Far above the square, in the quieter quarters reserved for higher-ranked combatants and guests of privilege, Zhu Zhuqing sat on the edge of her narrow bed. The walls were clean stone, the air faintly perfumed with burning incense—a small mercy for those who paid for the privilege of distance from the blood-stink of the lower halls.
She hadn't paid. She had earned it.
Her feline-gold eyes stared at the wall opposite her, but her thoughts were far away, trapped in the square she had just left.
The bodies. The blood. The laughter.
And him.
She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly, letting the mask slip from her face now that she was alone. Her hands clenched in her lap.
He had unsettled her. That boy—no, that man, though he was her age. His height, his eyes, the way his long hair swayed when he moved—it was all burned into her mind.
But more than his appearance, it was his presence. The way he treated death not as a duty, not as survival, but as art.
She had hated many things in her short life. Her family, who had bound her to a fate she did not choose. Her so-called fiancé, who sought to control her. Herself, for not being strong enough yet to shatter the chains.
Hatred was familiar.
But this… this was something else.
Zhu Zhuqing pressed her palms to her knees, steadying her breath.
She had seen killers before. Cold ones, efficient ones, brutish ones. But Gu Kuangren was none of these. He was something rarer, more dangerous.
He didn't just kill.
He reveled.
And yet… in that revelry, he was free.
Her chest tightened, and she scowled at the unfamiliar sensation. She had always promised herself never to depend on another, never to lean toward anyone.
But the image of his crimson eyes, locking with hers for that single heartbeat, refused to leave.
He saw me.
Her claws extended unconsciously, scratching shallow lines into the stone of her bedframe. The faint scrape brought her back to herself.
No. She could not afford distraction. She had come to the Slaughter City with her own purpose. To grow stronger. To sever the chains of her bloodline. To carve her own path.
Gu Kuangren might be a demon. He might be an ally. He might be both.
But he could not be allowed to bend her resolve.
She stood abruptly, pacing the narrow room, her tail swishing once before vanishing again. Her thoughts twisted in circles, but always returned to him.
It was infuriating.
And irresistible.
..
Elsewhere, the Slaughter City lived on.
The streets outside the arena buzzed with gossip. Vendors shouted, selling blood-soaked meat skewers and cheap wine, their cries mingling with gamblers still arguing over the fight's outcome.
The name had already spread.
"Slaughter Demon!"
"He cut them down like dogs!"
"I tell you, he smiled when they bled!"
Children too young to be here whispered it to each other in alleys, their games suddenly tinged with crimson. Prostitutes giggled and shivered as they repeated it to their clients. Old men spat the name as a curse.
And above it all, the Arena Master sat in his shadowed chamber, sipping wine, smiling faintly.
One night. One fight. And already, Gu Kuangren had changed the rhythm of the city.
..
Back in his cell, Kuangren finally lay down, his sword still clutched loosely in one hand, its edge resting across his chest. He stared upward at the ceiling, unblinking.
Sleep came rarely, but when it did, it was laced with crimson dreams. Tonight, though, the blood was blurred at the edges.
Tonight, golden feline eyes cut through the haze.
In her quarters, Zhu Zhuqing sat back down, her body taut as a bowstring. She finally whispered aloud, as if confessing to the empty air.
"…Who are you?"
The words were swallowed by the silence, unheard by anyone—except, perhaps, by the city itself.
Chains bound them both. Chains of blood, of fate, of the Slaughter City.
And already, those chains were winding tighter.