An Unconventional Release

The execution ground.

The prison's private execution ground was really just a small patch of wasteland.

The Mass Grave lay nearby.

There weren't so many rules in the apocalypse. Executions by firing squad were usually carried out inside the prison.

Parading prisoners through the streets was practically impossible. Everyone was a hardened outlaw these days. With people like Little White Tiger's brothers, if you dared parade him around, they'd dare hijack the prison van.

"Hold this in your mouth."

The executioner took a pill from his pocket and put it in Little White Tiger's mouth.

"We still have to go through the motions. A little suffering won't kill you. This shot's going into your belly, so don't fucking move. If I miss, you really will die."

The gunman patted Little White Tiger on the shoulder. He stood stiffly in place.

"Prisoner Little White Tiger, convicted of murder, is to be executed today. Identity confirmed."

"Raise your gun."

Little White Tiger tilted his head toward the sky and drew a deep breath.

"Execute."

Bang!

The bullet punched through his abdomen, bringing a surge of excruciating pain.

Little White Tiger toppled stiffly to the ground. Blood flowed from the bullet hole, and the intense pain nearly made him cry out.

But prisoners were watching from a distance. He had to keep up the act, so Little White Tiger gritted his teeth and shut his eyes.

"The prisoner is dead."

"Throw him into the Mass Grave."

"Yes."

That night.

The old man responsible for collecting bodies dug the unconscious Little White Tiger out of the pile of corpses and laid him on a small handcart.

Most prisoners whose bodies went unclaimed were buried in the Mass Grave forever. If their families paid, the body collector would take their corpses out of the prison.

In the darkness, several burly men dressed in black sat nervously in a cargo van, watching the prison.

When the prison's back gate finally opened and a hunched old man appeared, pulling a teenage boy's corpse on a cart, they hurriedly opened the rear doors.

A black-market doctor was already waiting inside.

"How is he?"

Little White Tiger was loaded into the van, and the doctor deftly hooked him up to various instruments.

"Huh?"

The doctor studied the readings.

"That's not right. Did he really get shot?" The doctor stared blankly at the fluctuating lines on the monitor. "This kid's heart is beating harder than a fucking healthy person's."

The two men in black were baffled too. Little White Tiger's face had a healthy flush. He'd been shot?

Yet the wound in his abdomen was still bleeding.

"Take him back to the clinic first. Mr. Li is waiting."

The two men exchanged a glance, then returned to the cab and started the engine.

Nighttime temperatures in the apocalypse averaged below freezing, and even the van's heater couldn't hold out for long.

They drove away, failing to notice a homeless man sleeping in a garbage bin nearby.

The surgery was over.

The black-market doctor dragged his exhausted body out of the bedroom that had been converted into an operating room.

Mr. Li sat in the living room with a cup of hot tea, watching television in fairly good spirits.

"What took so long?"

The two men in black standing behind Mr. Li complained impatiently.

"I got the bullet out quickly enough, but this kid had swallowed three tubes. The bullet shattered one of them, and the fragments were embedded in his body. If I didn't remove them..."

"What?"

Before the doctor could finish, the seemingly refined Mr. Li hauled him up with one hand and roared, "Say that again!"

"He... he had three... tubes in his stomach. One... one of them shattered."

The black-market doctor answered shakily.

When a man of Mr. Li's standing flew into a rage, the entire little clinic fell silent. No one wanted to get on his bad side.

"Fuck, why didn't he say so sooner? One shattered? That one alone could fucking buy the lives of everyone in this city."

His face deathly pale, Mr. Li stormed into the operating room. Seeing that Little White Tiger was still unconscious, he snatched the two tubes off the table and strode out.

"Stay here and guard him. Don't let a single fucking person near him. I'm going to report to the boss."

Mr. Li rushed downstairs and climbed into a sedan. After making sure no one was nearby, he took out an anonymous SIM card and dialed an unfamiliar number.

"Boss."

Mr. Li couldn't stop trembling. Even his voice shook.

Only he knew the value of those tubes. Now that one had been destroyed and another lost, there was no telling how many heads would roll.

"Calling this late-did you get something?"

An elderly voice asked quietly on the other end.

"Yes."

Mr. Li took a deep breath to steady himself. "We've secured the Demon Ancestor's Blood."

"Really?" The old man's voice rose several notches, tinged with excitement. "Good work. Get ready to come back."

"But... that kid was too crafty. He swallowed the containers, and our people didn't know. The gunshot broke one, and another is still missing. There were only three in his stomach."

Mr. Li rattled it all off in one breath, then hardly dared breathe, like a defendant awaiting his sentence in court.

Time ticked by. Ice had already formed on the car doors.

Yet Mr. Li was drenched in sweat.

"Make absolutely certain you find out where the missing one went." The voice on the other end was terrifyingly cold.

"Then... what should we do with the kid?" Mr. Li forced himself to ask. "Should we get rid of him?"

"Killing him would waste a dose of the Demon Ancestor's Blood. We might as well try to salvage something. Monitor his vitals around the clock. For now, conceal all his information and don't report it. Things have been unsettled on the board lately. Once I've dealt with matters at the company, send him over. You must not let him out of your sight."

"I don't need to teach you how to win someone's loyalty, do I?"

The voice on the other end was clearly displeased. "If you can't handle this, don't bother coming back."

"Yes."

The call ended.

Feeling as though he'd been pardoned, Mr. Li slumped weakly in his seat, almost completely drained, and quietly lit a cigarette.

The flame flared. In its faint light, a dozen or so teenage boys walked past his car carrying canvas bags.

Their leader wore his hair in a side part, with his bangs dyed white, and looked as though he had no regard for anyone.

Mr. Li could tell at a glance that they were carrying weapons. Their side-parted leader in particular didn't even bother hiding his, carrying a shotgun in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

Bang, bang, bang!

Someone knocked on the black-market clinic's door.

"Who is it?"

The doctor approached the peephole. Outside was pitch-black; even the hallway lights had gone out.

"Who's there?"

The people who came to a black-market doctor were either cops or thugs from the streets. None were easy to deal with. Not daring to be careless, the doctor leaned close to the door and asked quietly.

Crack!

Someone smashed through the peephole from outside. A dark gun barrel slid through the opening and pressed against the doctor's eyeball.

Clatter!

The two men in black sitting in the living room drew weapons from their waists and aimed at the door.

Less than a minute into the tense standoff, the kitchen door opened, and seven or eight young men rushed through it into the living room.

"Nobody fucking move! Put your weapons on the table!"

A young man with yellow, instant-noodle curls held his gun ready and leaped onto the coffee table, jamming the barrel straight against one of the men's mouths.

"Brother, who do you run with?"

Cold sweat streamed down the black-market doctor's face as he forced down his fear and asked.

On the streets, it wasn't the big bosses you feared. It was these green kids.

A boss would at least have a reason to come after you. These half-grown boys might do it simply because they didn't like you.

"Brother Nine."

"Brother Nine."

The young men worked quickly. The moment they entered the living room, they subdued the two men in black, then searched every possible hiding place. Once they were sure it was safe, they opened the front door.

"What, you're not doing business anymore?"

The side-parted teenager sauntered in with his shotgun over his shoulder and patted the doctor's face. "Am I the fucking big bad wolf? How the hell are you supposed to do business if you won't open the door?"

The black-market doctor swallowed and replied in a trembling voice, "Brother, you want money? I'll give it to you. There's a patient inside. Can you please not cause trouble?"

The doctor had clearly taken them for robbers. There were plenty of those in times like these.

The black-market doctor dealt exclusively in illicit work and earned a tidy sum, making him a tempting target in their eyes.

"How much fucking money could you have? If I needed money, I'd rob a bank. Would I really need to come here myself to rob you?" The boy was young, but every move he made carried the air of a crime boss.