The late afternoon sun cast long, golden beams across the cobbled streets of Soto City. Shadows stretched and mingled with the bustle of market stalls, where laughter and merchant calls wove a tapestry of life that clung to the city's air like the aroma of roasted chestnuts and sweet rice buns.
Qian Yu strolled alongside Xiao Wu, their steps unhurried, their presence quiet amidst the clamor. The boy was calm, carrying himself with a gentle grace. Xiao Wu, ever spirited, flitted from shop window to shop window with a sparkle in her eyes, her braided hair bouncing behind her like a playful echo.
"Qian Yu-ge, what about this one?" she asked, twirling in front of a mirror, the hem of a new dress flaring like flower petals in spring.
Qian Yu gave her a soft smile and nodded. "It looks beautiful."
She giggled, then vanished back into the boutique only to emerge moments later with another outfit. "And this one?"
This little ritual repeated itself over and over. Qian Yu didn't complain. He simply leaned against a wooden pillar, watching her with an indulgent smile. A quiet thought passed through his mind, one that many an older brother—or doting companion—might have had:
Girls really do love to shop.
After what felt like half the city's wardrobe had been tried on, Xiao Wu finally looked satisfied. The pair approached the counter, where a shopkeeper, spotting Qian Yu's refined attire and composed demeanor, straightened instantly. He recognized nobility—or at least someone with the air of it.
"Please, wrap these all up," Qian Yu said evenly, placing a sack of gold soul coins on the counter with a soft thud.
The shopkeeper beamed. "Of course, young master! Right away!"
Bags in hand and hearts light, they left the store and wandered through the winding streets. The rhythm of the city was warm and familiar, but as they passed an alley veiled in shadow, Qian Yu's footsteps slowed.
There, half-obscured in the gloom, stood a girl. Something about her posture, the energy she gave off—it tugged at Qian Yu's memory.
He knew that presence.
He had seen her before, deep in the Star Dou Forest.
It was Ning Rongrong, the proud heiress of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Clan.
She looked older now—more grown—but her aura was unmistakable.
What is she doing here, alone? Qian Yu wondered, a note of concern sliding into his chest.
"Xiao Wu," he said, tugging her sleeve, "let's check something out."
"Okay!" she chirped, following without question.
—
In the narrow alleyway, the shadows grew thick and heavy.
Ning Rongrong stood at its center, surrounded by three men who reeked of mischief and stale wine. Their laughter was sharp, mocking, cutting against the soft hum of the street beyond.
"I'm warning you," Rongrong snapped, her voice laced with frost. "I'm the daughter of the Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Clan. Keep your hands to yourselves, or you'll regret ever being born."
The men cackled.
"Did you hear that?" one of them howled. "She thinks she's royalty!"
"Please," another sneered, "if you were really that important, where are your bodyguards, huh? Nobles don't wander dark alleys alone, sweetheart."
They circled her like wolves scenting weakness.
One leaned closer, breath sour. "Tell you what—why don't you keep us company for a while? I promise, we'll show you a good time. You'll be beggin' for more."
Rongrong's heart pounded. She stepped back, but there was nowhere to run. Her spirit power was support-type—no good in close combat. And she was alone.
"Get away from me! I swear, I'll scream!" she threatened, though fear shook her voice.
The man laughed again. "Go ahead. Scream all you want. No one around here's gonna stick their neck out for you. We run this part of town. Everyone knows what happens to people who mess with our boss, Young Master Zhang."
He wasn't wrong. Pedestrians passed, some slowing just long enough to glance their way before hurrying off, heads lowered. No one dared intervene.
Rongrong's throat tightened. Why did I sneak out? Why did I think I'd be safe?
Tears welled in her eyes.
Then Zhang San, the leader, reached out and grabbed her wrist with a sickening leer. "Let's go, little lady. I'll show you paradise..."
"Let her go."
The voice that sliced through the alley was low and cold, like steel drawn across glass.
Rongrong's head snapped up.
At the alley's mouth stood a young man in white, his coat whispering in the breeze. His raven hair fluttered around a face as flawless as porcelain, his eyes shimmering like the stars that lived just before dawn.
Time seemed to slow.
"Qian Yu... gege?" Rongrong whispered, tears blurring her vision.
She had searched for him—left her clan for him. And here he was, like a dream stepping into her nightmare.
Qian Yu walked forward, silent and unhurried. "Don't be afraid," he said, his voice soft as a lullaby. "I'm here."
Zhang San snarled. "Who the hell do you think you are? This ain't your business, brat—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
In the blink of an eye, something tore through the air. Pain exploded in his body. Zhang staggered back, eyes wide.
His arms—both of them—were gone.
Blood gushed as he collapsed to his knees, screaming.
Rongrong threw herself into Qian Yu's embrace, trembling. "I found you… I finally found you…"
Qian Yu wrapped his arms around her, holding her close. "It's over. You're safe now."
Behind them, Zhang's remaining followers fell to the ground in terror, scrambling backward.
Qian Yu looked up, his eyes cold as winter frost.
"Did I say you could leave?"
They froze.
"You—you don't know who you're messing with!" one of them stammered. "Zhang San is heir to one of Soto's four great families! If you hurt him, you'll—"
"You'll what?" Qian Yu asked, his tone calm but merciless. "Threaten me with a name?"
The air shifted.
Wind swirled violently around him, blades of spiritual force lashing out like an invisible storm. In seconds, the three men were shredded into silence.
Qian Yu raised a hand. A flame bloomed at his fingertip—small, quiet, almost peaceful.
Then he flicked it.
The fire struck the remains without ceremony. With a dull boom, the alley lit up briefly in a blaze. When the fire died, there was nothing left. Not even ash.
Just silence.
And the wind.
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