Miss Witch Doesn’t Want to Become a Songstress

The dim underground street was strewn with garbage, and the air carried a faint, sour stench of decay.

Most of the lights lining the corridor ceiling were broken, and the sparse illumination gave the surroundings a hazy, fog-like appearance, indistinct and shadowy.

Bang! Bang!

The sound of violent impacts echoed from a corner, shaking loose dust from a nearby steel frame.

Despite the loud noise, the doors of the few households lining the hallway remained firmly shut. No one peeked out or asked questions. The oppressive silence hung heavy, broken only by the occasional flicker of indicator lights above the doorframes, signaling that the homes were, indeed, occupied.

“Brother Long, the guy still won’t open the door.”

Finally, the relentless pounding stopped. A burly man, nearly two meters tall, stepped out and leaned toward a young man nearby, speaking in a low voice.

“Tch…” The young man leaned against the steel wall, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He didn’t respond, his black bangs obscuring the only light above, leaving his face in shadow.

“I’ll knock again.” Seeing the dark-haired youth ignore him, the burly man returned to the door, exchanged a few words with another companion, and resumed slamming against the steel barrier.

Bang! Bang!

Rust flaked off the walls, and more dust drifted down from the ceiling.

Minutes ticked by as the young man finished his cigarette.

The smoldering butt was flicked into the air, spinning before striking the wall and falling to the ground. It landed with a faint sizzle, scattering dark red embers before releasing a wisp of pale smoke.

He stepped out from under the light, his rough, scarred muscles barely contained by the sleeves of his short-sleeved shirt, which looked on the verge of tearing.

“Brother Long, you’re here.” The burly man and his lanky partner stepped aside immediately, revealing the steel door that remained firmly locked.

“Hmph.”

Without hesitation, the dark-haired youth strode up to the door and delivered a powerful kick. The resulting explosion-like sound set off alarms in the hallway, their shrill wails piercing the air.

The custom-made steel door, 25mm thick, caved inward under the impact, leaving a deep dent.

“Brother Long is incredible,” the two henchmen murmured in awe, bowing their heads as they continued to kick and ram the door until it was completely destroyed.

Half a minute later, the three men stepped over shards and debris into the room.

“Holm! Where are you hiding? Get out here! Brother Long is here to see you. If you have even a shred of decency left, crawl out now!”

The burly and lanky men began searching the rooms, opening every cupboard and closet. Meanwhile, the dark-haired youth stood in the living room, his gaze falling on a photograph hanging on the wall.

It showed a weary-looking woman holding a boy of about ten years old. Despite her haggard appearance, her smile was warm and full of love. The edges of the photo were curling and stained, evidence of its age.

“Brother Long, found him. He was hiding under the bed.” The burly man dragged out a scrawny, skeletal figure and tossed him into the living room like a sack of trash.

“Stop playing dead. Lift your head—it’s Brother Long.” The wiry henchman grabbed the man’s hair, yanking his head up by force.

The dark-haired youth sat on the sofa, one leg bent and propped casually on the cushion.

“Holm.” His voice was cold as he regarded the half-dead man with hollow eyes sprawled before him.

When Holm failed to respond, the burly henchman slapped him twice, the force so brutal that blood trickled from Holm’s mouth.

“I’ll talk, I’ll talk…” Holm finally regained a bit of clarity, but soon fell back into a muttering, incoherent state.

“Brother Long, I found a bunch of needles in his room. Looks like he’s been getting high on hallucinogens,” said the wiry man still clutching Holm’s head.

“Get him some water and force it down his throat.”

“Yes, Brother Long.” The burly man went to the kitchen, filled a basin with water, placed it on the ground, and started dunking Holm’s head up and down in it.

The room was eerily quiet except for the sound of splashing water and faint, labored breathing.

After more than ten minutes, Holm finally began to struggle and let out muffled groans.

“Alright, stop,” the dark-haired youth commanded from the sofa, his gaze fixed on the man before him.

“Brother Long… you came,” Holm rasped, his eyes sunken and weary.

“Yeah, I came to see you. Didn’t you say Auntie was sick? I brought some gifts. After all, she used to cook for me back in the day—I still remember that.”

“I… I…” Holm seemed to want to say something but couldn’t get the words out.

“I’ve let everyone down.”

Smack!

A brutal slap sent him flying into the wall, knocking him unconscious.

“Drag him back here and wake him up,” the dark-haired youth said, lowering his hand and leaning back on the sofa.

The sound of splashing resumed, heavy and relentless. Before long, Holm, now bleeding from his head, groggily regained consciousness. His gaze at the youth was now filled with sheer terror.

“I ask, you answer.”

“Yes, yes, Brother Long,” he stammered, finally addressing him properly.

“Where’s Auntie?”

“She… she’s gone. Passed away a month ago. The doctor said there was no hope… and we didn’t have the money…”

“Didn’t you borrow money from me? Where did it go?”

“I… I gambled it. I thought I could win it back…”

At these words, the two henchmen exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of disdain and pity.

What a joke—no one walks out of a casino richer, especially not amateurs.

“So you’ve been hiding from me?” The dark-haired youth planted his foot on Holm’s shoulder, forcing him to look up.

“We’ve known each other for nearly twenty years now, haven’t we? I still remember when we were in elementary school, walking to and from class together, sneaking off to play…”

Holm remained silent.

“Back then, your mom had just gotten divorced. She raised you on her own and worked late every night to make sure you had a good upbringing. Even when she got home exhausted, she’d still cook for you. And because I was always hanging out at your place after school, she’d make something for me too. I remember it all.”

“Yeah…” Holm turned his face away, avoiding the youth’s eyes.

“We were both poor kids, always looked down on and bullied by our classmates. But we fought back together. People called us the two mad dogs of Class C.”

“It was such a good time.” The youth lowered his leg, stood up, and began pacing the room, his eyes scanning the space as though searching for traces of their shared past.

“How the hell did you end up like this?!” he suddenly roared, his voice thundering in Holm’s ear.

“You let me down—that’s one thing—but that was your mother! And you gambled away the money meant to save her?” He grabbed Holm by the collar, lifting him effortlessly off the ground.

Holm struggled desperately, clawing at the hand gripping him, but it was like trying to pry open an iron vice—immovable.

The dark-haired youth’s brown eyes stared directly into Holm’s, the pupils contracting into something resembling the angry gaze of a dragon. It was a sight that would chill anyone to their core.

After a moment, Holm stopped struggling and turned his head to the side.

“I… I… Fine! Yes, it’s me! I’m a worthless piece of trash, okay? You misjudged me!” he choked out, then began to sob.

“Sure, we grew up together, but people aren’t all the same!” he suddenly shouted again.

“You struggled with school, but you found a mentor willing to teach you. And me? I don’t have any damn talent! I couldn’t study, no one wanted me for a job, so I just ended up tagging along behind you like some pathetic lapdog!”

“Is that a way out?! My mom was worried every day that I’d end up dead in the streets! I’m not like you, with your skills and strength to back you up! What else could I do?!”

“All I could do was gamble! Gamble with my life! Gamble that maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t be so damn unlucky, that I could win a hand or two!”

“Now I’ve lost, and I’m ready to accept it. Isn’t that enough?!”

His voice grew hoarse from shouting, and he collapsed to the floor in a fit of coughing, his body trembling.

“That’s what you’ve come to?” the dark-haired youth asked, looking down at the man curled up on the floor like an insect.

“Yes… cough… that’s what I’ve come to. What? You don’t like it? Then kill me if it bothers you so much,” Holm spat out, lying on the floor in defeat.

The dark-haired youth didn’t reply, silently staring at him.

After a long pause, he spoke.

“Where is Auntie buried?”

“The cemetery on Grey Street, Section G23, Plot 631…” Holm mumbled, tears streaming down his face.

“Let’s go.”

The dark-haired youth turned and left the room, followed by the other two men, who didn’t forget to spit disdainfully at Holm before leaving.

…

An hour later, the three of them stepped out of a hover car in front of a gray stone mausoleum.

“This is the place, Brother Long.”

“Buy some flowers.”

“Yes, Brother Long.”

“Wait, make it two bouquets,” the dark-haired youth added, as if remembering something.

“Understood.”

Ten minutes later, the burly and wiry men stood at a distance, watching as their leader stood solemnly in front of a grave. He seemed to say a few words, then placed a bouquet of blue flowers on the tombstone.

Seeing him return with the second bouquet still in hand, the two men looked puzzled.

“Brother Long, what’s this for?”

“We’re going to another grave. I want to pay respects to my mentor as well.”

“Your mentor? Don’t tell me…”

“Shut it,” the wiry man said, clamping his hand over his companion’s mouth and pulling him along to follow their leader.

…

As the evening settled in, the lights of the cemetery began to switch off one by one. The dark-haired youth stood alone in the growing shadows, lingering by a tombstone for a long time.

“Master, I’m leaving now,” he said softly.

“You weren’t my family by blood, but over the years, you taught me so much—how to fight, how to train, and how to live as a person. To me, you were no different than a father.”

“I knew your health wasn’t the best, but I thought you had at least another decade or two left. After all, you were strong, a practitioner of the Dragon Sequence. But you couldn’t let go of your dreams from your youth—you insisted on advancing to the next level.”

“And then… you went ahead without telling me. Afraid I’d worry, I suppose. But you failed halfway, went mad, and attacked some kids. In the end, a sixteen-year-old girl took you down, single-handedly…”

“Sigh… Even if I wanted revenge, I don’t know if I could bring myself to do it.”

“Still, it wasn’t entirely your fault. Now I need to prepare for my own advancement. To proceed without hesitation or regret, I’ll have to meet that girl. I won’t kill her, but I need to close this chapter.”

“Well, that’s enough for now. The next time I come back, I won’t be the same person you knew.”

“I’ll be the Dragon Across the River who drank the blood of dragons, Qiao Long.”