The rain came down in silver sheets, turning the alleyways into black rivers. Hei Lang stood upon the shadowed roof, his bronze mask gleaming under the moonlight that fought to pierce the storm. The faint trace of blood on his blade steamed in the cold, and for a long while, he did not move.
He could still feel it — the sharp clash of steel, the raw determination in that stranger's strikes.
That man.
That so-called Yue Ying.
Hei Lang's lips curved behind the mask, not in amusement, but in the rare spark of interest. He had fought countless skilled soldiers, special assassins, rebels, bounty hunters, and killers-for-hire, but never someone who dared face him in the dark, blow for blow, without a hint of fear.
Even so…
He had let him live.
He tightened his grip on the hilt. The truth was simple — if he had pressed an inch further, Yue Ying's head would be rolling on the rain-slick stones. And yet, there was something about him… something more than reckless courage. That slippery disappearance, the sudden smoke— Hei Lang almost smiled. It was like battling a ghost that refused to be pinned.
Beneath, the streets were silent, except for the distant sound of drunken laughter from a gambling den. Hei Lang's gaze followed the faint trail of blood washing away with the rain.
"I will definitely find you," he murmured to the storm. "Next time, there will be no smoke, no vanishing. Next time, you will not leave with your head."
He sheathed his sword, the sound crisp against the rain's whisper.
Yet, deep in his mind, another truth lingered — the opponent tonight had not only survived his blade… but lasted longer in evading his deadly strikes. A tiny, almost laughable cut along his forearm, easily dismissed… yet to a man like Hei Lang, who had not been touched in battle for years, it was an unspoken admission:
This Yue Ying was no common pest.
And that made the hunt all the more… enjoyable.
Far away, in the maze of backstreets, Yue Ying staggered into the shadow of an abandoned building, clutching his — her — bleeding wrist. The pain was sharp, but the burn in her chest was sharper. Hei Lang's eyes… those chilling, deep blue eyes had stripped her bare, as though he could see straight through flesh and bone into the core of her soul.
She gritted her teeth, binding the wound with torn cloth.
"So… the Black Wolf is real," she breathed, her voice trembling between awe and rage. "And ten times stronger than the rumours say…"
Her fingers curled tightly. If she had been a heartbeat slower, his blade would have split her skull.
The thought filled her with fear. It ignited something else — the iron resolve to avoid him forever.
And perhaps… next time, it would not be her blood painting the rain.