12: Chapter 12: Hiding in a general store to avoid trouble, but thugs come knocking.

Lin Chen gripped his phone, his back against a cold, discarded tire. His heart hammered in his chest like a war drum, threatening to crack his ribs. Within his field of vision, the scarlet "Profit: $30,712.50" was still searing, forming a suffocating contrast with the silent, ominous silhouette under the streetlamp not far away.

He forced himself to look away, pressing his phone tightly against his chest, as if trying to push those glaring numbers and the distant figure back into the depths of the darkness. In the distance, the furious roars of Marcus and the chaotic shouting of his underlings drifted intermittently on the wind, but they were indeed gradually moving away—they were still searching the slums like headless flies.

He couldn't stay here. That shadow... whoever it was, it meant he wasn't truly safe yet.

He took a deep breath of air mixed with the stench of rotting rubber and the damp cold of the night dew, using all his willpower to suppress his body's trembling, and slowly stood up from behind the tire. His legs felt weak, but he gritted his teeth and forced himself to take a step. He didn't look toward the shadow again; instead, he turned and walked into the depths of the alleyway, moving in the opposite direction from where he came, toward the faint, warm glow of Chinatown that he could just barely see.

His footsteps were incredibly light, moving like a cat along the shadows at the base of the wall. Every time he turned back or rounded a corner, he held his breath, confirming there was no tail. Cold sweat had long since soaked his back, and the night wind brought a bone-chilling cold. Only the hard touch of the phone in his arms and those astonishing numbers in his memory, like a burning piece of coal, barely warmed his icy heart.

Passing through several alleys filled with flowing sewage and trash, familiar scents of food and faint incense gradually became clear. He had reached Chinatown. Most shops were already closed, with only a few scattered red lanterns emitting a dim, tranquil light in the night. The streets were empty, feeling like a different world from the violent clamor of the slums just moments ago.

Lin Chen dared not relax, his gaze vigilantly sweeping across every corner and every closed door and window. It wasn't until the familiar old sign of the "Rongchang Grocery Store" came into view, with the red lantern under the porch glowing quietly, that he felt a sense of collapse-like relief, followed immediately by an even more surging wave of lingering fear.

He walked quickly to the door, raised his hand, and knocked his knuckles against the mottled wooden door, his voice low and urgent: "Uncle Zhao? Uncle Zhao! It's me, Lin Chen!"

After a brief silence, shuffling footsteps came from inside. The door creaked open a crack. Uncle Zhao was wearing pajamas with a coat draped over him, his face showing the sleepiness and confusion of being disturbed. When he saw Lin Chen outside, pale, disheveled, and covered in grime, he instantly sobered up, his eyes widening. He immediately pulled the door wider, yanked him inside, and then quickly closed the door and slid the bolt home.

"Xiao Chen?! What happened to you..." Uncle Zhao looked him up and down in the dim light of the shop, his voice full of shock and worry. "What happened? Did you get into a fight? Or... was it Marcus?!"

Lin Chen leaned against the closed door, his chest heaving violently as he tried to steady his breathing, but his voice still trembled: "Uncle Zhao... Marcus... he brought people and smashed up my place, wanting to catch me... I, I escaped from the back..."

"What?!" Uncle Zhao gasped, his expression changing. He grabbed Lin Chen's cold arm with a firm grip. "Did he hurt you? Did he follow you here?"

"No... he didn't catch up. I took a detour." Lin Chen shook his head, swallowed, and tried to make his voice steady. At the same time, a hint of irrepressible excitement, like that of a survivor, crept in. "Uncle Zhao, I... I made money! Futures, oil futures, they went up! They went up a lot! I now... I have over thirty thousand dollars!"

Uncle Zhao was clearly stunned by the number, but worry immediately overshadowed his surprise. "Making money is a good thing, but... but you... sigh!" He sighed heavily, his brows knitted tight. "Those animals in Marcus's gang, once they're blinded by greed, there's nothing they won't do! You avoided them tonight, but what about tomorrow? He's definitely going to search for you like a madman!"

"I know, Uncle Zhao..." Lin Chen lowered his head, his voice filled with pleading. "I... can I hide here for a few days? Just a few days... once the heat dies down a bit, and I can withdraw the money, I'll pay off the debt and leave immediately... I promise I won't implicate you further!"

"What are you talking about, implicating me or not!" Uncle Zhao interrupted him, his tone resolute, though the worry in his eyes deepened. "If you thought to come here, how could Uncle Zhao kick you out? The front of the shop isn't safe; if those thugs barge in to search, it'll be trouble. Come with me."

He said no more, signaled for Lin Chen to follow, and turned to walk into the depths of the Grocery Store. Passing through a narrow aisle piled high with goods, he pushed open an inconspicuous small door, behind which was a tiny courtyard filled with cardboard boxes and clutter. In the corner of the courtyard stood an even smaller storage shed, constructed from thin wooden boards and sheet metal.

Uncle Zhao took out another key, opened the old copper lock hanging on the door, and pushed it open. The space inside was cramped, filled with the smell of dust and old newspapers, but it was relatively dry. Some worn-out furniture was piled in the corner, barely leaving enough space to clear out a small area.

"Right here. I usually keep some unused stuff here; it's fairly hidden. Don't you dare come out during the day; I'll sneak food and drink to you." Uncle Zhao said quickly, turning to take an old thermos and an enamel mug from a cloth-covered basket nearby. He then fished out two oil-paper-wrapped steamed buns that were still warm from his pocket (he seemed to have kept them on his person before sleeping) and shoved them into Lin Chen's hands. "Just make do with this for now. Looking at you, you definitely haven't had dinner. The water is hot, be careful not to burn yourself."

Lin Chen took the items; the warmth of the steamed buns seeped through the oil paper, and the enamel mug felt heavy. Looking at Uncle Zhao's face, full of wrinkles and worry in the dim light, his nose suddenly stung, his throat choked up, and he could only nod heavily. "Uncle Zhao... thank you..."

"What's there to thank me for? Stay put, don't make a sound, and don't turn on any lights." Uncle Zhao patted his shoulder, looked outside carefully again, and then lowered his voice. "By the way, you mentioned earlier that you made money... that's good, but you need to be even more careful. Marcus has been like a mad dog lately. He's not just looking for you; I heard... he's also searching for another Chinese person who owes him money. Seems his surname is... what was it again? He's also a young man, and he's gone into hiding. He can't find the guy, so his temper is flaring. You absolutely must stay hidden. Keep your phone on silent, and don't let any light show."

Another Chinese person in debt? A vague sense of confusion flickered through Lin Chen's mind, but at this moment, immense exhaustion and worry about his current situation took precedence. He had no time to think about it in detail and just nodded again. "I'll remember, Uncle Zhao."

Uncle Zhao gave a few more instructions before quietly backing out and carefully locking the door to the storage room.

The world suddenly fell silent, leaving only his own heavy breathing and the still-unsettled heartbeat in his chest. The cramped space smelled of dust, familiar and oddly comforting. Lin Chen slid down the cold wall to the floor. Using the extremely faint night light filtering in from outside the window, he tremblingly lit up his phone screen again and turned the brightness to the lowest setting.

On the futures app interface, those scarlet profit numbers were still glaring. Oil prices were fluctuating at a high level but remained firm. The AI's prompt floated concisely in the corner: "Profit stable, volatility narrowing, suggest holding position and observing."

Over thirty thousand dollars... He had really done it.

The aftereffect of the wild joy only now began to spread slowly, accompanied by a tingling sensation, but it was immediately covered by a deeper fear of the world outside the door. He gripped his phone tightly, as if holding an amulet, while his other hand held the slightly cool steamed bun, chewing it mechanically in small bites. His ears, however, were pricked up, catching any hint of unusual sound outside.

In the shop in front, there were occasional sounds of Uncle Zhao's footsteps, deliberately heavy as if he were tidying up, along with his low coughs—it was a signal indicating that there was nothing unusual outside for the moment.

Time flowed sluggishly in the darkness. Every second was stretched out. Lin Chen's nerves were strained to the breaking point, and yet he began to drift into a trance due to extreme exhaustion. He hadn't even finished half the steamed bun, still holding it in his hand, as his eyelids gradually grew heavy...

"BANG!!!" A sound of a door being kicked with extreme violence, mixed with the jarring noise of splintering wood, suddenly exploded from the direction of the front shop! This was immediately followed by the clattering crash of shelves being knocked over and bottles and jars shattering!

"Search! Search it carefully for me!!" Marcus's roar, violent and twisted, like a sinister wind blowing from hell, instantly pierced through the thin walls and slammed hard into Lin Chen's eardrums!

"Zhao Yonggui! You old thing! Hand over Lin Chen! I know that bastard is definitely hiding here!!" "You dare to hide someone? I'll smash your lousy shop to pieces along with him! Speak! Where is he?!"

Lin Chen's whole body stiffened violently, his blood seemingly freezing instantly! The steamed bun in his mouth choked his throat; he covered his mouth tightly, only just suppressing the gasp that almost escaped. The phone slipped from his suddenly limp hand, landing on the old newspapers beside his leg, screen-down, its light instantly extinguished.

Endless darkness, and the increasingly close, all-destroying, furious clamor outside the door, completely swallowed him whole.