The night wind drifted through the inn's window, slow and steady—like the breath of some unseen creature crouching in the dark.
Yan Zhi sat cross-legged on the modest bed, trying to steady his breathing. Yet something within him refused to align.
With every breath, there was… another pulse.
Thud… thud… thud…
It wasn't his heartbeat.
It wasn't the flow of his blood.
The rhythm was too heavy, too deliberate—like the slow knock of something from beyond the veil.
His eyes opened. The room lay silent.
Only the dim glow of the oil lamp swayed gently, spilling shadows along the wooden walls.
And in that swaying light… something felt wrong.
His shadow—
It moved half a second too late.
Yan Zhi's gaze sharpened.
He tested it—moving his hand slowly, then abruptly. The shadow lagged each time, as though waiting for orders… from something else.
He closed his eyes, murmuring to himself, "It's just an illusion."
But illusions do not make a sound.
And his hunter's ears—trained to catch the faintest ripple in the dark—picked it up clearly:
A whisper, thin as skin being torn from within.
—sshh—
He turned toward the window, but the sound wasn't coming from outside.
It was coming… from beneath his own skin.
Slowly, Yan Zhi rose. His bare feet touched the cool wooden floor as he approached the small table in the corner.
His hand drifted to his forearm—and there, he felt it.
The pulse. The vibration.
Not from blood, but from something alive.
Suddenly, two knocks rapped at his door. Tok… tok…
Yan Zhi froze.
He hadn't expected anyone tonight.
A girl's voice floated through the wood—soft, yet unnervingly sharp.
"Excuse me… is there anything you need, sir?"
He recognized it. Lin'er—the inn girl.
But he had never spoken to her, much less at this hour.
He didn't answer.
His gaze shifted to his shadow again—and this time, it wasn't standing still.
It turned toward the door… before he did.
Thud… thud… thud…
The pulse in his arm quickened.
"Is there anything you need?" the girl asked again, closer now… as though her lips were brushing the thin wood.
Yan Zhi reached for the handle. His fingertips hovered—
And through the sliver of the door, he saw them.
Eyes.
A pair that could not belong to anything human—wide open, lidless, pupils dilated into endless black.
His breath caught.
As he stepped back, the knocking stopped.
But the whisper beneath his skin only grew louder, spiraling into his ears like a prayer spoken backward.
—we… see you—
Yan Zhi shut his eyes.
Whatever this was, he knew one thing—
It had just noticed him.
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