Chapter 7: The Despicable Beggar

The Beggar’s Melody

It was another hot summer afternoon.

In the corner of a quiet alley, surrounded by trash bins and old brick walls, a skinny figure crouched alone. His back was straight, body still—like he could stay that way for hours.

He wore an outdated railroad worker uniform, the kind you’d see in black-and-white photos from the ’50s. The shirt was buttoned up but faded, the pants were stiff and dusty, and the whole outfit looked like it had been pulled out of a museum closet. His skin looked dry and rough—almost wrinkled—like he had been sunburned for ten summers in a row.

In front of him sat a chipped ceramic bowl. One corner had a chunk missing. Probably found in a junk pile somewhere.

“Spare a little rice money… kind folks… spare some change…”

He said it over and over again, quietly, almost like he was talking to himself. Same words, same tone, not looking around, not begging with emotion. Just letting it play on loop.

He was squatting low, both feet flat on the ground, like he’d been in that position for hours. His back was straight, arms resting loosely on his knees. One leg bounced slowly—just the foot shaking up and down, like he was bored and killing time.

His eyes, though—they moved. Every time someone walked by, they followed.

And when it was a pretty girl? His eyes dropped straight to the chest.
No shame. No sneaky look-aways. Just staring, bored and open, like watching clouds pass by.

One girl walked by wearing a black low-cut spaghetti strap top and a white lacy mini skirt that barely covered anything. Her heels clacked on the concrete. She paused, pulled a few coins from her bag, and bent down to drop them into his bowl.

When she bent over, the top dipped dangerously low—real low.
Lawson’s eyes followed it naturally, and for a split second, he saw everything—the soft bounce, the faint curves, and a flash of pinkish flesh inside the black fabric, shifting gently as she moved.
Clear as daylight. She didn’t even notice.

As she lingered there, she smiled at him and said, in a soft, teasing voice:

“You poor old geezer… sitting out here all day… ain’t your back hurting?”

That snapped something in him.

He blinked once, then replied, loud and straight:

“What the hell are you talkin’ about? I’m eighteen.”

The girl blinked, a little surprised. “Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah. I look damn good for my age.”

He kept staring—eyes still down the shirt like he wasn’t even hiding it.

She caught the look a second too late, gasped, and pulled her shirt up with one hand.

“Pervert!”

Lawson didn’t move. He just leaned back a little, resting against the wall, and said flatly:

“You wear something like that and get mad when someone looks? Try wearing something more covered.”

She scoffed and walked away quickly, muttering something under her breath.

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t react. Just went back to his usual spot—quiet, calm, like nothing happened.

Someone tossed a coin in his bowl. He didn’t look up.

This was Lawson.
Weird. Blunt. Dry-skinned and dead-eyed.
And still waiting.

A Truly Inspiring Story

It was around noon when Sean showed up.

He came strolling down the alley like he owned the place, a big cloud of vape drifting out of his mouth. A slim black vape pen dangled from his fingers, and his steps had that lazy sway—like a man with nothing to fear and even less to do.

Lawson didn’t even look up. Still squatting there with his back straight, he simply lifted the chipped ceramic bowl in front of him and gave it a little shake, just enough to catch Sean’s eye.

“Spare a little fortune money, boss,” he said calmly.

Sean slowed down, squinted at him through the haze, and raised an eyebrow. He looked Lawson up and down.

That uniform. That skin. That cracked voice.

This was no kid—this was clearly some worn-out old man just trying to survive.

As Sean stared, a warm golden light began to glow faintly from inside the rice bowl. It shimmered in the midday sun, like something sacred had been stirred.

And in that light… Sean suddenly saw a life story.
A whole lifetime of suffering.
The image of an old father pushing through poverty, age, and sickness just to put his beloved son through school.

Then Lawson spoke again—his voice low, with just the right amount of gravel:

“Please… help me send my son to college. You’d be doing a truly good deed, kind sir.”

Sean froze.

His throat tightened.
He wiped at the corner of his eye with his wrist, pretending it was sweat.

“Seventy years old… still out here grinding for your twenty-year-old son’s education…”
“Man. That’s real. That’s deep…”

Without another word, he reached into his pocket and pulled out everything he had—wads of folded bills, all of it. Several hundred dollars. He dropped it into the bowl, not even counting.

As soon as the last bill landed, the golden glow slowly faded—like the mission was complete.

Lawson looked up, completely flat-toned:

“Who said I was seventy? I’m eighteen.”

Sean paused. Blinked. Took a long look at him again. Then nodded seriously.

“An eighteen-year-old with a twenty-year-old son… putting him through college…”

He let out a soft whistle.

“Now that… that’s an even more inspiring story.”

He took a long drag from his vape, smiled with real satisfaction.
Then he turned, walked off slowly, and disappeared down the street.

Sean didn’t get scammed.
He got moved.

And for the rest of that day, he truly believed…
he’d done something good.

Don’t You Call Me Old

Lawson flipped through the wad of cash in his hand—hundreds of dollars. Not bad at all.

He let out a quiet “Wow,” half to himself.

“Not bad for a guy who just got outta jail. Looks like being a ‘hero’ pays pretty damn well.”

Sean, who had only taken two steps away, stopped cold.

His shoulders tightened. Neck stiff. He slowly turned around.
The vape still hung from his mouth, but the grin was gone.

“Hey—hey hey hey hey! What the hell are you talking about?!”
“Who told you that? I’m telling you—none of that’s true. It’s all fake. All nonsense.”

Lawson blinked, still calm.

“My bad. I shouldn’t have brought up your… history. That was rude.”

Sean’s jaw clenched. His voice dropped:

“Watch your mouth, you crusty old fossil.”

That did it.

Lawson stood up fast and pointed right at him.

“Crusty?! You’re the one who went to jail! And you’re calling me old?”
“Look at me! Do I look old to you?!”

Sean didn’t answer.

He stepped forward and punched Lawson clean in the face. The hit cracked loud, and Lawson stumbled back, off balance, nearly falling, arms flailing to steady himself.

But before he could even recover, Sean stepped in quick and wrapped his arms around Lawson’s waist.

“Let me show you what old school really looks like.”

He lifted Lawson clean off the ground and slammed him down with a textbook waist lock takedown—the kind they teach in wrestling class.

WHAM.

Lawson’s back and head hit the pavement hard. Blood spilled from the corner of his mouth.

Sean stepped back, raised his foot, ready to stomp his face in.

Lawson rolled away just in time.
He crawled back, shaking, coughing. Completely outmatched.

Sean was bigger, meaner, and pissed.

Lawson?

He was scared.

He dropped to all fours.
Hands and knees on the ground. Head lowered till his forehead touched the pavement.

“Please…” he said, voice shaking.
“Spare me… don’t kill me…”

The Golden Bow

As Lawson’s forehead gently touched the ground, a soft golden glow flickered—brief, almost unnoticeable.

Sean’s eyes instantly lost focus. He froze on the spot.

In an instant, his mind was flooded with fast, flashing memories—images of Lawson’s past.
He saw him as a kid in a school courtyard, getting beaten down by older students…
His martial arts book snatched away and torn up…
Blood running down his face in a hospital bed, eyes swollen shut.

Sean’s heart twisted.

Man… this guy’s had a rough life.

What Sean didn’t know… was that this wasn’t just some random emotional overload.
It was a technique—an old, subtle golden art known only to a few.

They called it the Golden Bow.

It didn’t overpower or hypnotize. It didn’t blind or paralyze.
Instead, it slid in quietly, cracking open the heart, and flooding it with deep sympathy.
No matter how strong you were, you’d let your guard down.
And Sean… just did.

He let out a soft sigh, fists unclenching.

Then, gently, he reached out a hand.

“You alright? Sorry about earlier. I got carried away…”

Lawson looked up from the ground. He hesitated for a second, then reached up and grabbed Sean’s hand.

Slowly, he stood up—shoulders weak, like he needed help balancing.

But just as he rose to full height, his other hand slipped into his coat pocket.

Click.

In a flash, he whipped out a spring-loaded knife and jammed it into Sean’s side, right above the hip.

Sean gasped, his eyes wide with shock. Before he could react, Lawson twisted the blade, grinding it around inside—tearing flesh, nerves, muscle.

Sean let out a howl of pain and kicked Lawson away, stumbling back with one hand pressed hard to his bleeding side.

“Why… Why would you do that?!”

He wasn’t even angry. He was confused.
That sympathy was real. Those feelings were real.

“I really meant it… I really felt bad for you…”

Blood trickled down the side of Sean’s shirt, his face turning pale.

One of his kidneys had been completely destroyed—shredded into unrecognizable chunks of bloody meat.

But even now, he didn’t fall.

Sean gritted his teeth, squared his stance, and steadied his breathing.

He was still in this fight.

The Last Drops of Strength

Lawson let out a twisted laugh—

“Hahahahaha…”

His grin stretched from ear to ear, smug and full of cruelty.

“You’re such a weakling,” he sneered. “So damn stupid. So gullible.”

Then, without warning, he lunged forward, swinging fists and feet straight at Sean’s face. The attacks weren’t fast, and they weren’t heavy—but they kept coming.

Sean, holding his side, was still bleeding out. But more than the pain… there was hesitation. Somewhere in his mind, the flashbacks from earlier still lingered—those scenes of Lawson being bullied as a kid, beaten up, hospitalized, abandoned.

He could still feel it—that sympathy. That pity.
And it was holding him back.

It didn’t just cloud his judgment—it cut his attack power in half.
He simply didn’t want to hurt this guy. Not really.

He gritted his teeth, raised one hand to guard, and started blocking the strikes.

Even with less than 10% of his strength, Sean managed to hold his own. For a moment, they were surprisingly even—trading blows, dodges, footwork. A few rounds passed, back and forth.

But time was not on Sean’s side.

The blood loss got worse. His body slowed down. His vision blurred. His arms felt like lead.

Now, maybe only 5% of his power remained.

And the gap started showing.

Lawson saw it—and didn’t hold back. He laughed harder, mocking him with every word:

“What’s wrong? Didn’t eat breakfast? You’re pathetic! Come on, hero—show me something!”

He charged again, fists flying. Left, right, left again—this time landing cleanly across Sean’s face. The hits weren’t strong enough to swell it up or knock him out, but blood started streaming from his nose.

Sean stumbled but didn’t fall.

Then Lawson, satisfied with his little performance, decided it was time to end it.

He reached into his coat and pulled out that same spring-loaded knife. Without hesitation, he jammed it deep into Sean’s left side, grinding the blade in again and again, spinning it like a drill.

This time, it wasn’t just another wound.

Sean’s remaining kidney—the only one he had left—was torn apart, shredded into chunks of bloody meat.

His body jolted from the shock. He could feel the pain ripping through him, raw and absolute. His legs buckled. Everything in him screamed collapse.

But he didn’t.

Not yet.

With the last bit of strength, Sean surged forward.

“I can feel it… My strength’s fading fast…”
“…but at least…”
“…I can still do this. Just this one move.”

He grabbed Lawson and, using perfect form, swung his leg behind for a textbook takedown—hooking the leg, shifting the weight, and slamming Lawson to the pavement.

Lawson hit the ground hard.

Sean staggered back, wobbling on his feet.

His lips had gone pale. His legs were shaking. His hands were trembling.

And as he stood there, eyes dimming and lungs burning—
He knew.

The next moment… he would collapse.

Collapse and Disgrace

Sean was swaying in place, barely staying upright—but he refused to fall. Not yet. He kept his head high, clinging to the last shred of pride he had left. As one of the local heroes, he couldn’t go down that easily.

More people began to gather in the alley. No one really knew what had just happened, but the gossip had already started.

Then, a sudden gust of wind blew through the narrow passage. Sean’s cape—stitched from a Chinese flag—flapped wildly and tore loose, flying up and getting caught high on an electric pole. It hung there like a tattered symbol of everything he’d lost.

Then, without warning, his knees gave out. He dropped to the ground hard—kneeling first, then his upper body slumped forward, face hitting the pavement with a dull thud. His butt stuck up awkwardly in the air, the whole position looking more embarrassing than painful.

The crowd gasped. Their so-called hero had collapsed right in front of them.

Lawson stood nearby, watching it all with a grin. He slowly strolled up to Sean’s unmoving body and chuckled.

“This is the guy they call a hero?” he said loud enough for everyone to hear. “A guy who spent three years in prison, pretending to be some kind of savior now? That’s hilarious.”

Some people in the crowd stayed quiet, unsure how to feel. Some found Lawson heartless. Others found him disgusting. And a few… were just enjoying the drama.

Then came the final insult. Lawson leaned down with a mocking smile. His fingers pinched the waistband of Sean’s pants and started rolling them down—slow, almost ceremonial—until they bunched around the knees. Sean’s backside, now fully exposed to the open air, pointed upward in that same helpless pose.

With a despicable grin, Lawson raised his hand and smacked it down with a loud pop, followed by a sticky spit that landed right in the center.

He turned to the crowd.

“Don’t worry, folks. I already gave him the lesson he deserved.”

Then he casually strolled back to his original spot, squatted down again like nothing had happened, and resumed shaking his leg out of boredom.

And Sean… was still lying there in that ridiculous posture—his knees on the ground, upper body collapsed forward, face down in the dirt, and his butt awkwardly sticking up—like a piece of absurd modern art put on display for the pedestrians to stare at.