Xiao Bei stared into the cracked mirror, cigarette hanging from his lips, his reflection a ghost. His black hair fell messily over his scarred brow, a reminder of all the fights he never wanted. Bruised knuckles, a pale face, and torn clothes—just another dropout, another street kid trying to survive. *“This is what I am,”* he thought bitterly. *“A fuckin’ mess.”* The abandoned house, like his life, was falling apart. *“Not like anyone cares,”* he muttered, flicking ash to the floor.