The Bully 02

Fang Yunhe's first thought was that his father had won money gambling yesterday—but no, when he won, he usually just gave him a few bucks to buy food outside.

"What are you spacing out for? Think I poisoned it?" Fang Zhiyi rapped his knuckles on the table. Fang Yunhe cautiously sat down and started eating the noodles. They tasted surprisingly good.

Silence settled over the living room.

Just as Fang Yunhe was about to finish his meal, Fang Zhiyi suddenly spoke up: "Been thinking—maybe I should quit gambling. My luck's been getting worse. Guess I'm just not cut out for it."

Fang Yunhe froze for a second before mechanically slurping up the last few strands in his bowl. His father had said this before—multiple times—and never meant it.

Then, a hundred-yuan bill landed in front of him.

"Here, take it. Buy whatever you need." Fang Yunhe stared in disbelief. His father had never given him this much money before.

"What? Scared of being late? Hurry up. I’m in the mood to walk you today." Fang Zhiyi felt a pang of discomfort under his son’s gaze.

The two walked out in silence. Watching Fang Yunhe shrink into himself with every step, Fang Zhiyi sighed inwardly.

"Hey, Xiao Hei, be honest—are you some kind of 'dad system'? Why do I keep getting stuck playing parent?"

"Just a coincidence. Really."

"Seriously, if I have to be a dad, can’t I at least be some kind of emperor? Y’know, untouchable, no responsibilities, living in luxury?"

"You think someone like that would need to change anything?"

"Damn."

Only after seeing Fang Yunhe enter the school gates did Fang Zhiyi start wandering aimlessly.

Get a job? Not in this lifetime.

After spending the whole day roaming the city, he finally drifted back toward the school—just in time to see his son being dragged into an alley.

"Fang Yunhe, acting tough today, huh? Couldn’t even let me copy your test answers?" The student sneered. "What, relieved Murong Ke isn’t here?"

"I didn’t—the teacher was watching—"

"Shut up!"

Fang Yunhe braced for the slap, but the pain never came.

When he opened his eyes, Fang Zhiyi’s hand was clamped around the other boy’s wrist.

"Kid, what do you think you’re doing to my son?"

The lackeys froze. Fang Yunhe had a dad? Not that they could be blamed—he always kept to himself, and rumors said he had no parents.

They were used to following Murong Ke around, bullying kids like Fang Yunhe without consequence.

"Tch. Just messing around." The boy tried to yank his hand free, still glaring at Fang Yunhe. Just some poor kid and his broke dad—why should he be scared?

But Fang Zhiyi didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled back Fang Yunhe’s collar, revealing bruises. "You did this too, right?"

"Who says? Let go!" Wang Zihan’s bravado wavered as pain shot through his wrist. The man’s expression was unsettling. Sure, he wasn’t afraid—but what if this guy actually hit him?

To his surprise, Fang Zhiyi released him, then studied him with narrowed eyes.

Disheveled hair, bloodshot eyes, hollow cheeks—he looked like a fugitive.

Fang Zhiyi gestured for them to leave. The group hesitated but finally shuffled off. As Wang Zihan passed Fang Yunhe, he hissed, "You’re dead."

Fang Zhiyi turned to his son. "Still got the money?"

Fang Yunhe nodded. He’d hidden it in his pencil case, too reluctant to spend it.

"Go home. I’ve got things to do." Fang Zhiyi walked off without another word. Fang Yunhe stared after him, stunned. Why had his father been at the school? For him? And he knew about the bruises? For the first time, he felt a flicker of safety.

But then again—maybe it was just a coincidence. And "things to do" probably meant gambling. The thought of facing Wang Zihan tomorrow filled him with dread.

Wang Zihan and his friends had planned to hang out longer, but the encounter killed the mood. They split up early.

Grumbling, Wang Zihan kicked at pebbles—until a glance over his shoulder sent a chill down his spine.

Fang Yunhe’s dad was following him, keeping a casual distance. When their eyes met, the man smiled. It wasn’t reassuring.

Wang Zihan sped up, desperate to get home. Was this really happening? Over a few beatings?

Luckily, his house wasn’t far. Once inside the gated community, he exhaled in relief. Across the street, Fang Yunhe’s father stood watching him with an eerie stare.

Hah. You can’t get in here. This is a high-end neighborhood.

He didn’t know his nightmare was just beginning.

At dinner, Wang Zihan was playing the obedient son when the doorbell rang. His father answered—and there he was. The man wore a baseball cap (where’d he get that?) and locked eyes with Wang Zihan.

"Can I help you?" Wang Zihan’s father asked.

"Plumbing check. Upstairs neighbor reported a leak. Just need to take a look."

Wang Zihan’s dad let him in. Wang Zihan shoveled food into his mouth, stealing glances. The man smirked back.

Dread coiled in his gut.

Fang Zhiyi only inspected the bathroom before leaving with a polite "Sorry for the trouble." As he went, he waved at Wang Zihan—a gesture that made his blood run cold.

Wang Zihan bolted to his room after dinner. On impulse, he peeked out the window.

The man was crouched outside, tools laid out beside him—hammer, wrench, saw. He looked up, grinning.

Wang Zihan yanked the curtains shut.

He’s here for me. Horrific scenarios flooded his mind. Fear consumed him.

Even when his parents asked him to join their evening walk, he refused.

Then, as the house fell quiet—knocking.

Wang Zihan’s stomach dropped.