My Gang Boss Guardian Angel

The day my parents ran away with my sister, Lily, they handed me over to the debt collectors as collateral.

This kid's got issues, always glued to books, talking nonsense like an idiot.

If you can take her, fine. If not, just sell her for cash.

Lily's bright laughter floated from the hallway: Mom, isn't Chloe coming with us?

"No, sweetie. We're not taking her."

I'd heard that sentence countless times.

After Lily was born, everyone in the family revolved around her.

I ran over, wanting to see, but Mom pushed me away: "Don't touch your sister, your hands are dirty."

From then on, I was the extra one.

When the debt collector's big brother kicked open the door, he saw me squatting in the corner, reading a book on criminal law.

"Hey, your parents bolted. How do you plan to pay back the money?"

I closed my book: "Sir, I've analyzed your recordings of violent debt collection. Twelve points can be argued as civil disputes. Follow my plan, and you can avoid jail time."

He froze.

I broke down their three years of past cases one by one, writing out strategies to mitigate risks.

The man with the dragon tattoo finished reading, then cursed: "I've been a gang boss for 20 years, and today I just learned you can collect debts legally."

He introduced himself as OG Marcus, then crouched down to my eye level.

I could clearly see the scar on his chin and my reflection in his pupils.

"Who taught you to say all that?"

I shook my head, fighting back my fear as I answered word by word: "I taught myself."

He scrutinized me from head to toe, his suspicious gaze sweeping over my malnourished arms.

"Did your parents often hit you?"

I shook my head.

They didn't hit me. They just acted like I didn't exist.

There was no plate for me at the dinner table, no face in family photos, and no one cared when I got sick.

Once, I had a fever of 104F and couldn't get out of bed.

My mom glanced at me and said, "Stop pretending. You just want to be lazy."

Then she took Lily shopping.

I lay in bed for three days before I finally pulled through.

Marcus came knocking to collect debts while I was hiding in the corner reading.

It was a Civil Code I'd picked up from the trash.

A corner of the cover was missing, and I'd taped it up.

I'd read the words inside so many times I could recite them by heart.

Beside me, my parents and Lily were packing luggage.

Since I could remember, they'd argued and thrown things in front of me, then disappeared with Lily.

Before each disappearance, they'd always say the same thing: this kid isn't as likable as Lily; bringing her along is just a hassle.

So every time, I was the one left behind.

When my parents returned after fleeing debts, they'd always look at me with a strange gaze and sigh.

Later, I understood it was disappointment.

Disappointment that I was still alive and well, disappointment that they had to support this burden of a child again.

I looked up into Marcus's eyes.

They were fierce, but I'd seen fiercer.

My dad's eyes after losing money, like he was looking at trash.

"My parents have owed debts for over a decade. Our house was full of legal documents. I had nothing else to do, so I read them."

A piece of moldy bread and a book, and a day would pass.

I paused, then added, "I started reading when I was three."

I wasn't boasting.

My parents had abandoned me to these people. If I couldn't prove my usefulness, I might be sold off.

"How old are you?"

"Twelve."

Marcus looked at me, his eyes full of suspicion.

The hallway light flickered. He stood up and waved his hand.

"Frank, bring all our IOUs. Let our big shot lawyer take a look."

I don't know how long passed, my legs were numb from squatting.

Frank finally carried over a cardboard box.

It was heavy, landing on the floor with a thud.

Inside were IOUs, contracts, and transfer records, all haphazardly crammed together.

Marcus patted the box, nodding at me.

"Big shot, show us what you've got."

Marcus and his crew were playing cards in the living room.

Three men, hunched around a folding table, smoking cigarette after cigarette, the whole room thick with smoke.

I sat in the corner, poring over the contents of the box under the dim light.

Mid-game, the youngest man, Leo, glanced at me: "Marcus, come on, what could a twelve-year-old kid possibly figure out?"

Frank also looked over: "She's been sitting there for two hours, hasn't moved a muscle."

I didn't dare move.

I'd seen abandoned kids before.

There was a boy, two years older than me, who slept beside a trash can after his parents ran off.

His eyes were empty, like two dark holes.

Marcus didn't speak, playing a card.

As soon as he spoke, I put down the last file.

"I'm done."

Everyone looked over.

I walked to the folding table, and they automatically made space.

The table was covered in ash and beer cans. I swept them aside, clearing a spot.

I pointed to the first case: "The year before last, in March, you said, If you don't pay up, we'll make sure you regret it.' That was deemed a threat. But if you'd said, If you don't pay up, we will pursue legal action,' it would be a legitimate collection notice."

Frank's mouth hung open.

I pointed to the second: "Taking the debtor's fridge and TV was classified as theft. But if you'd had the debtor sign a debt-for-asset agreement at the time, it would have been a voluntary civil transaction between both parties."

"Splashing paint. Illegal, but only civil compensation is needed. Go apologize and pay the person, then have them sign a letter of understanding."

"Last September was the most dangerous. Someone was injured, a pretty serious injury. But they struck first, so you could argue excessive self-defense, not intentional assault. The sentencing difference between those two is three years."

The room was silent. No one spoke.

Marcus leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression shifting from skepticism to seriousness.

"Marcus, the kid actually makes some sense."

Leo, the young one, picked me up and looked me over, his voice astonished: "You're only twelve? How do you know all this? Are you a genius?"

I flailed my arms and legs, wanting him to put me down.

My face flushed crimson.

No one had ever hugged or picked me up since I was little.

I wasn't used to the feeling of being lifted off the ground.

I was scared.

Marcus took a hard drag from his cigarette, then gave Leo a light whack.

"She's a girl, she's shy!"

He stood up, walked over to me, and crouched down.

It was the second time tonight he'd crouched to my eye level.

"Chloe," he said, "you'll follow me from now on. I'll pay for your education. You just need to do one thing: teach us how to live legally."

"What's in it for me?"

Marcus paused.

Perhaps no one had ever negotiated with him before; his lips trembled slightly.

"You're a clever cookie, little girl. Much sharper than your parents."

"You'll get thirty percent of all recovered money. Also, I'll rent you an apartment with a bed, a desk, a lamp, and a south-facing window."

A south-facing window.

Since childhood, no matter how many times we moved,

Lily always got the big room, a princess bed, and pink curtains.

When the sunlight streamed through the window onto her curtains, she'd dance in the sun in her princess dress, looking beautiful.

My room was always the smallest, cluttered with junk, never getting any sunlight all year round.

Once, I was so cold I couldn't bear it, so I crouched by Lily's bedroom door.

Lily woke up in the middle of the night, screaming that I was trying to scare her.

From then on, I never longed for her room again.

"Okay."

Marcus extended his hand.

It was a large hand, with thick knuckles and several old scars on the back.

I took it.

Marcus squeezed once, then let go and stood up.

"Frank, tomorrow, get her transferred to the best school."

Frank wiped his eyes, his voice muffled: "Got it."

"Leo, go buy her a backpack. A good one."

Leo grinned: "Alrighty!"

"From today on," Marcus swept his gaze over everyone, "she's our little lawyer. Anyone who disrespects her, don't blame me for being rude."

Marcus didn't lie to me.

The new apartment was next to the school, only a ten-minute walk.

The entire balcony faced south, and when the sunlight poured in through the windows, it made me squint.

I stood on the balcony for ten minutes.

Just stood there, doing nothing, letting the sun warm me.

It wasn't until tears fell onto the back of my hand that I realized I was crying.

I didn't know why, only that there was a fire in my heart that needed to be released.

I cried for a while, wiped my face, and went back inside.

A row of new books sat on the desk; Leo had brought them last night.

Books on law and textbooks for school, all neatly arranged.

I sniffed the scent of the pages; they smelled fresh.

When Marcus pushed open the door with breakfast, I was sitting at the desk, staring blankly at the new books.

He glanced at me, said nothing, placed breakfast on the table, and went to the kitchen for forks.

I watched him clumsily pour milk into a bowl, spilling a little on the table, then wiping it with a cloth.

"What are you looking at? Eat."

I sat at the table and took a bite of a churro.

It was crispy.

I took another bite.

I didn't have good table manners.

No one had ever taught me table etiquette.

Eating was for living, and living meant shoving food into my mouth as quickly as possible because I didn't know when the next meal would be.

Once, Mom made a table full of food. I was ravenous, ate too fast, and choked.

I coughed desperately, my face turning crimson.

Mom glanced at me and said, "Like a starving ghost, so embarrassing."

I ran to the kitchen myself, turned on the faucet, and drank several gulps of water until I swallowed what was stuck.

A flicker of an unreadable emotion crossed Marcus's eyes.

"Chloe, do you hate your parents?"

I thought about it.

I matured early.

I wasn't as sweet-talking as Lily; I couldn't sweetly call out "Mommy" and "Daddy."

I loved reading, and when those facts drilled into my mind, I even thought I was sick.

I went to tell my parents, but they thought I was a weirdo.

"What garbage are you reading? What if it messes up your brain?"

"Stop reading, go wash the dishes."

In their eyes, reading was the most useless thing.

When I came home with an award for first place in my class,

Mom was braiding Lily's hair and didn't even look up: "Just put it there."

I placed it on the table, hoping she'd glance at it.

The next day, I found it crumpled up in the trash can, discarded with the garbage.

I picked up the award, smoothed it out, and pressed it under my pillow.

"What is hate?"

Marcus was silent for a moment, then peeled a boiled egg for me.

"None of that matters."

"Chloe, you must study hard. Go to the best university, get the best grades. Later, you can do whatever you want, without having to cater to anyone's whims."

"When you become a lawyer, I'll be your security guard."

Frank acted fast. He got me into the city's best private middle school.

Tuition was fifty thousand a year, not including miscellaneous fees or uniform costs.

I didn't know how much debt Marcus and his crew had to collect to earn fifty thousand dollars.

When he dropped me off at school, he even slipped a wad of cash into my pocket.

"You don't have to worry about money. Just study. Study hard, and later you can help me with my cases."

He instructed me gruffly.

I nodded, standing at the school gate, looking back at him.

I suddenly remembered when I used to attend school, and they'd ask for material fees.

Mom would always give me half the money, saying we were struggling.

Later, I learned to be smart, saving my lunch money to pay for materials.

That way, Mom wouldn't complain daily about me being expensive.

The sun shone on Marcus, a small section of his dragon tattoo peeking out from his shirt collar.

The homeroom teacher led me to the classroom and gestured for me to introduce myself.

I was silent for a moment before I spoke: "My name is Chloe, and I like to read."

I didn't know what else to say.

Before, at school, even the teachers preferred the sweet-talking Lily.

Teachers never called on me, and classmates never spoke to me.

I was an invisible presence.

The homeroom teacher smiled and asked, "What kind of books do you like to read?"

I thought for a moment and decided to tell the truth: "Law books."

The classroom fell silent for a second, then erupted in laughter.

"Law? Hahahaha!"

"Is she a lawyer?"

"Reading law books at twelve? Who's she trying to impress?"

The homeroom teacher clapped the desk: "Quiet! Quiet! Every student has different hobbies, and we must respect each other."

The laughter subsided, but the whispering didn't stop.

Bearing everyone's gaze, I sat down in the last row.

I lowered my head, focusing on my textbook.

The words blurred then sharpened before my eyes, sharpened then blurred again.

I didn't cry.

I couldn't cry.

Just like that, my life seemed to get back on track.

Every day, I listened attentively in class. After school, I read books.

In the evenings, I'd read legal knowledge to Marcus.

Though every time, he'd usually just clean his ears and snore loudly.

But I really liked this kind of life.

During the first placement test, I got the top score.

I held my report card, carefully tucking it into my backpack.

I wanted to go back and show it to Marcus.

But after a quick trip to the restroom, I returned to find my backpack thrown on the floor.

Its contents spilled everywhere.

A few boys were stepping on my books, their voices mocking.

"She just transferred and got first place? Probably cheated."

"Guys, let's rip up all her books. See how she copies then."

Everyone around was watching, their faces carrying a subtle malice.

Seeing me, they scattered.

I walked over and picked up the things from the floor.

My report card had a huge 'X' drawn across it, with "CHEATER" scrawled underneath.

I carefully smoothed out the report card, holding it to my chest.

The red 'X' couldn't be erased.

Neither could the words.

It's okay.

I don't need to care what they think.

The next day, those boys poured ink and dead rats into my backpack.

Everything was stained black, including the backpack itself.

I went to the homeroom teacher.

She looked at me with a sigh, her eyes filled with pity: "Ethan's family is well-off, and he tends to be a bit boastful."

"He didn't mean it, I'll talk to him."

I returned to the classroom and placed my backpack on the desk.

Someone quietly asked me, "Are you okay?"

Before I could answer, Ethan's voice rang out: "What could an unwanted stray possibly have wrong with her?"

"You guys don't know, do you? Her parents didn't want her, they only liked Lily."

"Someone like her probably fantasizes about becoming a big lawyer and then proving them all wrong, right? What do they call that? Watched too many revenge dramas!"

My hand clutching the backpack strap tightened.

Everyone burst into laughter.

I sat in my seat, legal statutes from the Civil Code flashing through my mind.

From the very first article, I recited it over and over again. It wasn't until the dismissal bell rang that I slowly headed home.

When I got home, it was already dark.

My backpack zipper was stuck; I tried several times but couldn't open it.

I sat on the couch, hugging my backpack, staring blankly.

Marcus happened to come by to bring me dinner.

He'd come two or three times a week, bringing food, bringing fruit.

Sometimes he wouldn't bring anything, just sit on the couch for a bit, watching me do my homework.

He saw the backpack in my arms, and his face changed.

"Who did this?"

I didn't speak. I didn't know if Marcus would help me.

He was good to me, providing for my education, but this kindness had conditions.

Because he thought I was useful.

But if I caused him trouble, what would he do?

I didn't dare to gamble.

"Chloe, listen to me, you're not alone anymore. If someone bullies you, you have to tell me."

"Marcus, do you hit people?"

He paused.

"Yes."

"Do you hit kids?"

He paused again, then a slow smile spread across his lips.

"Hit kids? I absolutely hit kids."

"Marcus, they're only teenagers."

"So what? If they dare to bully you, they'll pay the price."

I thought for a moment, then decided to tell the truth.

"Ethan did it. His dad is on the school board. The teacher said I couldn't afford to offend him."

Marcus stood up, pulled out his phone, and scrolled through a few contacts.

"Mr. Davis," he read aloud. "Owes two million three hundred thousand in merchandise payments. It's been half a year. I was planning to go see him next month."

He put his phone away, looking at me.

"Chloe, what do you want me to do?"

The next day, I didn't go to school.

Not because I was afraid of Ethan.

There was a contract for the company that needed reviewing, and Marcus couldn't handle it, so I had to go help him oversee it.

But Ethan didn't know any of this; he thought I'd been scared off.

During break, he stood at the front of the class, addressing everyone: "That stray isn't here today; he must have been scared away by me."

"Honestly, I despise people who don't know their place. They get one top score and think they're hot stuff."

The whole class laughed along.

A few girls whispered, "You guys shouldn't be like this, she's pretty pathetic."

Ethan got even more excited: "Pathetic? What's pathetic? Her parents don't even want her; it must be because there's something wrong with her. She's just an unwanted stray"

He didn't finish his sentence before the classroom door was kicked open.

Marcus, wearing a tight T-shirt that showed off his dragon tattoo, stood there.

Behind him, Frank and Leo stood in a line, grinning as they looked into the room.

"Heard someone's been bullying Chloe?"