CHAPTER ONE — BE GOOD AND DO NOT BE AFRAID
Heat.
A suffocating, feverish heat that clawed at her from the inside out. It pressed against her skull until it felt as though it might split apart. Every nerve burned, her thoughts dissolving into a haze so thick she could scarcely grasp them. It was as if she were sinking into some infernal abyss, one from which no soul could hope to escape.
Yet even in that torment, Tang Ke Xin forced herself to remain calm.
What is happening?
She had been on a mission—clear‑headed, prepared, alert. How had it come to this? The only explanation was a drug, and a potent one at that. But who could have managed to drug her—a high‑ranking military physician, a renowned psychologist, someone trained to detect the slightest irregularity?
Footsteps sounded beyond the door. A man's voice, low and unpleasant, attempted to whisper but failed to hide its leering tone.
"Although she's a little simple, her face is still clear enough."
The words sliced through her fogged mind. She did not yet understand the full situation, but she understood enough. Danger was coming.
She tried to rise, but her limbs refused to obey. Her body felt as though it had been drained of all strength. Even crawling was impossible. The drug was monstrously strong.
Still, she attempted to push herself upright—and her hand pressed against something unexpected.
At that precise moment, the door swung open.
And the bed collapsed beneath her.
Tang Ke Xin plunged downward with a soft gasp. The bed above snapped shut again, returning to its original state as though nothing had happened. Instead of striking the floor, she landed upon something uneven—something warm.
Someone.
A man.
Even through her muddled senses, she recognised the presence beneath her: cool‑tempered, composed, and carrying an aura so distinct it seemed to envelop her entirely. It was intoxicating in a way she could not explain.
Her vision blurred further. Her body trembled, not from fear but from the feverish heat surging through her veins. She felt like a traveller lost in a desert, parched and delirious, suddenly stumbling upon an oasis. Instinct—raw, unthinking—pulled her toward the only source of relief she could sense.
Her consciousness wavered.
The man beneath her stiffened, his breath catching sharply. Though she could not see his expression in the darkness, she felt the sudden chill radiating from him—a cold so sharp it carried the unmistakable edge of killing intent.
Had he been in full command of his strength, she suspected he might have ended her life in that instant.
But she sensed none of that danger. The fever drowned out everything except the overwhelming need to cling to the one thing that eased the burning in her blood.
Somewhere in the haze, a voice—deep, distant, and steady—seemed to murmur:
"Be still. Do not be afraid."
She could not tell whether the words were real or imagined.
A strong hand gripped her waist, not gently, but with the restrained force of someone fighting both pain and fury. Even in her delirium, she sensed his displeasure. Had he been capable of more, she doubted she would have survived the moment.
Time blurred. The fever raged. The world narrowed to darkness, breath, and the faintest impression of a man whose presence was both perilous and strangely grounding.
At last, the burning in her veins began to ebb. Her mind cleared enough for reason to return.
She needed to leave.
In the darkness, she fumbled for clothing—anything she could find—and hastily wrapped herself in it. She had just stepped away from the bed when a voice, low and cold as winter steel, cut through the silence.
"You intend to leave?"
She froze.
The tone was not loud, yet it carried a deadly promise. It was the sort of voice one might imagine echoing from the depths of a crypt—quiet, but capable of stopping a heart.
She did not turn, but she felt his gaze upon her, sharp and merciless. A chill crept up her spine.
This man truly meant to kill her.
Honestly, she thought with a flicker of indignation, I fall through a collapsing bed, land on him by accident, and somehow I am the villain? And he bit me—twice! My shoulder still aches.
But indignation alone would not save her.
She braced herself, ready to fight if she must.
Yet no attack came.
Puzzled, she slowly turned. The man sat upright on the bed, his posture rigid, his eyes glacial. The killing intent in them was unmistakable—yet he did not move.
He could not move.
Relief washed through her, though she kept her expression composed. His aura alone was enough to make lesser people collapse, but she was not so easily cowed.
Her lips curved faintly.
"So," she murmured, "you would kill me if you could. How fortunate for me that you cannot."
His eyes darkened further, fury simmering beneath the surface. Yet there was something else there too—a flicker of surprise, perhaps even reluctant acknowledgement.
Tang Ke Xin straightened her borrowed clothing with a calm she did not entirely feel.
"Since you exerted yourself so valiantly just now," she said in a tone of solemn courtesy, "I suppose I owe you a measure of gratitude."
The man's expression suggested he had never been spoken to in such a manner in his life.
And thus began a debt, a danger, and a fate neither of them yet understood.
In the darkness he could not see the faint smile curving her lips, yet he heard it—light, irreverent, and infuriatingly calm. It danced in her voice like a spark struck against flint.
Damnable woman.
"You dare mock me? You are courting death."
His eyes narrowed to slits, cold and sharp as drawn steel. Though he could not rise, the killing intent that surged from him was so fierce it seemed to flay the very air. Tang Ke Xin felt it like a blade grazing her skin—an unspoken promise that, had he the strength, he would tear her apart without hesitation.
Fortunately for her, he did not.
And because he did not, she refused to be afraid.
Her hand moved before her thoughts caught up—quick, instinctive, and bold. She reached towards the pouch at his waist and withdrew whatever her fingers found. When she glanced down, she blinked in surprise.
Silver.
Small, uneven pieces of it, the kind used in ancient markets. And tied at her own waist—a black cloth pouch she certainly had not been wearing in the twenty‑first century.
There was no time to ponder the impossibility of it. His murderous glare was enough to remind her that survival, not philosophy, was the priority.
Whether it was silver or scraps of metal hardly mattered. Her intention remained the same.
She pressed the pieces firmly into his unmoving hand.
"This," she said with solemn mockery, "is your payment. The hard‑earned silver from tonight's… labour. You must accept it."
Had he been capable of movement, she suspected he might have strangled her on the spot.
Without waiting for a response, she turned and strode toward the door.
Behind her, teeth ground together with a sound like cracking ice.
"Woman," he hissed, "pray you never fall into my hands. If you do…"
His unfinished threat hung in the air like a blade suspended above her spine.
Tang Ke Xin did not look back.
"There will never be such a day," she replied, her voice steady, almost serene.
And she believed it. With her training, her instincts, and her ability to vanish when she wished, no one could find her unless she allowed it. Tonight's encounter had been an accident—an unfortunate collision of poison, circumstance, and a man with a lethal temper.
Her teasing had been nothing more than a retaliation for his murderous intent. A harmless jest, she told herself.
What she did not know—what she could not yet imagine—was that the world she had fallen into was no longer her own. She was no longer the Tang Ke Xin who could slip through the shadows of modern warfare and emerge unscathed.
Nor did she realise that, along with the silver, she had placed something else in the man's palm—an object carved with a symbol of significance she could not yet comprehend.
There will never be such a day?
The man stared after her retreating figure, and a low, humourless laugh escaped him. It was soft, but it carried the weight of a storm.
Very well.
He would like to see how she intended to escape him. Even if he had to turn the earth upside down, he would find her. There was no corner of the world he could not reach.
His fingers shifted slightly, brushing against the objects she had left behind.
Something among the silver felt different.
His brows lifted a fraction. The corner of his mouth curved—not quite a smile, not quite a snarl. A strange, unsettling expression flickered across his face, one that made even the darkness seem to draw back.
Whatever he had found in his hand… it made his heart tremble.