bit musty, but under his body, it still felt soft enough.

Plainly, Xu Lang relished this sense of peace, the warmth of a real home.

But suddenly, the azure sky darkened, a wild wind swept across the grounds, and the whole factory rattled and shook, as if a storm were about to break.

Damn typhoon, Xu Lang cursed in his heart.

Whenever a typhoon hit, he’d have to rest for a few days. After all, he usually went out at night to scavenge, and with his scrawny frame, he might well be blown away by the wind.

“Oooh… awoo… awoo… awooo…”

Suddenly, a strange sound came from Rong Hao’s direction.

Xu Lang rolled his eyes, too lazy to move, and muttered, “The little rascal’s eaten his fill and is getting ready to mess with his brother again?”

Sure enough, after his scolding, Rong Hao quieted down.

But before long, Xu Lang suddenly felt someone breathing heavily right by his ear!

Who was it?

With a swift roll, Xu Lang dropped to the ground, quick and agile, immediately flattening himself as he observed the darkness ahead.

There were no lights in the factory, so as dusk deepened, the place was shrouded in gloom. Xu Lang could only make out a small, thin figure crouched near the quilt.

“Rong Hao, is that you? Don’t play games with your brother—I scare easily!”

But the only response was a series of eerie howls.

“Rong Hao!!!”

Xu Lang raised his voice and shouted.

“Awoo… awoo…”

The thin figure lifted its head and howled again and again.

Anyone else standing here might have been scared out of their wits, but not Xu Lang.

He was used to living in the shadows, like a rat—what he feared most was exposure to the sunlight.

The small figure sprang up, leaping high like a wolf on the hunt, its green, glowing eyes chilling in the darkness.

Xu Lang snatched up a rusty steel rod, ready to defend himself.

Boom!

Lightning split the sky, illuminating the earth, and then rain poured down.

In that instant, Xu Lang froze, stunned.

By the flash of lightning, he saw the face suspended in midair—Rong Hao’s face.

Though it was twisted almost beyond recognition, Xu Lang still knew him.

What had happened to Rong Hao? What on earth was going on?

A sharp pain shot through Xu Lang’s arm, and he stumbled, falling to the ground. Rong Hao, emboldened, pounced—pinning Xu Lang beneath him, biting and tearing like a real wolf.

Arms, chest, face—flames of pain everywhere.

Rong Hao seemed crazed.

His strength was terrifying, far beyond what Xu Lang could resist. Blood gushed from Xu Lang’s wounds, his mind growing hazy…

Xu Lang suddenly felt as if he were dying.

…

In truth, Xu Lang had been planning to leave this world for three months already.

He’d grown tired of living.

Orphaned from a young age, he’d run away from the orphanage, and it had been five or six years since. In those years, he liked to think he’d seen through the filth of this world, which was why thoughts of suicide had come to him.

The world had never been kind to him.

So, near the factory, he found a secluded spot and dug a large pit for himself, preparing to bury himself there. Before that, he’d even commissioned a headstone, its face inscribed in a flamboyant script: “White Stripe in the Waves.”

But summer hadn’t yet ended, and he worried that his corpse would rot and stink too soon after death. After some thought, he decided to wait until the start of autumn—it wouldn’t be too late to die then.

Having made all his preparations, Xu Lang felt deeply satisfied.

To him, such a death was perfect—there was a tragic grandeur and lonely heroism in it, reminiscent of ancient warriors departing for battle, never to return.

At least it was dashing, in keeping with his heroic self-image.

Soon, autumn arrived.

Xu Lang, in a rare act, bathed thoroughly and stripped off all his clothes.

He believed that just as one comes into the world clean, so should one leave it, with nothing to take along, no worldly goods to be buried with.

That, he felt, was true freedom.

Yet fate rarely aligns with one’s wishes.

Just as Xu Lang bared his behind and prepared to lie in the grave, he discovered to his shock that the pit he’d dug with such effort had been occupied by a little brat!

Intolerable!

Xu Lang pointed at the child in the pit and yelled, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

The little Rong Hao turned to him with red-rimmed eyes, stared in surprise, and then began to bawl, “There is something wrong with me! That’s why my mom and dad don’t want me anymore…”

Annoying, Xu Lang thought. He hated kids—especially crying ones.

But he also knew that the younger the child, the more tears they shed when scolded.

With no other choice, Xu Lang crouched by the tombstone, watching Rong Hao lying in the pit, and pleaded pitifully, “Even if you’re smaller than me, you can’t just take my spot!”

Little Rong Hao, trembling, reached out a hand, his lips quivering. “Brother, I’m hungry…”

Brother.

That one innocent word melted Xu Lang’s lonely heart.

He felt compelled to help this pitiful child, so much like himself.

A strange sense of connection, a sudden sense of responsibility.

After that, Xu Lang often took this little shadow with him on his rounds, and over time, a deep bond grew between them.

To Rong Hao, big brother Xu Lang was the best person in the world, and to Xu Lang, little Rong Hao was the closest family he’d ever known.

Rong Hao’s illness was called beastization.

Unlike others, his case was severe—his body from the neck down was fully transformed, covered in hard scales.

Everyone else shunned him; only Xu Lang didn’t mind.

Xu Lang would say: As long as we’re alive, able to eat and sleep, that’s a blessing—who cares about the rest!

…

Just as Xu Lang hovered at death’s door, a military jeep pulled up steadily outside the factory. From inside came the sounds of heated argument.

One voice said: I’m a soldier—following orders is my duty! But taking me away like this is disobeying orders!

Another replied: Brother, the world has changed. This isn’t the world you left behind before surgery. Humanity is practically all half-beast now—don’t you get it?

The two men went back and forth, neither yielding, on the verge of parting ways.

In the end, a melodious female voice interrupted them.

“I’m starving! Zhou Yirong, you idiot, why’d you drive the car out to this godforsaken place? Two men, one woman, abandoned factory—are you planning to shoot some kind of twisted island movie?”