"Fuck, this damn weather."
Cheng Wen stubbed out his cigarette in the dirty, black ashtray, twisted off the cap of a mineral water bottle, and casually closed the gambling website's page.
He had a buzz cut and was wearing a tank top and floral shorts. Of average build with not much muscle, his arms and chest were nonetheless covered in colorful dragon tattoos.
His fleshy face featured a pair of fierce, domineering, upturned eyes—he loved using them to stare down at people, watching as they obediently averted their gaze.
Unemployed vagrant, local ruffian, hoodlum, scoundrel—these were Cheng Wen's labels. Theft, robbery, and extortion were his main occupations.
"Bro, bro! Open up!"
The battered door of the rented room was pounded on, and his brother Cheng Wu's voice called from outside.
"What the hell are you yelling about!"
