The Invincible Young Master

One by one, they shuffled to the table, dropping small pouches filled with bronze and silver coins before the gang leader. Each deposit seemed to represent the meager earnings of a long, humiliating day of begging.

Zhao Shi quickly grasped the grim reality. This was no mere refuge for the needy; it was a den for a gang exploiting these unfortunate souls. The shabby beggar he had assisted earlier was part of this operation, likely forced into panhandling to funnel money to the gang.

Zhao Shi chose to observe quietly for the moment.

A scrawny man reached the table, his steps hesitant. The buck-toothed leader, noticing the absence of a pouch, leaned forward, eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Where is your pouch?" he demanded.

"I-I didn't get anything today," the scrawny man stuttered, his voice quivering.

"Is that so?" the leader sneered. "You should've begged harder."

With a dismissive wave, he commanded, "Beat him up. Maybe then he'll gain some sympathy next time."

Two burly men, standing as silent enforcers behind the buck-toothed leader, stepped forward and grabbed the scrawny man.

They dragged him to the back of the room, where the sound of fists meeting flesh and the man's groans of pain soon filled the air.

The other beggars flinched at the noise, their faces pale with fear. They all knew they could be next if they failed to meet their quota.

The shabby man, whom the trio had encountered earlier in the market, finally reached the table.

With trembling hands, he retrieved a small pouch from his waist and placed it on the table. It contained only a few bronze coins and a single silver piece. After making his contribution, he moved aside, relief evident on his face as the line continued to shorten.

Once everyone had handed over their earnings, the gang members dismissed the group. The beggars dispersed quickly, eager to escape the oppressive atmosphere.

The shabby man, his face still tense with worry, slipped away and wandered through the winding alleyways until he reached a secluded area with crumbling walls and scattered stones.

He glanced around nervously to ensure he was alone before kneeling and flipping over one of the smaller rocks. Beneath it lay a small pouch. He sighed in relief upon seeing the pouch of gold coins, hidden safely away from the gang's grasp.

"See, bro, I told you he was hiding something," a mocking voice chimed in from behind.

The shabby man froze, his heart pounding. He quickly tried to cover the pouch again, but it was too late.

He turned to see the gang members standing nearby, their expressions gleeful at having caught him red-handed. He hadn't realized they had followed him.

"Search what he's hiding," the bucktooth leader ordered his lackeys.

The shabby man could only watch in despair as the two men eagerly overturned stones and pieces of wood, finally uncovering the hidden pouch.

"Bro, found it!" one of them shouted, holding the pouch.

"That's quite a stash," another gang member remarked, eyes gleaming with greed.

The buck-toothed leader stepped forward, a twisted grin on his face.

"I heard you went to a different part of the city today," he said, "I didn't expect you to hit it big."

"Did you steal this from nobles?" He added, "I might have let you go with just a little slap for giving me that first pouch. But you dared to hide this from me."

With a swift, vicious punch, the buck-toothed leader's fist sank into the shabby man's gut. He crumpled to the ground, gasping for air, his face contorted in a grimace of pain. Seizing the opportunity, the other gang members lunged forward, their boots thudding against his ribs with relentless brutality.

The man's agonized groans mingled with the gang's cruel laughter as they greedily pocketed the stolen gold. They left him writhing in the dirt, a broken figure, his body trembling from the merciless beating.

Once the coast was clear, the shabby man struggled to his feet, bruised and battered. His face, a mask of pain, still shone with a flicker of determination. He scanned the area cautiously, ensuring no one else was watching this time.

Satisfied that he was alone, the shabby man limped over to a different section of the rubble. With trembling hands, he carefully dug through the debris, uncovering a small cloth-wrapped bundle. Inside were a few gold coins—his last secret stash.

He quickly concealed the coins in his sleeves, his movements quick and furtive. He had anticipated the gang's routine of shaking down the beggars and had hidden some money in a safer place, just in case.

With his precious hoard hidden, the shabby man made his way through the maze of alleyways. He crossed a few intersections, each step slower than the last, until he reached a small, dilapidated hut.

The structure was barely more than a stable, with its worn wooden planks and sagging roof. Yet, it was a place he called home.

Pushing open the creaky door, he entered the dimly lit space. There, on a rickety bed, lay a woman. Her skin was pallid, and she looked frail, like a candle flickering in its final moments.

As she saw him, her eyes widened with a weak semblance of hope, but she couldn't muster the strength to speak. A fit of coughing racked her body instead.

The shabby man rushed to her side, gently taking her hand in his.

"Dear," he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of sorrow and determination, "I've got some money now. I can buy you medicine tomorrow."

Outside, Zhao Shi stood silently, peering through a crack in the hut's weathered wall. He had followed the shabby man, driven by curiosity and concern. Watching the tender scene between the couple, he felt a deep pang of empathy. The man's earlier words echoed in his mind: "I have a sick wife to feed."

"He was telling the truth," Zhao Shi murmured to himself, his earlier skepticism replaced with a profound sadness. With a final glance at the touching scene, Zhao Shi resolved to return and report his findings.