The Murderer 01

Fang Zhiyi opened his eyes to find himself gripping a sharp knife, the man before him glaring with fury.

"You little bastard, you dare stab me? Your whore of a mother deserved to die!"

Fang Zhiyi froze, his mind stuttering as a flood of dark memories surged into his consciousness.

Yes, his name was Fang Zhiyi. He had lost his father young and lived with his mother. The man before him was his stepfather, who had taken them in only to reveal his true nature soon after.

Drunkenness and domestic violence were routine. He had even forced Fang Zhiyi’s mother into prostitution to pay "rent," and Fang Zhiyi himself was no stranger to beatings.

On the day Fang Zhiyi came of age, his mother had saved up to buy him a small cake—a rare luxury in the Wasteland, where bakeries existed only in the wealthy districts.

But that same night, his drunken stepfather attacked her again. Fang Zhiyi mustered the courage to push open the door, only to find his mother’s lifeless eyes staring blankly, her blood staining the corner of a table, while his stepfather snored loudly on the bed nearby.

Huddled in the living room, Fang Zhiyi knew she was gone. Slowly, fear gave way to rage. He grabbed a knife from the kitchen, and as he stepped inside, his stepfather jolted awake. With no escape, Fang Zhiyi seized a chair and struck him down.

Now, he stood ready to end the monster’s life.

Meeting his stepfather’s mocking gaze, Fang Zhiyi’s eyes turned icy. He thrust the blade forward.

The wet sound of steel piercing flesh filled the air. His stepfather’s eyes widened in disbelief—this cowardly bastard had actually done it.

Fang Zhiyi drove the knife deeper until the man lay still. Rising slowly, he turned to the cracked mirror on the wall. The pale figure staring back—was that really him? For a fleeting moment, he thought he saw another version of himself, but it vanished in a blink.

Sirens wailed outside. The Wasteland’s police were worse than thugs. Glancing at the two corpses, Fang Zhiyi made his decision. He emptied his stepfather’s pockets, then struggled to lift his mother’s body and slipped out through the fire escape.

The Wasteland’s sky was perpetually gray, as murky as the city’s darkness.

After burying his mother hastily, Fang Zhiyi realized he had nowhere to go. He would never return to that "home."

Rumors said the Lower District was where people like him belonged. Fang Zhiyi decided to try his luck there.

Maybe he’d survive.

Passing a secondhand electronics store, a crowd had gathered around a TV displayed near the entrance.

"After deliberation, the Wasteland Court has ruled Mr. Wu not guilty of rape. He is released today." The screen showed a man in a fur coat, flamboyantly waving at the camera.

Bystanders muttered curses under their breath. Fang Zhiyi felt a surge of disgust as he watched.

A little farther, and he’d reach the Lower District. Here, streetlights were mostly broken, and the roads were potholed. Fang Zhiyi trudged forward blindly, unsure of his destination but knowing he had to keep moving.

Could he leave the Wasteland? No—his mother had told him it was vast, nearly impossible to escape.

"Hey, kid. You’re not from the Lower District, are you?" A voice cut through the darkness. Fang Zhiyi turned numbly, spotting only the glow of a cigarette in the shadows.

"What, mute? Got any money?"

Fang Zhiyi pressed his lips together. "No."

He tried to walk away, but the man and his companions blocked him. "This is my turf, kid. Gotta pay a toll to pass."

Fang Zhiyi clenched his fists. He refused to be bullied anymore. He had nothing left to lose.

"Meng Luo, when are you paying me back?" Another voice interrupted. The man gripping Fang Zhiyi’s collar tensed, suddenly wary.

Seizing the moment, Fang Zhiyi swung. His punch landed squarely, sending the man stumbling back. Fang Zhiyi bolted, but before the thug could give chase, his creditor stopped him.

After running endlessly, Fang Zhiyi was hopelessly lost. Then, a hand yanked him into a narrow alley.

Instinctively, he raised his fist—but stopped just short of striking. Under the dim light of the alley, a freckled girl in a hoodie glared at him.

This was how he met Mia.

She led him to her home—a repurposed sewer, littered with scattered electronic parts. Fang Zhiyi stared blankly at the mess.

"I scavenge these," Mia explained. "Don’t judge. I’m good with machines." She paused. "I saw what you did back there. Hitting Meng Luo? Bold."

Fang Zhiyi stayed silent. His mind was a whirlwind, flashes of unfamiliar memories flickering behind his eyes. As he clutched his head, Mia shrugged. "Rest here tonight. But fair warning—I saved you ‘cause I need help." She turned, only to find Fang Zhiyi already collapsed on the ground.

"Out cold already?"

The next morning, Fang Zhiyi woke with an aching back and a throbbing head.

He’d dreamed of a monstrous black mass enveloping him, surrounded by twisted landscapes—before being violently hurled to the ground.

Rubbing his temples, he took in the cluttered space and the worn blanket draped over him, recalling the previous night’s events.

"You’re up? Since you slept here, you’re on the hook for helping. No backing out." Mia sat cross-legged on a rickety chair.

Fang Zhiyi nodded, studying her. She wore black-framed glasses, the arms clumsily taped, and fiddled with some gadget in her hands.

Once she noticed he was awake, Mia launched into chatter—mostly nonsense, as if she’d been starved for conversation.

Fang Zhiyi listened quietly, plagued by the sense he’d forgotten something vital.

"Aren’t you afraid I’m dangerous?" he suddenly asked.

Mia blinked, sizing him up. "You talk?" She set down her project, hopping off the chair to scrutinize him. "Dangerous? Hah! I’ve met plenty of real bad guys. You? Not even close."

Mia’s "job" involved hauling discarded electronics—work too heavy for her alone.

Fang Zhiyi didn’t complain. This girl had given him shelter and canned food. The cans were rusted, the contents barely edible, but they filled his stomach.