Chapter 5: Who's The Real Prey

That crisp sound of the glass bottle rolling across the floor was like a thunderclap in the silent ruined shrine.

She froze mid-reach, stiff as a little statue. That rusty tin box was right there—just inches from her fingertips. One more inch and she'd touch it. That was Daddy. That was the Daddy Mommy had risked everything to leave for her.

But the snoring stopped. The air in the shrine seemed to solidify. A wave of reeking alcohol and days-old body stench hit her as the body shifted. Scarface was awake. He blinked groggily, his bloodshot eyes struggling to focus, vision still doubling. But he saw it instantly—this little brat who should've been tied up in the sack was right under his nose. And her hand was reaching for that tin box.

"Fuck… you little bastard…"

Scarface's brain hadn't fully caught up, but his body reacted fast. That was instinct forged from years of living by the blade. He sat up violently, and a hand the size of a fan swept through the air toward her.

"Trying to run? I'll kill you!"

That voice was raw and ugly, like a broken bellows wheezing.

Tuan Tuan flinched hard. In that instant, her mind went completely blank. The old fear—from all those beatings by Stepmother and Uncle—flooded over her like a tidal wave.

Run! Run now!

But her legs were jelly. She couldn't move. That huge hand got closer and closer. She could see the black grime under his fingernails. He was going to grab her. If he caught her, he'd beat her to death. He'd sell her, he'd eat her, and she'd never see Daddy again.

"No…" Tuan Tuan squeezed out a whimper from her throat.

Just as that hand was about to close around her neck—something strange flashed through her terror-wide eyes. A feral glint. The kind of凶光 that only appeared when a wild beast was cornered with nowhere left to run.

Mommy had said: when you meet bad people, you can't just cry. Crying is useless. When Uncle beat her, she cried—and he hit harder. When Stepmother pinched her, she cried—and Stepmother laughed louder. The only thing that works is hitting back. You have to make the bad people hurt. Then they'll be afraid!

Tuan Tuan's left hand—just dislocated and reset, still screaming with pain—flailed blindly across the ground. Her fingers touched something cold. A broken gray brick. About two pounds, sharp-edged, caked with frozen mud. For a four-year-old, this brick was absurdly heavy. But right now, Tuan Tuan couldn't feel the weight. She only felt a surge of heat pumping from her heart, flooding every inch of her body. That was the blood of the Dragon Fang burning. That was heaven-defying strength awakening.

"AHHHH!!!" Tuan Tuan let out a sharp, baby-throated roar. She didn't retreat—she charged. Her tiny body launched off the ground like a spring. Both hands raised the brick high above her head, using every ounce of strength she had, eyes squeezed shut, and she brought it DOWN!

Target: that slab of a face.

BAM!

A muffled crash. Then—CRACK. The sound of a nasal bone shattering. Blood sprayed instantly, splattering all over Tuan Tuan's face. Warm. Metallic.

Scarface screamed like a pig being slaughtered.

"AGH—! My nose! My eye!"

He clutched his face, rolling on the ground in agony. He never in his wildest dreams imagined that this little bean sprout barely knee-high would dare to attack. And with the strength of a little monster! That one brick strike felt like being hammered with iron. His skull buzzed, and stars exploded across his vision.

Tuan Tuan landed, gasping for air. Her little chest heaved violently. She still clutched the bloodied brick in a death grip.

Was she scared? Terrified. Her legs were shaking. But she couldn't stop. Mommy's voice, from the moment before death, echoed in her ears: "Tuan Tuan, survive… you have to survive…"

Strike while he's down. Finish him while he's hurt. That was not a thought any four-year-old should have. But it was the survival rule Tuan Tuan had learned in the cowshed, fighting wild dogs for scraps of food.

She gritted her teeth and charged again. Scarface was still clutching his face and howling, completely defenseless. Tuan Tuan climbed right onto his neck. She was so small—riding a grown man's neck like a little monkey. But this monkey had teeth.

"Hit you! Hit you, bad man!" "Don't sell Tuan Tuan! Don't take Daddy's photo!"

Tuan Tuan screamed and cried while swinging her little fists. The brick had slipped from her hands, but those soft, pink little fists were now like cast iron.

One punch. Two punches. Three! Each punch cut through the air.

BAM! BAM! BAM!

Fists landed on Scarface's temple, eye socket, jaw. No technique at all—just wild, chaotic swinging. But the force was devastating! Every hit felt like a grown man swinging a hammer. Scarface was stunned. The pain sobered him up most of the way, and what followed was a tidal wave of fury and shame. He was getting beaten up by a four-year-old girl riding his neck? If word got out, how could he show his face in this line of work again?

"Get off! I'll kill you!" Scarface roared and whipped his head. The sheer force sent Tuan Tuan flying.

THUD!

Tuan Tuan slammed into a pillar of the ruined shrine, then crumpled to the ground. It hurt. Her back burned like fire, like her bones were about to fall apart. She lay on the ground, unable to get up for a long time. She tasted something sweet and coppery in her mouth. Blood.

"Cough, cough…" Tuan Tuan coughed, tears streaming uncontrollably.

Scarface, face covered in blood, staggered to his feet. He looked like a demon straight out of hell. Nose caved in, one eye swollen to a slit, blood and foam dripping from his mouth.

"Little beast… you're asking for death…"

He reached for his waist. The dagger. A flash of cold steel. The razor-sharp blade was drawn. Scarface advanced step by step, his eyes pure murder. He didn't want to sell anymore. He wanted to chop this little monster into pieces and feed her to the dogs!

"I was going to keep you alive for money, but since you're begging for death, don't blame me for being ruthless!"

Tuan Tuan stared at the knife. That was a knife that could cut through flesh. It would hurt so much. She tried to shrink back, but behind her was the wall. Nowhere to run. Despair closed over her again.

Was she going to die? Without finding Daddy, was she going to die here?

No! Can't die!

Tuan Tuan's eyes landed on the ground nearby. When Scarface had been thrown off earlier, his knife sheath had fallen—but he still had the knife in his hand. Wait—when he fell earlier, something else had fallen out of his pocket too. The tin box! The tin box was right there, not far from Scarface's feet.

That was Daddy! That was Tuan Tuan's only family!

"Don't touch my Daddy!" Tuan Tuan screamed, strength surging from nowhere.

She didn't run. Instead, she charged like a little cannon, scrambling on all fours straight at Scarface.

Scarface sneered and raised the dagger to stab. "Die!"

The blade sliced through the air with a death whistle. Tuan Tuan was too small. She didn't know any combat techniques. She only had instinct—the instinct to protect that tin box, the instinct to survive.

Just as the blade was about to pierce the top of her head—she dropped. Her whole body rolled forward like a ball. She barely dodged the killing blow. But the blade still caught her thin, torn padded jacket, slicing a long gash down her back. Blood soaked into the cotton instantly.

Tuan Tuan gasped in pain but didn't stop. She rolled right to Scarface's feet. Then she did something no one could have predicted.

She opened her mouth—bared her tiny, uneven white baby teeth—and sank them into Scarface's ankle with everything she had. This bite used every ounce of strength. She wanted to tear the flesh clean off.

"AGH!!!" Scarface screamed again. Was this little brat part dog?

The blinding pain made him instinctively kick out. Tuan Tuan was sent tumbling—right next to the tin box. She snatched it up, clutching it against her chest, guarding it with her life. Then she rolled and grabbed something else off the ground. Scarface's small knife—the one he'd used to cut the beef. Shorter than the dagger, but just as sharp.

Tuan Tuan gripped the knife. She staggered to her feet. At this moment, she was covered in dirt, blood streaming down her back, hair a tangled mess like a bird's nest. But those big eyes burned with a fire that made hearts tremble.

She held the knife with both hands and settled into a stance. Feet apart, center of gravity low, blade tip forward. A textbook combat ready stance. She had never learned it. But in this moment, it was as if the stance was carved into her bones, flowing through her blood. That was the gene of the Dragon Fang. That was the instinct of a warrior king.

Scarface looked at this four-year-old scrap of a girl and actually felt a chill crawl up his spine. Was this really a four-year-old child? That look in her eyes—how was it fiercer than a mountain wolf?

"Come on!" Tuan Tuan roared in her baby voice. It trembled, but it carried absolute resolve.

"I'm not afraid of you!" "I have Daddy! I have seven commander daddies!"

She didn't even know what a commander was yet. But she knew—they had to be very, very powerful people. If she could just hold on, just find them, no one would ever dare bully Tuan Tuan again!

Wind poured through the shattered windows of the ruined shrine, making the fire flicker and dance. One big, one small. Facing off in the snowy night.

Who was the hunter? Who was the prey? In this moment, it seemed—the roles had reversed.