Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I slept straight through until noon the next day.

I ordered some takeout and sat down in front of my computer, preparing to update a chapter.

Half an hour later, my phone rang.

I was a bit puzzled. To avoid having my train of thought interrupted, I always left a note on my deliveries and takeout to just leave them at the door, so people usually didn’t call.

“Hey man, could you come out and grab this? Or should I just leave it downstairs?”

I found it strange. “Why can’t you leave it at the door?”

“Maybe… you should come take a look?”

I opened the door, and a foul stench hit me square in the face.

Right at my feet were several large bags of trash, with yellow-green juices leaking all over the floor.

There was literally nowhere to step.

You didn’t need a brain to know who did this.

So, I walked straight to the door next door and unbuckled my belt.

I performed a burst of water magic right against their door.

A stream of turbid yellow urine doused the door, making a spirited splashing sound.

It felt as if something deep within my DNA had been triggered.

An image involuntarily surfaced in my mind: on the grasslands twenty thousand years ago, our Homo sapiens ancestors dragged a massive carcass of beast meat back to their cave. The thick scent of blood attracted countless birds of prey, and powerful beasts lurked in the shadows, their crimson eyes glowing in the depths of the dense forest.

A few strong young men from the tribe stepped forward and unleashed a mighty torrent of urine toward the outside, forcefully declaring their territory.

The scent of urine, thick with male hormones, dispelled the smell of blood in the air. After some hesitation, the beasts dragged their hungry bodies away from the cave.

In a half-dreaming, half-awake state, I seemed to see an ancestor giving me a thumbs-up.

This was validation from my genes.

It was a truly soul-cleansing release.

Seeing the delivery guy standing nearby with a blank stare, I warmly invited him to join in and free his body and mind as well.

To experience, in this civilized modern society, a primitive, immoral, and forbidden pleasure.

Unfortunately, the delivery guy was a decent man after all; he couldn’t cast off the heavy shackles of morality.

I smiled slightly, went downstairs to the hardware store, and bought a plastering trowel.

On my way back, I was stopped by an old man.

“Young man, did you have a fight with Apartment 302 last night?”

I nodded.

The old man sighed. “Oh, you just moved in and don’t know the situation. That family is incredibly difficult. Avoid provoking them if you can.”

I laughed. “Why be so afraid of them? It’s not like he’s the Emperor.”

“That whole family are thugs, you can’t afford to mess with them!” the old man said. “I live right below them, and they’re so noisy I can’t sleep every night. I’ve called the police and contacted property management, but nothing works! And then he started throwing cigarette butts onto my balcony!”

Hearing this, the neighbors nearby also began to gather around:

“I live on the first floor. I had a peach tree in my little yard that I painstakingly tended to for several years. It was just about to bear fruit when their kid climbed over the wall and picked them all.

“The tree isn’t worth much, but it was my hard work! I went to talk to the parents, and they turned it around and said their kid got diarrhea from eating my peaches and demanded I pay their medical bills!”

“They also throw trash down randomly. Once when I was going to work, a bucket of dirty water was dumped right on my head!”

“They even use the community basketball court to dry their quilts. They’re completely unreasonable!”

“They even took over my parking spot!”

…

As expected, they were used to bullying honest people.

The more I listened, the more excited I got.

As long as they were scumbags, I wouldn’t feel even a shred of guilt!

I created a group chat on the spot and told everyone to invite other victims.

I would be the one to get revenge for them.

Then, humming a tune, I went back upstairs and emptied the trash bags.

It was mostly swill and leftovers; the sour stench made my eyes sting.

I went back inside to get a blender, whirred it all into a paste, and then smeared it all over their door.

I even plugged the keyhole solid.

The door was now a dripping, emerald-green mess, and the smell was so bad it brought tears to my eyes.

Swarms of flies arrived, buzzing and calling their friends. Two of them were rubbing their front legs together so fast I thought sparks might fly. I bet they were asking if this was the fabled ‘Happy Planet.’

I checked the time. I estimated that family would be back in about half an hour.

I took a photo and posted it in the group.

In that short time, the group had already expanded from a dozen people to thirty.

As soon as the photo went up, the group chat exploded.

“What kind of interior design style is this? Swill-chic?”

“I can smell it through the screen. You’re truly a legend, man.”

I said, “Neighbors, come to my place. The show is about to start.”

No sooner had I spoken than I heard the sound of Mrs. Duck coming up the stairs.

“Holy crap, Mom, come look!” their kid shouted. “Someone painted our wall with crap!”

Upon hearing this, Mrs. Duck stomped up the stairs and let out a loud squawk, calling for her husband to come admire the spectacle together.

The husband was shocked, his hair standing on end with rage. He cursed for ages and pounded on my door, demanding an explanation.

I was also shocked. What did this have to do with me? I threw up my hands, demanding evidence to defend my innocence.

The man was furious but helpless. He actually called the police, slandering me and trying to ruin my reputation.

The police were fair, citing lack of evidence. The crowd was ecstatic, spreading the word far and wide. This battle was a grand victory.