王狗子蹲在街角，摸着怀里那把锈迹斑斑的剑杆，铁疙瘩 covered in grime, still oddly heavy in his pocket. Stomach rumbles, loud enough for passersby to glance over. "F*ck," he mutters, tugging at the string of his pathetic ragged trousers. Sun's high, making the cracked pavement heat up like a grill. He needs food, done deal. No time for this sword nonsense.

Street life threw elbows, hard. A water cart rattled past, splashing mud. Two loudmouths swaggered over,唾沫横飞。“Quick hands, kid. Pocket the copper Bundes. Be generous, yeah?”

Shit. They saw the hunched shoulders, smelled the hunger. Smirked wide. "Hear that? We're hungry too," one says, grabbing his arm. Skin tearable with a sneer like that.

王狗子脑子里嗡嗡响。拔剑？他娘的，这玩意儿刚捡到，会不会一使劲就漏了。而且，万一拔出来是哑火，或者人家人多势众……硬碰硬不是他家孩子干的事。他缩了缩脖子，喉咙滚动，“有……有铜钱吗？”

"铜钱？"另一个嗤笑，“老子要是兜里比脸干净，还跟你这丧比玩？”拳头晃晃。王狗子往旁边一滚，差点撞上货摊。“滚开！要饭的！”骂声中，混混们踹翻了他的破碗，几块碎饼滚出来，被他赶紧扒拉到怀里。

“得嘞！得嘞！”王狗子缩着脖子跑，心里骂娘。“狗日的，还真是饿狼见了肉。