The air in the abandoned warehouse didn’t just feel cold; it felt heavy, as if the shadows themselves had gained mass. Zhao Yunlan adjusted his coat, his eyes scanning the darkness. He had expected to meet a messenger, perhaps a captain of the guard.
He didn’t expect the shadows to bleed together in the center of the room, forming a tall, regal figure draped in obsidian robes. The silver mask caught the moonlight, its cold surface reflecting nothing but Yunlan’s own startled expression.
This was no messenger. This was the Sovereign himself.
Yunlan swallowed his surprise and stepped forward, forcing a confident smirk onto his face. He held up his SID badge, the metal dull in the dim light.
“I didn’t realize the Envoy did his own fieldwork,” Yunlan said, his voice echoing in the vast space. “But it’s just as well. I’m Chief Zhao. I’m here because the treaty between our worlds isn’t a one-way street. I want to work with you, Your Majesty. I’m here to ask—no, to demand—that you fulfill the terms of the decree. We need cooperation, not silence.”
The Envoy didn’t move. For a long, suffocating moment, the only sound was the wind whistling through the broken window panes.
“Cooperation?” The Envoy’s voice was a low, resonant vibration that seemed to crawl up Yunlan’s spine. “You speak of treaties as if they were written in anything but the blood of my people.”
Before Yunlan could react, the Envoy blurred across the distance between them. He moved faster than human eyes could follow.
Crack.
The sound of the open-handed strike echoed like a gunshot. Yunlan’s head snapped to the side, the force of the blow staggering him. He stumbled back, his ears ringing, the stinging heat of the slap blooming across his cheek. He gasped, pressing a hand to his face, his eyes wide with absolute shock.
There was a certain level of civilized decorum, even among enemies. He had expected a cold rejection or a sharp debate—not this.
The Envoy leaned in closer, the edge of his silver mask inches from Yunlan’s face.
“I have heard those words from the murderers of Haixing for centuries,” the Envoy hissed, his voice dripping with ancient, bitter venom. “You offer ‘cooperation’ with one hand while the other holds a dagger. Do not mistake my silence for a lack of memory, Chief Zhao. To me, your promises are nothing but the empty words of a liar.”
Yunlan looked up, his breath hitching. He saw no mercy in the dark slits of the mask. For the first time, he realized that he wasn’t dealing with a politician. He was standing before the Emperor of shadows, who had forgotten how to trust.
The silence that followed was suffocating. Yunlan stayed frozen, his head still tilted from the force of the blow, his fingers pressed against his burning cheek. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth where his teeth had grazed the inside of his lip. He had dealt with criminals, with street thugs, and with arrogant politicians, but he had never encountered a hatred this raw, this ancient.
Slowly, painfully, Yunlan turned his head back to face the silver mask. His eyes were watering, not from pain, but from the sheer physical shock of the strike.
“Is that how you negotiate, then?” Yunlan rasped, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to keep it steady. “With violence instead of words? You talk about Haixing being murderers, but here you are, proving they are right to hate you.”
The Envoy’s hand, still half-raised, twitched. The dark energy around him flared, the shadows on the floor coiling like snakes. “You know nothing of what we are,” The envoyi hissed. “You come here with your shiny badge and your ‘cooperation,’ expecting me to bow because a piece of paper says so.”
Yunlan took a step forward, ignoring the way his heart hammered against his ribs. He was terrified, but his stubbornness—the one thing that had always gotten him into trouble—refused to let him back down.
“I’m not asking you to bow,” Yunlan said, blood slowly trickling from the corner of his mouth. “I’m asking you to be better than the people who hunted you. If you want this war to end, someone has to be the first one to stop swinging. I’m standing here, unarmed, offering a hand. And you hit me for it.”
He wiped the blood from his lip with the back of his hand and held that hand out again, palm up. It was a gesture of insane bravery.
“Hit me again if it makes you feel powerful,” Yunlan challenged, his voice low and steady. “But when you’re done, the treaty is still on the table. And I’m still the only one in Haixing willing to fight for your people as much as my own.”
The Envoy stared at the outstretched, hand, then shifted his gaze to Yunlan’s eyes. A cold, volatile fury emanated from him, the air around them vibrating with the sheer force of his suppressed rage. He didn’t look like a man considering an offer; he looked insulted by a Yunlan’s audacity.
For a heartbeat, the silence was absolute. Then, the Envoy’s eyes flashed with a dark, predatory light behind the silver mask.
He didn’t take the hand. Instead, his right arm blurred in a motion so swift it was barely visible.
Crack.
The second strike was even more precise, catching Yunlan squarely on his other cheek. The pain was immediate and far more intense than the first, a white-hot explosion that seemed to rattle his very skull. The force sent a jarring shock through his jaw, and the world tilted violently. Yunlan’s knees buckled, and he collapsed to the concrete floor, his vision swimming. His face was a map of throbbing, agonizing heat, and for a moment, the only thing he could hear was the frantic, uneven thud of his own heart.
Through the stinging haze of pain, Yunlan forced his eyes to stay open, tracking the dark, imposing silhouette of the Emperor. He saw the sheer, unbridled fury radiating from the man—a hatred so thick it felt like a physical wall. He knew, with a desperate, gut-wrenching certainty, that if he let the Emperor walk away now, if he retreated to nurse his wounds, the door to peace would be slammed shut forever.
Despite the throbbing in his skull, despite the copper taste of blood filling his mouth, Yunlan reached out his hand once more. His fingers trembled, but his gaze remained fixed on the silver mask.
“I am not your enemy,” Yunlan rasped, his voice cracking but firm. “I want a peaceful cooperation. For the people of Haixing… and for the people of Dixing. We can’t keep living like this.”
The Envoy let out a harsh, mocking sound—a laugh that held no mirth. He looked down at Yunlan with utter contempt and spat on the concrete at Yunlan’s feet.
“A peaceful cooperation?” the Envoy hissed, his voice dripping with vitriol. “There will never be peace between the hunters and the hunted. You are a fool to think your words can erase centuries of blood.” He leaned down, his mask glinting dangerously. “Tell me, Chief Zhao, since you are so eager to be a martyr… are you going to offer me your cheek a third time? Or has the reality finally sunk in?”
Yunlan took a long, shaky breath. He felt the fire in his face, the dizzying spin of his senses. He closed his eyes for a single heartbeat, gathering every shred of his willpower, and then opened them. Staring directly into the dark slits of the mask with a look of terrifyingly calm resolve.
“Yes,” Yunlan said, his voice quiet and steady.
The Envoy didn’t hesitate. He didn’t even pause to consider the weight of the moment. His hand blurred through the air again, striking Yunlan with a cold, brutal efficiency that sent a fresh wave of agony through his already battered face.
The blow was savage, the force of it spinning Yunlan away like a broken doll. He stumbled blindly, his boots scuffing against the grit-covered concrete as he fought a desperate battle with gravity. His head was a roar of white noise and fire, and it took every ounce of his remaining strength just to keep from collapsing.
It was a long, agonizing minute before he could find his balance and force himself to turn back.
The Envoy stood there, unmoving. Beneath the cold edge of the silver mask, his lips were twisted into a mocking, cruel smile. He looked like a predator watching a wounded animal refuse to die, finding a dark amusement in the sheer futility of the struggle.
Yunlan swallowed, a thick, metallic taste filled his throat. His face was a mask of agony—his skin swollen, his jaw aching with a bone-deep throb. Each breath hurt. Yet, he forced his shoulders back. He forced his eyes to lock onto that silver mask one more time.
“I… I want peace,” he rasped, his voice a jagged, hoarse whisper that barely carried through the cold air. “I want a peaceful cooperation. I want what is best for Dixing… and for Haixing. If you still don’t believe me… if you think I’m lying…”
He took a shallow, shuddering breath and tilted his head slightly, offering the bruised skin of his face to the dark Envoy once more.
“…then strike me again.”
The Envoy’s expression didn’t soften. The mockery in his eyes didn’t fade. Without a word of pity or a moment of hesitation, his hand flashed through the air again.
Crack.
The sound was even louder this time, a brutal, rejection to Yunlan’s plea.
This time, Yunlan’s legs could no longer hold him. He collapsed forward, his knees slamming into the unforgiving, gritty asphalt. The impact sent a fresh, jagged shockwave of pain radiating through his knees, adding to the agony already screaming in his skull.
For a long moment, he simply stayed there, hunched over, his breath coming in ragged, wet gasps as blood dripped steadily from his chin onto the dark ground.
The Envoy stood over him, his posture relaxed, almost bored. He didn’t move to help, nor did he retreat. He simply watched the Yunlan struggle.
With great effort, that made his muscles seize and his vision blur, Yunlan forced himself to move. He dug his trembling fingers into the rough ground, pushing upward,.Bit by bit, inch by inch, he fought his way back to his feet. Finally, he stood swaying, his gasping breath the only sound in the silence of the warehouse.
He turned his battered, swollen face back to the Envoy.
The Envoy tilted his head, the silver mask catching a sliver of cold moonlight. A low, mocking chuckle vibrated in his chest. “Do you want another?”
Yunlan swallowed hard, the movement sending a spark of fire through his jaw. He didn’t look away. He didn’t blink.
“Yes,” Yunlan rasped, the word barely more than a breath of bloody air.
The Envoy’s hand moved with the same terrifying, effortless speed.
Crack.
The blow landed brutal and mercyless.
Yunlan could no longer remain standing. His legs gave way completely, and he hit the ground with a dull thud. Agony raced through his entire being, a rhythmic, pulsing fire. The world began to shift in and out of focus—the cold warehouse floor, the black hem of the Envoy’s robes, and the moonlight all blending into a dizzying blur.
Yet, even as he slumped against the asphalt, he forced his neck to muscles to work. He lifted his head, his chin trembling, and looked up at the towering figure of the Sovereign.
“You can… hit me again,” Yunlan whispered, the words slurring through his swollen lips. “Go on.”
The Envoy’s eyes narrowed behind the mask. He raised his hand once more, the dark leather of his glove creaking in the silence. He stepped toward the kneeling man, his movement predatory and swift.
Yunlan flinched violently at the approach, his entire body jerking in a reflexive spasm of terror. He pressed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the impact, his breath coming in shallow, terrified hitches. But he did not pull away. He did not crawl back. He stayed exactly where he was, offering his broken face to the next blow.
And for the first time, the Envoy hesitated.
He looked down at the man before him—a man who no longer had the strength to hold himself upright, whose face was a map of bruises and blood, and whose gaze, was unfocused and hazy.
Slowly, painfully, Yunlan forced his eyes open. His vision was a blurred mess, the silver mask of the Envoy appearing as a shimmering, ghostly shape in the dark. He looked up at the silhouette of his tormentor, his voice nothing more than a jagged rasp of air.
“Go on,” Yunlan breathed. “You can hit me. again.”
The Envoy’s hand remained suspended in the air, a dark silhouette against the moonlight.
He stared at the broken man on the ground. Yunlan was a mess, trembling and hurting. The fact that Yunlan was accepting the pain, offering his own suffering to reach the man behind the mask…
The Sovereign’s breathing shifted, became sharp and uneven. He looked at the blood on the uneven floor, then back at Yunlan’s hazy, determined eyes.
Slowly, the Envoy lowered his arm. The dark energy that had been coiling like a storm around him began to dissipate.
“Why?” the Envoy whispered. It wasn’t the voice of a king anymore; it was a low, jagged sound of pure confusion. ”
He took a stumbling step back.
“I have struck you until you can no longer stand,” the envoy said, his voice trembling with confusion. “I have offered you nothing but hatred. And yet, you are not giving up!”
Yunlan tried to focus his eyes on the mask.
“Because…” Yunlan rasped, his voice barely audible. “I want peace. And if you need my suffering, to belive me, I will suffer for you.”
The Envoy stood as if turned to stone. The silence in the warehouse was no longer the heavy, threatening weight of an enemy, but something much more profound—a silence born of absolute, devastating realization.
He looked down at his own hand, then back at Yunlan, who lay broken on the ground. For centuries, Shen Wei had known only two types of people: those who feared him and those who hated him. He had never met someone who would willingly take his hatred and offer their own agony as proof of sincerity.
“You are suffering… for me?” Shen Wei whispered, the words sounding alien in his own mouth.
He took another step back, his movements no longer regal or sure. He looked at Yunlan’s face—the face he had systematically destroyed—and for the first time, he didn’t see an enemy or a liar. He saw a man, not trying to hurt others, but asking Shen Wei to hurt him – in a hopeless attempt to reach his enemy
Yunlan tried to nod, but the movement was too much, and he slumped further against the cold asphalt, his eyes fluttering as he fought to stay conscious.
A heavy, suffocating silence filled the warehouse, but the air no longer felt full of hate. It felt thick with the weight of Shen Wei’s disbelief. He watched as Yunlan’s head lolled to the side, the man’s strength finally spent. The defiant spirit was still there, but the body was failing.
“I did not want this,” Shen Wei whispered, his voice cracking. “I did not want your blood.”
But even as he spoke the words, he knew he was lying to himself. He had demanded it with every strike. He had expected Yunlan to break, to beg, or to strike back with the same hatred. Instead, Yunlan had offerd his own agony in a desperate attempt to overcome Shen Wei´s hatred.
Shen Wei reached out, his hand trembling. For the first time, he didn’t intend to strike. He wanted to touch the bruised skin, but he stopped inches away, his fingers curling into a tight fist. He was the one who had caused this.
“You are a fool, Zhao Yunlan,” Shen Wei rasped, his heart hammering against his ribs. “A desperate fool.”
With the last remains of his strength, Yunlan forced his eyes open. He looked up at the shadow looming over him, and with a voice that was barely more than a ghostly whisper, he spoke.
“Only… if it was in vain.”
As the final word left his lips, his head fell back. His eyes drifted shut, and he lost consciousness, his body going limp against the hard ground.
The Envoy reacted without thinking. He dropped to his knees beside Yunlan, his gloved fingers pressed against the side of Yunlan’s neck, searching desperately. He felt the pulse—it was thrumming far too fast. A frantic rhythm against his fingertips, but it was there.
Then, the Envoy froze.
The realization of what he was doing hit him like a physical blow. He stared at his own hand resting against the human’s skin and recoiled, pulling his hand back as if burned. He sank back onto his heels, but he didn’t stand up. He couldn’t move. His gaze was locked onto Yunlan’s face, tracing the terrible swelling and the dark, angry bruises he had caused. A cold dread settled in his stomach. He knew, so many strikes to the head were not just painful—they were dangerous. He might have caused the Chief permanent, irreversible damage.
Slowly, with a hesitation that made his hand tremble, he reached out again. He laid his palm flat against Yunlan’s chest, right over the too fast beat of his heart. He closed his eyes and allowed a tiny, cautious spark of healing energy to flow from his palm into the human.
He gasped in surprise.
Yunlan’s body didn’t just accept the energy; it drank it in like a desert absorbing rain. Their energies surged together with an effortless, perfect resonance. They were incredibly, impossibly compatible.
Deepening the connection, the Envoy began to channel more and more of his power into Yunlan’s chest. Yunlan’s body hungrily pulled every drop of power the Envoy offered. Slowly, the horrific swelling began to recede. The deep purple bruises faded into faint shadows, and the jagged cuts on his lips sealed themselves shut.
The Envoy felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. The healing was draining him far faster than he had expected— Yunlan’s internal injuries had been much more severe than they appeared on the surface. But the Envoy did not stop. He poured his own life force into the man who had been willing to suffer for him. Until every trace of the violence was gone.
Yunlan lay there, his breathing now deep and peaceful, his face as flawless and calm as if the night’s brutality had never happened.
When Yunlan’s eyes fluttered open, the first thing he saw was the silver mask of the Envoy, looming mere inches away. Instinct surged through him before logic could take hold; his body remembered the brutal strikes, and he flinched violently, scrambling backward against the cold asphalt.
The Envoy, caught off guard by the sudden movement, jerked back as well. He quickly stood up, his obsidian robes swirling around him as he tried to reclaim his usual cold, untouchable dignity.
It was only then that Yunlan realized something was wrong. Or rather, something was incredibly right. The white-hot fire that had been consuming his face was gone. The rhythmic throb in his skull had vanished. He felt light, his senses sharp and clear.
Slowly, with a look of pure confusion, Yunlan lifted a trembling hand. He touched his lips—they were smooth, the copper taste of blood replaced by the faint scent of sandalwood. He pressed his fingers against his cheeks, where the bone-deep agony had been just moments ago. There was nothing. No swelling, no bruises, no pain.
“You…” Yunlan whispered, his voice cracking with disbelief. He looked up at the dark figure, his eyes wide. “You healed me?”
The Envoy let out a long, weary sigh. The sound was stripped of all its previous malice, replaced by a profound, soul-deep exhaustion. He looked down at his gloved hands, then turned his gaze toward the shadows of the warehouse, unable to meet Yunlan’s eyes.
“Perhaps,” the Envoy said, his voice barely a murmur, “you are not the only fool in this room.”
Yunlan stared at him, his heart skipping a beat. The words hung in the air between them, heavy with a meaning that changed everything. It sounded almost as if the Emperor was admitting defeat —not a defeat of strength, but a surrender of his hatred.
“Are you..” Yunlan voice was small and fragile. “Are you willing to try? Do you believe me now?”
The Envoy remained silent for what felt like an eternity. He looked cold and unmoved, but the slight tremor in his shoulders betrayed the exhaustion and the internal struggle he was fighting.
“I have known many Chiefs of the SID,” the Envoy finally said, his voice low and jagged. “Through the long ages, I tried, again and again, to forge a peace with Haixing. I reached out until my hands were weary, but every single one of them spat in my face. Every promise was a trap; every treaty was a lie designed to keep my people in the dark.”
He let out a sharp, bitter breath. “Over the centuries, I became hollow. I became bitter. I stopped believing that peace was even a possibility. I was utterly convinced that the people of Haixing would always look down upon Dixing with nothing but contempt and hatred. It was a truth, I had seen over and over again.”
The Envoy’s shoulders tensed. “And then you came. You stood there with your badge and your talk of cooperation, and I could only see mockery in your eyes. I didn’t see a potential ally; I saw every ruthless enemy I had ever faced standing in your place. And so, I struck you.”
He paused, his voice dropping to a whisper of raw honesty. “And it felt good. With every blow, I felt like I was finally striking back at all those Chiefs who had hunted my people and turned their backs on peace. I was punishing them through you.”
He stood still for a moment, the moonlight catching the silver of his mask. “But in my hatred, I was blind. I didn’t see what was right in front of my eyes. I didn’t see that for the first time in countless generations, there was a Chief who looked at Dixing without malice. A man who truly meant what he said about cooperation and peace.”
Slowly, the Envoy turned around. He looked directly into Yunlan’s eyes, his own gaze filled with a vulnerability that seemed to crack the very foundation of his power.
“For that, I apologize,” he said, the words steady and solemn. “I apologize that I did not see you. Only the ghosts of the men who came before you. I apologize that I saw only mockery where there was sincerity. And I apologize… for every strike I laid upon you.”
He took a shallow breath, his posture softening as the last of his defensive walls crumbled.
“If you still want peace… if you still want to work together after everything I have done… then I agree. The decree shall be fulfilled.”
Yunlan stared at the Envoy in stunned silence, his wide eyes searching the dark slits of the silver mask. The moment stretched out like an eternity, the air thick with things still unsaid.
As the silence grew, the Envoy felt his heart contract with a sharp, agonizing twist. He watched the stillness of the man before him and felt a cold certainty settle in his chest: It is too late. He had realized the truth far too late. He had inflicted too much pain, shattered too much trust, and spilled too much of this man’s blood. Yunlan could never, and should never, forgive him for the brutality of this night.
But then, something happened that made the breath hitch in Shen Wei’s chest.
A smile began to spread across Yunlan’s face. It wasn’t a bitter or a forced expression; it was a free, open, and genuine smile. He looked at the Sovereign not as a monster or a tormentor, but as the partner he had been searching for all along. He offered his smile, as if Shen Wei hadn’t just spent the last hour treating him like his worst enemy.
Yunlan pushed himself off the ground. His legs were still a bit shaky, but his spirit was unbroken. He stepped into the Envoy’s personal space—and once more, he held out his hand.
The Envoy stared down at the palm offered to him. It was an incredible act of courage, a leap of faith. This was the hand of a man who had been struck down and had chosen to rise and forgive.
With a hand that trembled slightly, the Sovereign of Dixing slowly reached out. His gloved fingers strong, yet gentle as he closed them around Yunlan’s hand.
Six Months Later
The balcony of the SID headquarters overlooked a city that felt different than it had half a year ago. There was a lightness in the air, a sense of security that had been absent for generations. Inside, a joint task force—officers from Haixing and guards from Dixing—worked side-by-side.
Zhao Yunlan leaned against the railing, sucking on a lollipop and squinted at the sunset. He didn’t look like a man who had once been broken on a warehouse floor. Though the way he carried himself held a new kind of gravity.
A swirl of black mist coalesced beside him. Shen Wei stepped out of the shadows, no longer draped in the intimidating obsidian robes of the Sovereign, but wearing the elegant, understated suit of a diplomat. He didn’t say a word, but the silence between them was comfortable, a bridge built on a foundation of absolute trust.
“The Council signed the final amendment,” Yunlan said, his voice overjoyed. “Equal rights for Dixingians. No more hunting.”
Shen Wei´s breath stopped. He had not believed it possible, but as he had discovered—Yunlan was unstoppable when he truly wanted something.
He turned to look at Yunlan, his eyes—uncovered now, without the silver mask—softening with a warmth that few had ever been permitted to see.
Yunlan turned away from the sunset, his jubilant expression softening as he met Shen Wei’s gaze. He reached out, closing the small distance between them, and as their hands joined, a strange, warm hum of energy pulsed between them—a silent echo of the perfect compatibility Shen Wey had discovered during the healing. It was a physical reminder of the night that had changed everything, a resonance that felt like coming home.
“You did it, Yunlan,” Shen Wei whispered reverent in the quiet evening air. “You gave my people a safe place in the sun.”
Yunlan let out a short, breathy laugh and stepped closer, leaning his shoulder against Shen Wei’s. “We did it. Together.”