Yun Lue could feel her breath.
Not her opponent's — her own.
She had fought before. She had been afraid before. But never like this. This boy... he had no scent. No gaze. Nothing to hold on to. Even beasts have intentions. He didn't.
One thought, just one, pounded in her mind:
"If I lose now… Hei Tian will be alone."
He hadn't asked her for anything. But she knew. She knew his eyes always searched farther, beyond them, beyond this room. He wouldn't fight to win. He would fight to understand.
She didn't want to be strong. She wanted to be that wall.
Not an obstacle — a landmark. Silent. Steady. Something he could forget without fear, because deep down, he'd know she'd still be there. Unshakable, for him.
So she stepped forward.
A dagger sliced her arm. She didn't scream. She struck.
Her opponent stepped back. He didn't stagger. But he was calculating.
He lets me hit. He's learning.
A cold fury rose in her. Yes, she was afraid.
But what followed wasn't fear.
It was a decision.
I'd rather fall than give in.
And suddenly, she smiled. A raw, grim, determined grin.
I'm here, Hei Tian. You're not alone. I'm here, even if you won't look.
Mu Liang stood back, fingers clenched on the wet, rotting pillar. He wasn't like Hei Tian, or Yun Lue. He knew that. He didn't have the same fire in his eyes, or the same silence in his heart.
He remembered.
The day Yun Lue had pulled him by the sleeve.
The look she'd had that day: direct, burning. A look that said, "We're going to survive."
And now, she stood there — in front of a boy twice her size, bare-fisted, unflinching.
And he… he could only watch.
But something inside him stirred.
> "If she falls… I…"
He clenched his teeth, not finishing the thought. He knew he couldn't do anything. Not yet. Not now.
The boy facing Yun Lue was called Xiàoshī — with a frozen grin, a mouth carved as if someone had sculpted it to mock the living.
The underground crowd thickened, grew heavier. Hei Tian felt the change. This fight wasn't like the others. It was an offering.
Yun Lue stood tall. Her breathing was slow. She had no weapon, no technique. Nothing but a body starved for justice.
When the referee struck stone against metal, Xiàoshī lunged.
He attacked from the side, quick, almost animalistic. She barely dodged — a slash grazing her flank. The blood hadn't come yet, but fear poured into the room.
Second strike: lower, meant to shatter her legs.
She jumped back, but the blade scraped her thigh, drawing a vivid red line.
Mu Liang flinched, nearly crying out. Hei Tian didn't even blink.
The third strike was slower. Xiàoshī was savoring it. Circling her like a snake, toying with prey.
But Yun Lue — she was watching.
She was learning.
> "He never guards his left side. He thinks I'm too weak to strike."
So she waited. Just long enough for him to grow confident.
Then, when he lunged again — she spun, slipped under his arm, and drove her knee with all her might into his ribs.
A crack. He stepped back. The crowd fell silent.
She had wounded him.
The blue torch flickered. Hei Tian smiled, almost imperceptibly. The fight wasn't over. But something had changed:
Yun Lue was no longer a victim.
She was a question even the shadows had to hear.
Yun Lue's breath was ragged. She limped slightly, her thigh burning. But in her eyes, a fire had lit. Not one of rage —
a cold fire. The pure clarity of someone who refuses to yield.
Xiàoshī had straightened, holding his side. His smile had frozen for good. He no longer laughed. He stared at Yun Lue with new attention. A flicker of instinct. Like a predator realizing the prey has fangs.
The referee was about to speak. Third round.
But before the signal sounded, a noise echoed at the back of the chamber.
A metal grate opened in the shadows behind the circle.
A man entered. Tall, dressed in a simple black cloak, his face hidden.
Every gaze turned toward him.
He raised a hand. And the fight halted.
> "That's enough."
His voice was soft, almost fading.
"It's not time to die yet."
He walked slowly, boots echoing on damp stone. Then he looked at Yun Lue.
For a long time. Too long.
> "How old are you?" he asked quietly.
Yun Lue opened her mouth. But before she could answer, another stepped forward. Hei Tian.
> "Twelve. And she's worth more than anyone you've got hiding in here."
The man slowly turned to Hei Tian. He said nothing. But his gaze… drifted down to the token Hei Tian wore around his neck, hidden beneath his clothes. He hadn't moved, and yet Hei Tian understood:
He had seen it.
A faint, unseen smile passed through the shadows.
> "The thread has begun to stir, it seems."
And then he vanished.
Literally. Like a breath held too long.
The referee hesitated. Then announced:
> "The fight is over. Both are qualified."
An uproar broke out. Shouts, cries, stares. But Hei Tian was already elsewhere.
He watched the still-open gate — where the man had stood.
Mu Liang slowly approached Yun Lue to help her. She accepted without a word.
Hei Tian stood alone for a moment.
He touched the token.
It was burning hot.
---