Rain blurred the neon signs of Shencheng's midnight streets. Yellow taxis hissed past puddles. Steam curled from manhole covers like lazy ghosts.
Yan Luo skidded his scooter to a stop outside a shuttered cinema. The delivery app had given him the address—wrong street, wrong hour—but the tip was worth two nights of instant noodles.
He pushed open the heavy glass door. The air smelled like stale popcorn and wet concrete. Silence pressed against him.
A woman in a red dress lay on the marble floor. Her chest barely rose. A strange pulse of light leaked from her hand.
Her eyes flicked open. "Take it," she whispered, her voice thin and urgent. She shoved a small glowing talisman into his palm. "Borrow my soul… before they arrive."
Yan Luo's fingers stiffened. He had no idea what "borrow a soul" even meant—but the weight in his hand felt alive, like it had a heartbeat.
His phone buzzed. Delivery complete.
The door slammed behind him. Footsteps echoed through the empty cinema hall—fast, deliberate, unyielding.
The talisman pulsed in his palm. A whisper scratched at the edges of his mind: Borrow me… live… or die.
Yan Luo backed up, his heart hammering. The air seemed to thicken. Neon reflections in puddles warped into faces he didn't recognize.
A sudden jolt—a memory not his own flashed behind his eyes. Fear, anger, regret. He stumbled, and when he looked down, his hands weren't quite his own.
He wasn't Yan Luo anymore. Not entirely.
Footsteps multiplied. Shadows moved along the walls. The woman in red gasped one last time—and vanished, leaving only the faint scent of incense.
A sharp pain shot through his chest. He grabbed the talisman. His vision sharpened. The street outside suddenly gleamed with numbers floating above strangers' heads. Red, yellow, green—some fading, some glowing. Soul balances, he realized with a shiver.
Author Thought: Introduce the "soul balance" mechanic early—hook the fantasy element while keeping modern city life as the anchor.
"Okay," Yan Luo muttered, voice trembling. "I can do this… I think."
A calm voice cut through the chaos. "Careful, boy."
He spun around. An old man in a simple robe, standing beside a steaming teahouse cart that hadn't been there a moment ago. His eyes glimmered like moonlight on water.
"Master Su?" Yan Luo asked, suspicious.
"I can teach you," the monk said, his gaze sharp. "But everything has a price. Are you ready to pay yours?"
Yan Luo clenched his fists. Behind him, shadows lengthened. Somewhere, someone was watching.
And he realized: the night had only just begun.