The rain had teeth by the time Tian reached the old quarter. Streets narrowed into veins of slick cobblestone, funnelling him toward a darker part of the city where streetlamps hummed weakly, fighting shadows they could not win against.
The Maybach's headlights swept briefly over a crooked row of shuttered shops before the car rolled to a stop at the mouth of an alley a slit between leaning brick walls. His driver glanced in the rearview mirror. Tian caught the look and didn't need the question.
"I'll walk," he said, stepping out into the downpour.
The umbrella unfolded above him with a precise snap. He tilted it slightly, letting the rain touch the shoulders of his coat, cold and sharp against the wool. Two men fell into step behind him, but he stopped at the first bend in the alley.
"Wait here," he ordered.
They didn't question it.
The alley stretched ahead, narrowing with each step. Water ran along the stones in thin streams, catching the glow of faint light from far-off windows. Somewhere above, a gutter leaked in irregular drops, the sound echoing faintly.
Halfway down, Tian paused, a figure stood at the far end of a side passage unmoving, head tilted slightly. The kind of posture that said: I see you.
Tian didn't break stride. He gave no acknowledgment, but his pace altered slower, deliberate forcing the watcher to feel the weight of being seen without being addressed. The figure melted back into the shadows before Tian reached the next corner.
There were more eyes after that. The scrape of movement on a fire escape above. The faint reflection of light in an upstairs window that snapped dark as soon as he looked. Zi Yu's name might not be famous to the public, but here, in these streets, it clearly carried enough weight to draw invisible lines of territory.
The alley twisted twice before ending at a rusted iron door, its paint peeling in jagged strips, like the skin of something long dead. Above it, a single bulb swayed faintly in the wind, casting light that cut in and out.
Tian knocked once.
The pause that followed was long enough to register as deliberate. Then came the sound of metal the scrape of a bolt sliding free. The door cracked open, spilling a wedge of warm light into the rain.
He stepped inside.
The shift from wet cold to dry warmth was immediate, but it carried a strange weight the air here was thick with the smell of paper, old ink, and cedar.
The workshop was cramped, every inch of it occupied by shelves sagging under stacks of ledgers, boxes of parchment, and drawers half-open, their contents whispering of secrets that were not meant to be seen. A wall to his left was covered with framed stamps and wax seals, each bearing an emblem from powerful families, some from foreign nations.
It was more than a workspace it was a vault of stolen authority.
In the center of it all, a scarred wooden table held court, littered with brushes, bottles of ink, and scattered sheets. A single lamp hung low over it, casting its light directly onto a man seated there.
Zi Yu.
He was younger than Tian expected, though his composure aged him. Black hair tied loosely, sleeves rolled to the elbows, posture relaxed in a way that suggested both confidence and the absence of fear. His hand held a brush poised over a half-finished document, the strokes precise and measured.
Zi Yu didn't look up immediately. The faint sound of ink on paper filled the silence until he set the brush aside with care. Only then did his gaze lift, meeting Tian's without surprise.
"You found me faster than I thought," Zi Yu said.
Tian's eyes swept the table. The document there was unmistakable the same false lines, the same mimicry of his father's signature, executed with skill that bordered on reverence.
"The document from the funeral," Tian said. "Yours."
Zi Yu's mouth curved slightly, not in denial but acknowledgment. "You wouldn't be here if you weren't certain."
Silence stretched between them, heavy as steel.
"You're bold," Tian said finally. "Planting your name in my father's shadow."
Zi Yu leaned back against the table, fingers brushing the rim of the ink bottle. "Boldness is just another word for honesty. I wanted you to find me."
"Why?"
"That depends," Zi Yu said, the faintest smile returning. "On whether you want the truth… or the useful version of it."
Tian took a step closer, the wet leather of his shoes whispering against the worn wood floor. "I'm not here for riddles."
"Good," Zi Yu replied. "Because riddles waste time. And time, for men like us, is measured in very expensive seconds."
Tian's gaze shifted, taking in the details the neat row of seals, the ledger books marked with characters he recognized from his father's private archives, the faint outline of a pistol under a cloth on the corner of the desk.
"You've studied my father," Tian said.
Zi Yu's eyes didn't waver. "Your father was a man worth studying. In death, perhaps even more so."
It was a small statement, but it landed with precision.
"You've made yourself visible to me. That was either arrogance or a message," Tian said.
"It's both," Zi Yu said. "And you'll understand when the next piece falls into place."
The rain outside tapped against the roof, slow and deliberate, like a clock counting down.
Tian's eyes returned to the document. "This work… you've done it before."
"Many times," Zi Yu said lightly. "Enough to know that the paper you hold can be heavier than a blade if you choose the right hands to place it in."
"And whose hands are you placing it in now?"
Zi Yu's smile deepened, though it was more a baring of teeth than warmth. "Yours. Whether you realize it yet or not."
For the first time, Tian felt the faintest pull of curiosity sharpen into something else not trust, but recognition of a kindred danger.
"You've made a dangerous assumption," he said.
Zi Yu's eyes gleamed under the lamplight. "And you've made a dangerous entrance. That makes us even."
The quiet turned colder. A single drop of water fell somewhere in the back of the workshop, the sound unnervingly loud.
Tian's gaze drifted once more to the wall of seals. His father's was there, pressed perfectly in deep red wax, the edges crisp. "You keep trophies?"
Zi Yu followed his eyes. "Evidence. Reminders of who can be imitated… and who can be replaced."
Tian's jaw tightened. "You think my father could be replaced?"
"I think anyone can," Zi Yu said simply.
The space between them closed by a fraction, the kind of shift only predators notice.
Tian turned toward the door, his steps slow, deliberate. At the threshold, he looked back. "I'll see you again, Zi Yu."
The door closed behind him, the sound heavy in the narrow room.
Zi Yu didn't move for a long time. Then he reached for the brush again, dipping it into ink, the bristles soaking up black like the night outside. His hand moved in clean, confident strokes, writing words Tian hadn't yet read words that would pull him deeper into a game neither man could walk away from.
Outside, the alley swallowed Tian whole. His men stepped forward, the umbrella rising once more. Above them, the storm rolled on. In the space between the rain, a war had already begun.