Wu Yifan cocked his head back in laughter at the situation he found himself in. Receiving uppercut after gut punch, blow after blow from some hooded figures in a dark alleyway. It reminded him of the days his older brother sent random beatings his way, Seunghyun's method of testing his endurance. Ever since the guy got back from the military, he’d been a pain in Yifan’s . Nonetheless, he’d get on with it and do what needed to be done.  

A few minutes passed after the small group of covered men had taken off, leaving the young man propped up against the dirty brick backside of a run-down liquor store. He knew he was in downtown Shanghai, but wasn't sure quite where, having been lead by the familiar tricky face down a winding path through the concrete jungle. Yifan could always sense when his older brother was throwing things his way. So instead of crying about it and trying to run, he’d learned quickly to face it head on and take whatever minor punishment was planned for him.

He held back a cough as he pulled himself up, taking his phone from his coat pocket. Unlocking it told him it was half past three in the morning, yet cars kept honking and people carried on riding their bikes in the commonplace layer of smog. Yifan forgot to buy face masks, having travelled so much recently that he was no longer tough against the pollution in the city. He let the cough free and soon fell into a fit of it, hacking his lungs away until his bruised ribs yelled at him to stop moving. The man hit his first contact on speed dial, closing his eyes as the phone rang.

“Bro’s had his way. Be prepared for his next set up. Carry on with your night but send someone over, I need a driver.” Yifan spoke before the recipient could speak. But Zitao knew his friend long enough to not waste energy saying hello whenever he called. The thin man was alone in his own hotel room, already awake. Yifan pre-warned him about an hour ago that he felt something coming on, and Zitao knew exactly what it was. It wasn’t that Seunghyun was predictable, it was just that he used the same moves, just in different patterns. It may seem predictable, but he was too forceful to even think negatively about, so no one would ever dare say that aloud.

The younger stood up from spot on the lush bed, trimmed black hair sticking up in random places. He spotted his body in the massive mirror across the room, only covered with a thin pair of boxers. He admired his wiry thin frame but realized he had lost tons of definition.

“Sure. I need to get some practice in,” he said, mental piecing together a way to wedge himself into an attack, so as to utilize his years of wushu that seemed to be wasting away if he didn’t train every day. He heard a chuckle from the other end.

“That’s my boy. Keep things peaceful but stern, as always.” and with that, the elder hung up.

Zitao exited the call and navigated to send a text to a nearby driver, having already located the usual place Seunghyun’s men liked to take Yifan. It always confused his friend, but Zitao had saved his enough times to figure out that his friend’s older brother usually made things quite easy on him, even if the younger brother didn’t see it that way.

Yifan out for most of the car ride, but upon stopping he arose, not so much as looking at the driver upon exiting the vehicle. Before him stood a tall, newly made, and newly collapsing skyscraping hotel. As he walked towards the entrance, he was further reminded of his goal. He loved China, truly, but the people in charge often did things too carelessly. Often rushed through projects to make a pretty looking result that was actually of low quality. This was something he knew too well and something he made sure to avoid himself.

He walked through the empty lobby and towards stairwell. Always taking the hardest route was part of his personal truth. Part of the few things he knew to be right and part of the things he knew other people were too careless to do and that’s what made them failures. Yifan would never fail.

As the dried blood ran a straight line from his nose to chin and his bruised torso shook within him, he carried on. The man was almost grateful that the attack happened so late at night, saving himself from the looks he’d receive if he showed his face in public looking so torn up. He could feel his cheek pulse and his legs crack while pretending everything was fine. The man didn’t even touch the railing as he continued his nearly usual pace up each step, cruisin