Chapter 60: The Child

Zhang Wenda stood there, feeling the words of his younger self explode in his mind.

“Did I ever say that? Did I?” Zhang Wenda murmured, tears streaming down his face without him realizing it.

“I forgot, I forgot! I forgot my past self!”

As he spoke, he turned and looked again at the young man lying on the ground, as if staring at his former self.

Between the two, Zhang Wenda seemed to see the path he once walked, he saw all the experiences he had after entering society.

Those repeated experiences and blows turned the once bright-eyed youth into a middle-aged man who had forgotten his past.

At that moment he suddenly remembered why he hated the constraints of rules so much.

He remembered why he felt such disgust and aversion toward that thing, why he had to break free even at the cost of his life—he remembered everything!

Now Zhang Wenda’s eyes were bloodshot, and the red core on his wrist glowed brightly. He retraced the path he had once walked, stepping forward step by step.

“Zhang Wenda! If you come any closer, you’ll die! Forgot your ideals? At this rate, you won’t earn a single cent!” Aunt Flo’s veins bulged on her hands as she pressed on him, trying to push him back.

But Zhang Wenda now possessed astonishing strength and pressed forward against Aunt Flo. He nearly shouted, “So what! Whatever the consequences, I accept them! I already forgot once, but this time I cannot betray who I once was!!”

Song Jianguo’s whistle blew. The black cats instantly turned into huge hands that grabbed Zhang Wenda tightly, pulling him backward.

Just as the black cats dispersed, Zhang Wenda burst through them from the inside.

A flash of red light—Zhang Wenda leapt high, like a bomb hurtling forward. “Dean Yang!! Thirty years east of the river, thirty years west! Don’t mock a poor youth! Thirty years later, here I come!!”

As he shouted that, the yellow core on his arm suddenly grew more than threefold.

With a dull thud, Zhang Wenda’s punch hit the man’s face hard. A flash of red light as the lightsaber emitted from the flashlight plunged fiercely into his face.

None of the surrounding instructors expected this scene, and for a moment no one reacted.

No one noticed that young Zhang Wenda witnessed the scene, and the despair and fear in his eyes vanished in that moment.

Electrical arcs danced wildly across Yang’s face as he snarled, the part pierced by the lightsaber sizzling with burning sound. He swung his right hand violently; the mighty force sent Zhang Wenda hurtling into a cold wall with a muffled thud.

“Grab him! Tase him!” Yang covered his face, his voice twisted by excruciating pain and fury.

The surrounding instructors woke up like from a dream, their faces turning feral, like hyenas smelling blood, ferociously leaping from all sides.

Their fists and feet rained down like a sudden storm, shining boots kicking into Zhang Wenda’s ribs, abdomen, and back.

“This familiar pain, the cold floor, the encircling shadows—this scene is here... this feeling... it’s exactly this feeling!”

Under the pain, Zhang Wenda’s memories overlapped with the terror of Ward No. 13 from his deepest past. But this time something was different.

The bone-deep fear and numb surrender of old no longer existed. A scalding, nearly chest‑tearing power surged from the red core on his wrist, instantly flooding his limbs.

The red light blazed like molten lava, enveloping Zhang Wenda’s battered body.

“Ahhhh—!” Thirty years of suppressed humiliation and his explosive rage burst from Zhang Wenda’s mouth.

Facing another fist smashing toward his face, he didn’t curl to protect his head as before. His bloodshot eyes locked onto the target, his left hand shot out like iron pincers, quickly and precisely grabbing the instructor’s wrist.

The force was so tremendous that the cruel smile on the instructor’s face froze instantly, replaced by shock and pain.

“What?!”

Using his opponent’s leverage, Zhang Wenda suddenly straightened. His right elbow, glowing faintly red, slammed into the chest of another attacking instructor.

With a heavy impact, that instructor staggered backward, his face turning pale. Meanwhile, the wrist‑grabbed instructor felt a massive force and was thrown over Zhang Wenda’s shoulder like a ragged sack, crashing to the ground.

He was no longer the child to be slaughtered. No longer the helpless child. Now he had grown up!!

Another instructor threw a punch, but Zhang Wenda turned his head to dodge and countered with a reverse punch into the opponent’s rib cage. The man shrieked in pain and bent over.

A different instructor tried a surprise attack from behind. Zhang Wenda swept low and tripped him violently.

When the fourth pulled out a stun gun and the blue arc flashed, Zhang Wenda darted forward like a phantom. A savage knee strike struck the man’s lower abdomen, sending the stun gun flying.

His movements lacked pattern, but carried the relentlessness of life‑or‑death struggle. Each blow landed solidly on flesh, each strike accompanied by dull bone‑cracking sounds and the opponent’s cries.

Blood dripped from his split lip, staining his shirt, and blood seeped from a wound at his temple—but he did not notice. In his eyes burned only fury and the things that once had to be shattered.

He no longer fought to survive blows, but fought for that boy fallen on the ground! For the self he had forgotten, whose edges had been worn smooth!

“Come on! Come at me again!!” Zhang Wenda roared, wiping the blood from his face. He stood among downed instructors, panting heavily. He stared fiercely at the remaining instructors.

But at that moment, he realized something: in their eyes was a hint of fear. They did not step forward again.

Suddenly, Zhang Wenda understood.

It turned out the adults who once filled him with utter despair were not so formidable after all. They were all bluffing. They were only arrogant when facing children far weaker than them.

When confronted with someone their own size—or even just a desperate child—they no longer dared to come on strong.

Catching his breath, Zhang Wenda looked at the young boy lying on the ground. He extended his right hand, voice trembling slightly: “Don’t be afraid, child, I’ve come to save you.”

He pulled his past self up with effort, and turned to Dean Yang—whose face had fallen—shouting: “Is it fun for a whole group of adults to bully a little kid? Dean Yang? Haven’t you thought that one day they’d grow up?”

Yang stared at Zhang Wenda’s face, examining him carefully. This time no anger—only a trace of confusion. “Little friend, who are you? Do we know each other?”

“We know each other. We’ve known each other for a long time! Come on then! Professor Yang! Stop bullying children! Come at me! I’m single now, I have money and time! I’ll face you all the way!!”

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