Chapter 73 - No one is natural lapse from virtue (1/2)

Translator: Lionwwang  Editor: Lionwwang

When I calm down, I’ve thought it all out slowly.

Dorra is a little hooligan, unexpected, but also reasonable. Considering her background, she has no father since childhood, grew up in a single-parent family, and her mother died a few years ago. It is not surprising that a young girl, lacking family warmth and family education, has become a rebellious hooligan.

“What are you standing there for?” Azle gives me a push.

Suddenly, I start smiling and look back at Azle: “Very good!”

“Good for what?”

“I mean this little girl, Dorra.” My smile is sincere, and there is no irritation in my eyes.

Azle frowns: “Aren’t you crazy? This girl is obviously a little hooligan. Such a girl is common in bars. What’s good? I tell you, even if someone tells me she’s prostitute or addicted to drugs, I won’t be surprised.”

I understand what he meant. In fact, he is too embarrassed to say it too ugly. Indeed, in our life experience, we have seen too many such little hooligans.

Find any Disco in the city at twelve o’clock in the night. There are full of such hooligans and gangsters. After taking drugs, they dance with heads shaking against the wall. After they have gone too far, they are in a state of ecstasy. Any man can take them away to do wherever he wants.

Although I recognized the hidden meaning of his words, but I just shake my head and speak nothing. I look at Jojo and ask: “What do you think?”

Jojo sighs: “This little girl is full of conceit. She’s just at the most rebellious stage of her life. Say it in positive is fearless. Say it in negative is that she is acting recklessly and down to earth with a bump.”

I’m still smiling, but with something else in the smile.

“Jojo, Azle, She’s just a fearless little girl. Can she be more arrogant than us? Can she be extremely audacious than us? Can she do things out of the ordinary more than we do? Can her life be more absurd than ours?” I say in mild tone, “I just saw something familiar from her.”

“What?” They ask at the same time.

“Myself!” I say. I look at these two friends of mine, “This little girl is almost another younger me. I used to be like that too.”

No parents, no family, no relatives and family reunion, aren’t these issues very much like my life in previous years?

When I was in middle school, my parents passed away, left me alone in the world. I had such a bad time. I was fighting, smoking, truanting from the school and roaming around the streets all day.

At that time, I had such a period to hate everything and despise everything, including myself!

And I used to paralyze myself with this almost degenerate way of life, covered myself up. I also liked a small mess, every day in and out of various chaotic places, and wasted my time together with a group of the same small messes every night, looked more like a ghost than a human being. I wasted all my time outside just because I didn’t want to back home.

Because I had no home! There was only an empty house! No one at home would be waiting for me! No one would be leaving a light for me! No one would be cooking for me. What I could only is using everything to hide my inner fear, or to say loneliness.

But I was luckier than her that I had a master who taught me Kongfu.

My master was a folk master. At that time, in his fifties, there was a small barber shop of his own. When I was sent to a middle school by my parents in a small town outside the city, my master lived in that town too. No one knew that this seemingly ordinary little old man is a kongfu master.

I remember very clearly that when I was in the second grade of middle school, my parents died in a car accident. I never went back to school after the funeral. As a teenager, I experienced the first and most painful experience in my life. I have no relatives, no friends. For the first month, I shut myself up at home, didn’t go out, afraid of seeing the sunshine just like a ghost.

Then I began to be corrupted by bad examples. I began to wander around places like discos, drinking alcohol, fighting, and meeting a lot of small mess friends, and doing evils with them. Only when I got drunk, I could just forget my loneliness for a while.

The mind in my mind at that time was: Whatever! Nothing really matters! Anyway, even if I die, no one would care about me!

That’s when I used to go in and out of the police station. If it weren’t for my young age, I’m afraid it would not be so easy to get out.

I’ve been living like that for around a whole year. After a fight in the disco, I was once again taken to the police station and sent to the detention center for ten days.

Ten days later, I came out of it, alone, without a bag. My hair was sticky and my body smelt weird stink. It was not that I didn’t take a bath, but when I was inside, I would fight with other people every night. I would either be beaten or beat others and rolled from the bed to the ground. Sometimes I was splashed by water. Sometimes I was covered with a quilt and be beaten!

After the daybreak, I had to pretend that nothing happened. All I could depend on was I myself. If I dared to report, then what awaited me was greater revenge at night!

The reason for this was that I refused to buy cigarettes for a “boss” in the same cell on my first day there.