"File Transfer Progress: 70%...80%...90%..."
The fading glow of autumn streamed through the pristine floor-to-ceiling window, casting elongated patches of warm orange light onto the dark hardwood floor. Yun Che lounged back in a sleek black leather armchair, his fingers unconsciously tapping the edge of the ultra-thin laptop balanced on his knees. The pulsing blue progress bar on the screen was his sole focus; each percentage increment made his heart clench tighter.
"...Transfer Complete."
As the bar finally filled completely, Yun Che silently expelled a held breath. His fingers flew across the keyboard as he input a complex sequence of commands, forcibly severing the encrypted line. Immediately, a self-destruct program initiated. The laptop's hard drive emitted a faint whirring hum as all residual data was thoroughly formatted, wiped, and erased within seconds, vanishing as if it never existed.
He deftly pulled out the flash drive plugged into its side. This small metal cylinder held far too many secrets to leave even a trace. With practiced ease, he employed his tactical knife, precisely levering open the casing along its seams. Extracting the memory chip, he held it over the leaping blue flame of his lighter. Intense heat licked at the chip, filling the air with the acrid stench of melting plastic and metal. He held his breath, eyes fixed on the speck of material as it warped, shriveled, and finally dissolved into an unrecognizable puddle of charred residue. He swept the debris, along with the shattered casing fragments, into the toilet's vortex, flushing them away into the sewers' dark depths.
Completing this routine destruction, Yun Che's expression remained impassive. He walked to the wash basin, turned on the tap, and let the cold water stream cleanse his distinctly knuckled fingers. Outside, the light was fading. It was time for dinner. Yet, just as he turned—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Three deliberate, unhurried raps sounded at the door.
Yun Che's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. This timing… Silently, he moved to the door and opened it. Standing in the entryway was a young man, erect as a bamboo shoot. Silky, light chestnut hair brushed a smooth forehead, beneath which lay eyes the color of a boundless clear sky – deep, calm, and radiating an innate air of cultured grace. He looked barely twenty, youthful and handsome, but Yun Che knew well that this apparent "youth" had already lived at least a century and a half.
For he was not human.
In this vast world, the Human United States and the Demon Federation coexisted like two dark rivers flowing under the thin ice of an uneasy, millennia-old peace. Beneath the surface lay eternal vigilance, schemes, and the churning currents of covert conflict. Demons – possessing lifespans far exceeding humans – typically lived for nearly a thousand years after reaching adulthood around eighteen. Among them, exceptional individuals wielded power that bent the very laws of nature. Humans were a rarity on Demon soil, let alone one like Yun Che, who had openly served at the pinnacle of Demon power – under the Demon King, Ye Jin – for five long years.
Yun Che stepped aside to admit the visitor, his tone flat and unreadable. "Cang Ming? Something up? It's late."
The Demon youth known as Cang Ming gave a respectful nod. "Lord Ye Jin has summoned you. He wishes to discuss a matter of importance." His gaze drifted, seemingly casually, to the coffee table, landing on the silver lighter. Yun Che's stomach lurched. Damn it!
Cang Ming picked up the lighter, his fingertip rubbing its still-warm metal surface. The air held barely a trace of cigarette smoke; instead, it was tinged with the faint, unmistakable odor of something burnt... A flicker of suspicion passed through his clear blue eyes.
"Loose thread," Yun Che stated firmly, preempting any question, his eyes meeting Cang Ming's directly. "I burned off a loose thread on my jacket earlier. Forgot to put the lighter away."
"A loose thread on your garments?" Cang Ming immediately adopted an expression of appropriate contrition. "My deepest apologies. All household management falls under my purview. I shall reprimand the tailoring department personally and ensure your future garments undergo the most stringent quality control."
"Hmm... Thank you," Yun Che acknowledged with a nod.
Cang Ming handed back the lighter, adding a soft reminder. "It would be best not to carry the scent of smoke to see Lord Ye Jin. As you know, he dislikes the smell intensely and possesses... certain aversions."
"Understood." Yun Che's reply was clipped. How could he not understand this rule? From the moment nineteen-year-old Yun Che, covered in his own blood and clinging to life, collapsed before Ye Jin's vehicle, spinning a tale of desperate flight from assassins, his fate had been tied to the Demon King. Five years spent dancing on the edge of a blade had etched Ye Jin's nature – cruel, cold, demanding, and pathologically fastidious – into his very bones. This sudden summons felt like an ice block dropped into his gut, sending waves of foreboding rippling through him. His mind raced, combing through every recent action for potential flaws.
He found nothing.
The path ahead was obscured, yet he had no choice but to steel himself and walk the gilded, treacherous garden path.
Exiting the luxury apartment building, Yun Che stepped onto the polished white marble of the main avenue. Ye Jin's estate sprawled like a small city unto itself. The meticulously manicured gardens held flowers blooming defiantly out of season, exuding an artificial, opulent fragrance. Yun Che and Cang Ming set a brisk pace, yet it still took a full ten minutes to reach a six-story building of stark, modern design.
"The Lord awaits you in the top-floor conference room," Cang Ming stated calmly.
Yun Che gave a silent nod, stepping into the quiet elevator.
At the top floor, the heavy conference room doors stood slightly ajar. Yun Che peered through the gap. His eyes first met an immense panoramic window dominating the far wall. Darkened crossbars fragmented the lingering crimson-purple twilight outside into jagged geometric patterns. More arresting, however, were the figures standing like obsidian statues before that fading light – several tall men clad in black, their silhouettes casting long, heavy shadows on the floor. An atmosphere thick with impending violence filled the space, silent and suffocating. These were Ye Jin's personal guard, elite death-dealers who rarely appeared outside security perimeters.
Yun Che steeled himself, swallowing the dryness in his throat, and stepped inside. Cang Ming followed, smoothly closing the heavy double doors behind them and positioning himself squarely in the center of the doorway.
His posture was like a living, unbreachable bolt.
Yun Che caught the subtle implication out of the corner of his eye, the weight in his chest intensifying.
At the head of the imposing black obsidian conference table sat a figure with hair like spun silver. He perused a document held in slender, elegant hands, their defined knuckles flipping pages with idle grace. Long, dark lashes cast fan-shaped shadows onto skin so pale it seemed translucent. Strands of silver hair spilled carelessly over the shoulders of a black velvet jacket, the rest gathered loosely at his nape with a matching silk band. An aura of terrifying elegance and aloofness surrounded him.
While Demons were often strikingly attractive, Ye Jin – the Demon King reigning supreme at their apex – possessed a beauty that transcended mere handsomeness. It was a concept made flesh. Yun Che had looked upon that face for five years, yet each direct gaze remained a shock, a confrontation with beauty as cold as carved ice, yet radiating sovereign power.
Ye Jin clearly registered his arrival. He closed the file, lifting his gaze. Ruby-red eyes, frozen moments before like congealed blood, shifted away from the cold paper and fixed precisely upon Yun Che. That icy stare seemed to thaw upon meeting Yun Che, a flicker of genuine warmth appearing in its depths as a dangerously alluring smile curved his lips.
"Good evening, Bambi," a low, melodious voice broke the silence of the room.
The nickname "Bambi," stemming from Yun Che's phonetic closeness to "lu ming" (deer cry) and an association with the fawn from ancient animation, felt like the lick of a serpent's tongue against Yun Che's skin in this setting, at this moment between them. His back muscles tensed instantly. Suppressing his discomfort, he bowed formally. "Good evening, Lord Ye Jin. You summoned this subordinate? What are your instructions?"
Ye Jin didn't answer directly. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his gaze traveling over Yun Che, a blend of assessment and something resembling... concern. "Not eating well lately?" His tone was light, conversational. "You look thinner."
"...Thank you for your concern, Lord. This subordinate is quite well," Yun Che maintained his subservient composure.
Ye Jin's gaze drifted past Yun Che to the dying embers of twilight visible through the window, strange lights playing in his red eyes. "Join me for dinner," he stated offhandedly, only to pivot with razor-sharp precision, "But before that, a minor question requires your insight."
His voice was as smooth as a spring breeze, his gaze soft enough to melt. Were it not for the raptor-like stares of the black-clad guards boring into Yun Che's vital points from behind, Yun Che might have believed it truly was inconsequential. The invisible pressure hung over him like a leaden weight.
"Recently," Ye Jin began, deliberate and measured, each word carrying immense weight, "we intercepted two encrypted transmissions directed outside our borders. Unfortunately, after considerable effort from our technical division..." He paused deliberately, those ruby-red orbs locking onto Yun Che, observing every microscopic shift in his expression. "...the recipient was identified as a covert channel of the Human United States Security Bureau." His pause stretched taut. "And the source IP address... was traced to your device ID."
Ye Jin's smile remained gracefully composed, even tinged with a hint of indulgence. "Bambi, enlighten me. What is the meaning of this?"
Yun Che's face drained of all color. Even with prior foreboding, hearing the accusation laid bare sent icy dread coiling through his nerves like a serpent. His back was instantly slick with cold sweat. He swallowed thickly, forcing himself to remain outwardly calm. "Lord... You suspect I am a Human spy? Simply because... I am the only human by your side?"
Ye Jin chuckled, a sound devoid of warmth and brutally dismissive of Yun Che's feigned innocence. "Bambi, don't deflect. Race has never been my metric for loyalty. The core issue isn't who you are." He leaned forward slightly, a wave of intangible oppression rolling off him. "It's that you sent those two messages into the heart of enemy territory. I demand a 'reasonable' explanation. Now."
Hidden within his sleeve, Yun Che's hand clenched, nails biting into his palm. He met Ye Jin's scrutiny, his voice tight with the strain of standing on the precipice. "This subordinate cannot explain. Because I know nothing of this matter. This is deliberate framing!" His words were firm, defiant, but his eyes skittered away from those soul-piercing red depths.
Ye Jin sighed, long and slow, filled with seeming regret over Yun Che's stubborn resistance. "Is that so? Well then, dear Bambi..." His voice took on a tone of reason that felt like silk wrapped around a knife. "'He who asserts must prove.' The evidence lies before us. If you insist upon your innocence, what counter-evidence can you present... to prove you were 'framed'?"
Silence fell over the room like hardened tar, heavy and suffocating. Ye Jin's gaze seemed gentle still, but Yun Che saw the cold assessment beneath it, the predatory amusement of a cat with a cornered mouse. Those two transmission logs were like hot irons, moments from searing the brand of "traitor" onto him.
The last path of retreat was irrevocably sealed.
Yun Che didn't answer. Under the collective gaze of everyone present, beneath Ye Jin's mocking regard, his hand began to move. Slowly, deliberately, but with unwavering intent, it drifted towards the small of his back.
The hard, cold outline beneath his suit jacket was unmistakable – his ever-present Glock G19 pistol.
Burn your bridges!
Only in death's embrace could one find a path to life!
Just as his fingers curled around the textured grip, primed to draw it in a flash—
Thud! Thud!
Two shadows materialized behind him like vengeful spirits! An iron-vice hand clamped onto the back of Yun Che's neck, while another seized his gun wrist with vice-like precision. Unimaginable force slammed him face-first onto the cold, unyielding obsidian tabletop with a sickening CRACK! The impact blurred his vision.
"Ghk!" Agonizing pain exploded from his violently twisted wrist. He heard the grinding rasp of bone protesting under extreme stress. Yun Che gritted his teeth; sweat instantly beaded his forehead; veins bulged in stark relief on the back of his straining hand. The pain threatened unconsciousness, but raw, deep-seated survival instinct drove him to lock his fingers onto the pistol grip, knuckles whitening from the sheer effort!
Seeing the gun not immediately relinquished, the guards increased their pressure dramatically – intent on shattering the wrist bone!
Ye Jin flexed one elegant forefinger and lightly tapped it against the polished obsidian table surface. The sound was crisp, yet small. It was an invisible command. The guards' actions froze instantly; they maintained their brutal hold but ceased the bone-breaking torsion.
Ye Jin's gaze swept to the pistol Yun Che still clenched in his pain-contorted grip, the curve of his lips deepening. "Oh?" His voice was soft as a lover's murmur. "What does this signify? An admission of your espionage? Or a desperate gamble to take me down with you?"
The burning agony in his wrist and the crushing psychological pressure made Yun Che's breath harsh and uneven. He kept his eyes fixed away from Ye Jin's. Yet his voice, when it emerged, was unexpectedly calm, flat with a near-deadly detachment. "I... am not a spy."
Under the stunned gaze of everyone, beneath Ye Jin's predatory stare tinged with a flicker of perverse admiration, Yun Che struggled, lifting the arm pinned to the table, the one holding the gun. He didn't point it at his enemies. Instead, he performed an action no one in the room anticipated—
He pressed the cold, dark muzzle directly against his own temple!
The icy kiss of steel. The shadow of death consumed reason.
Ye Jin's mask of composure shattered. His deep red pupils constricted to slits; all trace of mockery vanished, replaced by a frigid, storm-gathering warning. "BAMBI?!"
Yun Che drew in the deepest breath he'd ever taken, as if sucking in all the air the world contained. He lifted his eyes, locking onto Ye Jin's – eyes stripped now of their feigned warmth, revealing only the icy core of their crimson depths. His voice, steady, rang with a desperate, sorrowful resolution through the dead silence:
"I, Yun Che, stand before you with a clear conscience. I have never harbored the slightest treasonous thought towards you."
"But since my presence has sown seeds of doubt in you, my Lord, this subordinate is no longer worthy to serve you."
"A subordinate incapable of easing his master's burdens, who instead becomes a source of anxiety... What use is he?"
His gaze travelled over the gun barrel, meeting Ye Jin's cold stare. Then, calmly, slowly—
He closed his eyes.
His index finger decisively squeezed the trigger.
*BANG!!!*