Meng Qianzi felt like she was seeing a ghost.
The first part of Jiang Lian’s speech had been normal, indeed with the tone of discussing urgent matters, and she had listened attentively. But that final sentence wasn’t just a twist—it was a sudden descent into madness.
She suspected she had misheard: “Run?”
“Yes, run hard… Do you know what the most desperate moment for a thief is when stealing something?”
Meng Qianzi replied impatiently: “No idea. Never been one.”
This reaction was within his expectations: “I have been.”
Meng Qianzi wasn’t too surprised.
“Before Master Gan adopted me, when there was nothing to eat, I did some shameless things… Do you know how Master Gan first encountered me?”
Meng Qianzi didn’t speak, but her expression showed she was willing to listen.
Jiang Lian didn’t look at her, instead staring at the not-so-dark night in the distance for a while before he laughed, seemingly finding the memory amusing: “You know, even beggars are divided into upper, middle, and lower classes. This hierarchy isn’t what you’d imagine from the Beggars’ Sect.”
It was strange when you thought about it. Sometimes, even people who were already among the lowest and most vulnerable still practiced bullying the weak within that compressed space: being trampled underfoot, rising with a bruised face, not daring to fight back, but viciously spitting a mouthful of bloody saliva before stomping on someone even weaker.
Initially, he begged for food along the streets. But being quick-witted, within a few days, he’d figured out that large squares and train stations offered a much better chance of getting food than residential areas or commercial streets. Especially at train stations, he could always get leftovers like instant noodles—first shrimp flavor, then beef flavor. He was quite satisfied.
Excited about his discovery, he settled at the train station like he’d found himself a secure job.
Little did he know that on the third night, while fast asleep under a waiting room seat with newspapers covering him, he was dragged out and subjected to punches and kicks. The leader had a wine-red nose and chronic sores on his legs. Jiang Lian had seen him begging during the day, being yelled at like a dog by passengers, nodding and smiling obsequiously. But when beating Jiang Lian, he was as imperious as a gang leader.
Only then did he realize that beggars had territories, too. The train station area had long been divided among Wine-Nose and four or five others. By being there, he’d been eating into their cake.
After a severe beating, he was thrown under a broken bridge. Wine-Nose warned that if he dared show up at the train station again, they’d cut off his little bird.
Jiang Lian didn’t dare make a sound. Only after Wine-Nose and the others had gone far away did he roll over and get up, shouting into the hollow beneath the bridge: “Fuck your mother, how dare you beat your grandpa Lian!”
After that, he didn’t dare return to the train station.
He wandered around the city, and when he really couldn’t beg for food, he resorted to stealing steamed buns, twisted dough sticks, oil cakes, and sweet potatoes. One meal hungry, one meal full, he desperately struggled through each day with his “hard-earned goods.”
But he didn’t consider himself a thief. Each time after eating stolen food, he’d wipe his mouth forcefully, thinking: Just wait, when your grandpa Lian gets rich, I’ll pay you back double, times two!
Unfortunately, getting rich remained a distant dream. One day, while crouching in a small alley, devouring a stolen steamed bun, he was beaten again.
This time, he couldn’t even see clearly who was beating him. He only felt many feet descending from the sky, stomping on his head, chest, stomach, and even his bun. The person scolding him had a shrill voice, not yet changed, probably only thirteen or fourteen years old, shouting: “How dare you steal here? Don’t you know these few streets are the territory of our ‘Seven Wolves’? If you want to steal, go somewhere else!”
So it wasn’t just begging—thieves had territories too.
He was beaten until his eyes were bloodshot and his nose was bleeding. After the group left, he sniffled through blood and mucus, picking up the blackened bun that had been stomped on. Based on his life experience, if he peeled off the dirty outer layer, the inside would still be clean and edible.
While gnawing on the bun, he planned for his future: Where to go? There was nowhere to go. Everywhere had territories, everywhere had fists and feet waiting.
He needed to figure out how to continue stealing and begging here without getting beaten.
After finishing the bun, he stared at his sneakers with two or three broken toes, and suddenly had an insight.
He could run.
As long as he ran fast enough, he would never get beaten, because those who wanted to beat him couldn’t catch him.
From then on, his frantic running figure became a common sight in the city streets. He was caught two or three times, each time resulting in a severe beating, but the harsher the beating, the greater his motivation. The next time, he would run even faster.
Gradually, he stopped getting beaten because the victims couldn’t outrun him. It wasn’t worth getting out of breath for a bun or two. Those street ruffians couldn’t outrun him either, usually giving up after a few blocks, hands on knees, panting, and cursing: “This little bastard runs faster than a dog.”
Thanks to their blessing, the time Jiang Lian met Kuang Tongsheng was his best performance ever—he truly outran a dog.
That time, he happened upon a funeral banquet. Thieves loved wedding and funeral banquets because the complex flow of people made it easy to operate.
Jiang Lian mingled with the crowd, first securing two pieces of cake for himself, then carefully fishing out a hot chicken leg. Just as he gripped it, someone shouted: “Catch the thief!”
He later learned that someone had lost money, three thousand yuan. Back then, three thousand yuan was no small sum. The thief they were shouting about wasn’t him, but a guilty conscience is a real thing. His whole body jolted, and he took off running.
Immediately, he became the most conspicuous target.
At a funeral banquet, everyone was family or friends—who wouldn’t unite against a common enemy? Without bothering to clarify the situation, a group rushed out in pursuit, even releasing a dog.
On the long field ridge, an intense chase unfolded: Jiang Lian clutching the chicken leg, taking the lead, with a local dog not far behind, and further back, a dense crowd of people.
Soon, due to differences in stamina, the large group stretched into a long line. Those falling behind supported each other with scattered steps. Even those still barely chasing were gasping for breath, with the distance between them and the leading man and dog growing ever larger.
Finally, they all stopped, placing all their hopes on the dog.
That’s when Kuang Tongsheng’s car happened to pass by.
First attracted by the scene, then hearing the shouts, he instructed his driver to follow.
Jiang Lian, clutching the chicken leg, ran like the wind. The temptation of the chicken leg and the fear of being bitten by the dog gave him double motivation. Add to that his occasional wall-climbing and jumping, which gave him an advantage: the dog finally stopped, exhausted, desperately barking at his retreating figure.
By this point, Jiang Lian was already completely exhausted, but the diminishing dog barks behind him gave him a surge of energy. Amid his flight, he glanced back and turned pale with fright.
For just a chicken leg, they had sent a car after him!
Gritting his teeth, he pushed his legs to continue running frantically.
Kuang Tongsheng told the driver to speed up. When they caught up with Jiang Lian, he rolled down the window and called out: “Young brother, stop for a moment.”
Jiang Lian ignored him. Kuang Tongsheng had no choice but to have the driver speed up further, then turn the car sideways to block his path.
With the car cutting him off, Jiang Lian came to an abrupt halt and fell. His reckless momentum dissipated, never to return. Watching Kuang Tongsheng get out with his cane, he instinctively felt that the cane would strike him. His first reaction was to lower his head and desperately chew on the long-cold chicken leg: if he was going to be beaten, he wouldn’t be beaten for nothing. Chicken was nutritious—once in his stomach, it would help him recover faster from any injuries.
He wolfed it down, almost choking. The large chicken leg was gone in no time, leaving just the bone. With bulging cheeks, he threw the bone at Kuang Tongsheng: “Here, nothing left!”