I hope that many people will read this.

Zhang, fearing he’d have no time to deal with anything else, instructed the driver to speed up. Once home, he started working immediately, striving to write stories and keep up with his updates.

Luck was on his side; before the clock struck midnight at 11:59 p.m., he successfully uploaded his story, preserving his perfect attendance record for another day. To maintain this, he had to meet the daily word count every single day throughout the month—no exceptions, if he wanted to claim the reward.

Once the story was settled, he quickly headed to bed, knowing he had to collect his prize the following day.

Ten thousand! It was no small sum—a fortune in his eyes. After waking, Zhang dragged Turtle, Pretty Boy, Fatty, and Old Meng along with him; five in total, all venturing out to collect the money.

The three friends were thrilled. Winning a prize meant the chance to revel in extravagance—a barbecue, singing, maybe even hiring escorts. Life couldn’t possibly be any sweeter, could it?

The only one dissatisfied was Fatty, who hadn’t figured out, even after a night’s sleep, why Zhang was the champion.

They arrived too early, reaching the billiard hall around ten. The owner hadn’t arrived yet. The attendant called, informing them the boss would show up in the afternoon.

Zhang, obsessed with the ten thousand yuan, refused to leave, suggesting they play billiards while waiting.

Pretty Boy and the others would have none of it; their enjoyment had to start immediately. Lunch first, then back for the money, then off to sing, and finally a night of drinking. The fun only counted if the drinks flowed all night.

Alone, Zhang couldn't argue against them and agreed to treat them to lunch.

Treating friends to a meal was a major event, so the four fought for the right to choose dishes. After much debate, they each won the right to select a dish. Zhang managed to secure the right to pick the restaurant.

Unwilling to trust Zhang blindly, the four imposed limits: the restaurant had to be within two streets of the billiard hall, couldn’t be a breakfast stall, and couldn’t be a street vendor—it had to be a proper establishment.

They thought they had it figured out; even a bun or dumpling shop would serve stir-fried dishes, ensuring a delicious meal.

But they’d overlooked one large establishment: a spicy hotpot shop, which didn’t serve alcohol. When Zhang invited them in with a smile, the four friends were so defeated they couldn’t even muster anger. Instead, they transformed their indignation into appetite, determined not to let Zhang, the stingy host, win.

So, as the four staggered out of the hotpot shop with their bellies full, Zhang wore a look of sorrow, cursing as they walked, “A bunch of bastards! Eating spicy hotpot and racking up over three hundred! Why don’t you just eat yourselves to death?”

“We barely ate half our fill, trying to spare your wallet. We all held back,” Old Meng replied.

“Damn it, I don’t believe this. Let’s go back and eat some more—I want to treat you to a full meal,” Zhang said through gritted teeth.

Old Meng shook his head, “No way. Once we’re out, there’s no going back.”

At two in the afternoon, the five returned to the billiard hall. The boss kept his promise, handing over ten thousand yuan and a certificate for first place. He sighed, “You really are something. Nearly turned the competition into a farce, and almost cost me dearly.”

“How did I almost cost you?” Fatty asked.

“The guy I sent to the hospital was alright. I advanced two thousand for him, got it back that night, and he thanked me—didn’t cause trouble. If I’d run into a scoundrel, that ten thousand would’ve gone straight to medical bills,” the boss explained.

Zhang thanked him.

“You really should thank me,” the boss said, then added, “Let’s take some photos—at least make something out of this competition.”

Zhang accompanied the boss for a few pictures, then left.

On the way downstairs, Turtle remarked the boss was sensible; if he’d dared not pay, Turtle would’ve smashed up the place.

“Alright, quit bragging,” Zhang said. “I’ll give you three hundred for karaoke. I’m heading home to work.”

“Work your head! Three hundred’s not enough!” Old Meng shouted.

“The afternoon session’s cheaper—it’s enough.”

“What about the girls? Include them and the drinks, three hundred won’t cover it,” Old Meng said. “Make it a thousand.”

“I’ll kill you! No way!” Zhang snapped. “Now I’m not giving even three hundred—go to hell for all I care.”

“Damn it, if you don’t pay, we’ll strip you on the street. Will you or won’t you?” Fatty threatened.

Just as Zhang started to refuse, Fatty’s phone rang. After a brief conversation, he hung up and said, “Let’s go to the hospital.”

“Why are we heading to the hospital again?” Zhang asked.

“Monkey’s mom’s been hospitalized. Not a single relative showed up, and there’s no money for the bills. Monkey tried stealing and got caught—now he’s at the police station. They said a teacher can pick him up,” Fatty replied. “Either way, let’s check on the hospital first.”

Old Meng sighed, pulling out two hundred yuan. “That’s all I’ve got—been broke lately. I won’t go.”

Pretty Boy took out five hundred. “That’s my dating fund—I’m not going to the hospital either.”

Turtle collected their money and said to Fatty and Zhang, “The three of us will go.”

Zhang agreed, and the trio took a cab to the hospital.

It was the district hospital—city hospitals were too expensive for Monkey’s family. Even the district hospital was nearly beyond their means.

Monkey was one of the five brave youths involved in a recent fight. Raised in a single-parent household, he’d never met his father. His mother never married and gave birth out of wedlock. After Monkey was born, her family severed all ties.

Monkey’s mother was actually quite young, about thirty-four or thirty-five. Raising Monkey transformed her from a vibrant young woman into a factory auntie. She wanted to earn more, but had to care for her son, barely managing either. She stumbled through life, failing at her job and at raising her child.

Monkey’s family rented a small single room for two hundred eighty a month—over a decade now.

Years of overwork, a difficult child, unstable employment, and an uncertain future left Monkey’s mother with a perpetually gloomy face. After more than ten years, it was no wonder she was ill.

It was easy to understand. In her thirties, a woman should be at her most mature and alluring, enjoying happiness—not scavenging for scraps like a dog every day. Think of those glamorous actresses on TV, mostly in their thirties. If they could live beautifully and happily, why couldn’t Monkey’s mother?

On the way to the hospital, Fatty got another call—the teacher wouldn’t go to the police station, so a parent had to pick Monkey up.

“I’ll go,” Zhang said.

Fatty agreed, and they decided to coordinate by phone, splitting up halfway.

Zhang hurried to the police station, but didn’t see Monkey at first. Instead, he was questioned.

Who was he? What was his relationship with Monkey? He was told not to neglect the child and to strengthen his supervision.

Monkey was fifteen, in his last year of middle school, but rarely attended. When he did, he caused trouble, forming a brotherhood with other boys, dubbing themselves the Eight Dragons of Happiness Lane.

Nicknames and brotherhoods were common in Happiness Lane.

Such groups were more about joining the fun than genuine loyalty. When Fatty was young, he formed the Thirteen Youngsters. Among them, two were also known as the Four Guardians, and others joined the Axe Gang. Then there were the Twelve Phoenixes—a girls’ group, ranked from Big Sister to Twelfth Sister.

These kids gathered, skipped class, and “trained.” Training meant informal sparring—pulling cucumber racks, fighting turtle punches. They called it practical training.

When Fatty and his friends were in primary school, the Thirteen Youngsters would roam the streets aimlessly. If they saw a twenty-something youth alone, they’d hatch a plan: attack him!

Despite being primary schoolers and the target being a grown man, their numbers made them bold. They’d strategize—who’d distract, who’d sneak up, who’d grab legs, who’d hold arms, who’d choke. Once the plan was set, they’d act.

Were these kids bold or just bored? No reason—just wanted to see if a dozen children could take down a grown man.

The fight never happened; as soon as they launched their attack, the youth took one look at the wild kids and bolted.

People always say upbringing matters. Children raised amidst violence often turn out the same. For example, Monkey’s Eight Dragons—the good wasn’t learned, but bad habits flourished. In primary school, one “dragon” beat up a teacher in class, reducing the young woman to tears, sending her sobbing to the principal’s office.

Monkey was the leader of the Eight Dragons. Though skinny and short, he was fearless—the most reckless of them all. Even among friends, their “training” was brutal, bordering on madness.

But Monkey respected Zhang immensely—he couldn’t beat him, but mainly because Zhang once fought an entire street single-handedly, subduing Fatty’s group and turning them into friends.

To Monkey, Zhang was Jackie Chan, Bruce Lee—every kind of dragon, his idol. That’s why Zhang showed up at the police station.

After the officer’s lecture, Zhang finally saw Monkey.

A little brat, squatting handcuffed to the radiator, his face filled with defiance. Blood streaked his face, nose and lips, making him look even wilder.

The officer entered, addressing him, “Someone’s here to pick you up. Do you recognize him?”

Monkey turned and looked, “Brother Zhang.”

Zhang sighed, “How many times have I told you—if something happens, tell me. Why didn’t you?”

Monkey didn’t answer.

The officer asked, “Do you realize your mistake?”

Monkey replied, “I do.”

Zhang interrupted, “Don’t believe him. He’ll always say he understands, but once he’s out, he’ll be exactly the same.”

Monkey asked, “Brother Zhang, are you here to get me?”

“I’d like to beat you right now,” Zhang replied.

Monkey said nothing.

The officer said, “Take good care of him. If he keeps this up, we’ll have to consider sending him to the juvenile center.”

“I’ll do my best, but you must understand—he’s got only his mother, and she’s in the hospital. If he doesn’t take care of her, no one will. He stole for medical bills; he had no other choice,” Zhang explained.

The officer nodded. “Write a letter of guarantee, then sign.”

Zhang agreed. The officer unlocked Monkey’s handcuffs, had him write the letter, and took Zhang out to sign. After a while, Zhang and Monkey left the station together.

As they exited, Monkey spat fiercely, cursing.

Zhang’s expression remained unmoved, as if he hadn’t seen it, but beneath the surface, his face was dark as thunder.

Monkey asked, “Brother Zhang, what’s wrong?”

“The school’s going to expel you,” Zhang replied quietly.

“Let them. Who cares?” Monkey scoffed.