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Chen Feng tasted blood before he saw the fist.
The punch came low, dug into his ribs, folded him in half. Air gone. Floor rushing up. His knees hit the canvas and something wet ran down his chin.
"Get up." The guy standing over him wasn't even breathing hard. "Boss says you go three rounds."
Chen Feng spat red onto the mat. His hands were shaking but he pushed himself up anyway. Seventeen years old and he'd been the Iron Fist Gym's mop boy for six months. Mop boy, water boy, and when someone paid extra for a live target, punching bag.
That's the deal. That's how you keep the job.
The guy across from him was maybe twenty-five, built like he ate chicken breast for every meal. Some finance bro who wanted to feel dangerous on his lunch break. He paid two hundred yuan for the hour. Chen Feng got fifty of it. Rent was four hundred. This was his second session today.
"Come on." Finance Bro bounced on his feet, gloves up, grinning. "Don't make it boring."
Chen Feng raised his hands. No gloves. Boss said gloves cost money and Chen Feng wasn't the one paying. His knuckles were scabbed over from last week. He circled left, kept his guard high, waited.
Finance Bro threw a jab. Chen Feng slipped it. Threw another. Chen Feng ducked. The guy's face twitched. He didn't pay two hundred to miss.
The next punch came fast and mean, a right hook that clipped Chen Feng's temple and turned the gym lights into smears. He stumbled back. Finance Bro followed, throwing combos now, body body head. Chen Feng covered up and took it on his forearms. The impact rattled his bones. His arms were going numb.
"That's one round." Boss Zhao's voice came from outside the ring, flat and bored. He was leaning on the ropes, stopwatch in one hand, cigarette in the other. "Two more."
Chen Feng's lungs were on fire. He sucked air through his teeth and it tasted like copper. Finance Bro was barely sweating.
"You're tough, kid." Finance Bro rolled his shoulders. "I'll give you that."
Chen Feng didn't answer. He didn't have the breath for it. He just set his feet and waited for the bell.
Round two was worse. Finance Bro figured out Chen Feng wasn't going to hit back. After that it was just target practice. Body shots that sank deep, made Chen Feng's stomach twist. A jab that split his lip. An uppercut that snapped his head back and made his vision white out for a second.
He stayed on his feet. That was the job. Stay on your feet, don't go down, let the customer feel like a killer. Boss Zhao didn't care if Chen Feng bled as long as he didn't stain the mat too bad.
When the bell rang Chen Feng sagged against the ropes. His ribs were screaming. Every breath felt like broken glass. Finance Bro was breathing a little harder now, grinning, talking to his buddy outside the ring.
"One more." Boss Zhao flicked ash onto the floor. "Make it good. He paid for three."
Chen Feng pushed off the ropes. His legs felt like water but he moved to the center of the ring. Finance Bro met him there. This time the guy wasn't smiling.
"You know what?" Finance Bro squared up. "I don't even think you know how to fight."
Chen Feng said nothing. His right eye was swelling shut.
"Yeah." Finance Bro nodded to himself. "You're just a fucking mop boy."
He threw a straight right, full power, right down the middle. It caught Chen Feng on the jaw and the world tilted sideways. He hit the canvas hard, tasted blood and sweat and old cigarette smoke ground into the mat. His vision tunneled. Somewhere far away Boss Zhao was counting.
"...seven, eight..."
Chen Feng's hand closed around something. The rent money. Fifty yuan, folded tight, tucked into his waistband before the session started. If he stayed down he still got paid. That was the deal.
He rolled onto his hands and knees. His head was full of static. Blood dripped from his nose and made dark spots on the canvas.
"Nine—"
He stood up.
Finance Bro laughed. "You're fucking stupid, you know that?"
The bell rang before he could throw another punch. Session over. Finance Bro stripped off his gloves and clapped Chen Feng on the shoulder, still laughing, like they were friends. Chen Feng swayed but didn't fall.
Boss Zhao climbed into the ring and handed Finance Bro a towel. "Good session. Come back next week."
"Yeah, maybe." Finance Bro glanced at Chen Feng. "Get him some ice or something. I think I broke his face."
"He's fine." Boss Zhao didn't look at Chen Feng. "Kid's got a thick skull."
They left. Chen Feng stood in the middle of the ring, alone, dripping. His legs finally gave out and he sat down hard on the canvas. Everything hurt. His ribs, his jaw, his hands. He pulled the rent money out of his waistband and unfolded it. Fifty yuan. Damp with sweat but intact.
Two more sessions like that and he'd make rent. Maybe.
He climbed out of the ring slow, holding the ropes, trying not to fall. The gym was empty now except for Boss Zhao counting the register at the front desk. Chen Feng limped past him toward the storage closet in the back. That's where he slept. A storage closet with a broken lock and a rolled-up yoga mat for a bed.
He made it three steps before the hunger hit him.
Not normal hunger. This was something else. His stomach clenched so hard he doubled over, gasping. It felt like his insides were trying to eat themselves. He hadn't had a real meal in two days. Instant noodles yesterday. Nothing today. He spent all his money on rent and there was nothing left for food until next session.
He pressed his hand against his stomach and the hunger got worse. It was clawing up his throat, making his vision swim. He needed to eat. Now. Anything.
His eyes landed on the trash heap in the corner of the gym. Old equipment, broken weights, scraps of metal Boss Zhao was too lazy to throw out. And sitting on top of the pile, glinting under the fluorescent light, a chunk of rusted iron. Maybe the size of his fist. Covered in orange rust and old grease.
Chen Feng stared at it.
The hunger twisted deeper.
His mouth was watering.
That's metal, he thought. You can't eat metal.
But he was already moving toward it. His hand reached out. The iron was cold and rough against his palm. Rust flaked off onto his fingers.
His stomach growled so loud it echoed in the empty gym.
He lifted the chunk of iron to his mouth.