The night in Jing'an was unusually heavy, cloaking the city in a suffocating darkness. The streets were deserted, save for the occasional rumble of a passing car, which quickly faded back into silence. In his small apartment, Li Tianyuan tossed and turned on the narrow bed, unable to find comfort. Since the confrontation at the altar, his mind had been haunted by Fuyuan's words:
"You are destined to be the key in this coming catastrophe."
He could not calm himself. The old manuscript lay open on the desk under the dim, yellow glow of a lamp. Its pages were brittle and yellowed, the ink faded, yet certain words leapt from the paper with alarming clarity: "Zijin Mountain," "Spirit Lock," "1927."
Compelled, Li reached out to touch the manuscript. The moment his fingers brushed the aged paper, a faint, ghostly glow flickered across the words, as if something alive stirred beneath the surface.
"This thing… is going to bring trouble, isn't it?" he muttered.
Before he could react further, a subtle sound reached his ears from outside the window. It wasn't the wind, nor the occasional rumble of a vehicle, but a soft, deliberate brushing, like the swish of fabric cutting through air.
Li's heart leapt. He raised his head slowly. The room's light flickered violently, momentarily plunging the space into a dim, eerie half-darkness. He froze, sensing a coldness creeping along his spine.
—thunk!
The window silently opened, and a black shadow darted inside with uncanny speed, silent as a phantom.
"Who—!" Li Tianyuan shouted, leaping backward.
Before the shadow could strike, a clear, cold female voice rang out:
"Step back."
In an instant, a white figure flashed into the room. A young woman in her early twenties, clad in tight black combat attire, her features sharp and cold, brandished a long sword that gleamed even in the low light. With fluid precision, she intercepted the shadow, driving it back.
"You are…" Li stammered, frozen in shock.
The woman's gaze swept over him briefly, expression unreadable. Then she barked at the shadow: "Moving here… are you suicidal?"
The black figure let out a guttural snarl and twisted violently, dissolving into a rolling black mist that surged toward them. Its presence was chillingly familiar—eerily similar to the dark fog he had witnessed at the altar, violent and oppressive.
The woman's sword flashed like lightning. In a few swift movements, she slashed through the mist, but it did not dissipate entirely. Instead, it slithered around the room like a venomous snake, crawling closer and closer to the manuscript on the desk.
Li finally understood—they were after the manuscript.
Her eyes narrowed. "Kid, put that away! It attracts them!"
Li fumbled, clutching the manuscript to his chest, heart pounding.
As the black mist recoiled for a moment, the sound of measured footsteps and low, authoritative commands echoed from downstairs:
"Lock the target zone!""Do not let the suspect escape!"
Li peeked through the window. Several black vehicles were stationed below, doors flung open. Men in black coats moved swiftly, equipped with strange metallic devices that didn't resemble standard law enforcement weapons—more like something from a clandestine organization.
The leader looked up at Li's window and murmured: "Target confirmed. Move in."
Moments later, shadows began ascending the stairwell.
The woman's brow furrowed. She turned to Li, voice low: "Listen, do not make a sound. Follow me."
Li's mind raced. "Who… who are you?!"
The woman's gaze was icy. "Remember my name—Bai Luo. As for who I am, knowing that now will do you no good."
Before he could respond, the door was violently kicked open. Several men in black stormed in, brandishing metal contraptions. Their leader's eyes glinted sharply as they scanned Li and Bai Luo. His voice was hard as iron:
"Hand over the manuscript! You have no idea what you are dealing with."
The room's atmosphere froze. The black mist writhed nearby, Bai Luo raised her sword, every muscle tense, while Li clutched the ancient manuscript, heart hammering.
He realized then—there was no going back.
Bai Luo moved like a shadow herself, standing between Li and the intruders. The mist coiled around her like a living thing, but she swung her sword with calm precision. The edges of her blade sliced through the fog with crackling energy, driving the darkness back from the manuscript.
Li could see the power of the manuscript reacting to him, faintly glowing, as though it recognized its rightful heir. He felt a pull in his chest, a strange resonance in his blood, echoing the words inscribed within the ancient pages.
The black-clad men advanced, deploying strange devices that hummed and sparked, their metallic surfaces reflecting the lamplight. Bai Luo moved with grace, deflecting their attacks, each strike precise and lethal, her eyes never leaving Li.
The mist thrashed violently, seeking any opening. Li held the manuscript tighter. "I… I have to protect it!" he thought, almost instinctively. The glowing symbols on the pages pulsed brighter, wrapping around him like a shield.
The leader growled, "Enough games!" and lifted one of the devices, sending a surge of energy toward Li. The manuscript flared, blinding golden light erupting across the room. The black mist shrieked in agony and recoiled, temporarily subdued.
Li's heart pounded in disbelief. "It… it's the manuscript protecting me!"
Bai Luo's eyes shone. "It recognizes you. You are tied to this power. Don't waste a single moment."
From the shadows, Li glimpsed more movement—another figure, lurking silently, as if waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He felt a chill. His life had irrevocably changed. The night was far from over, and forces beyond his understanding were closing in.
He tightened his grip on the manuscript, feeling its warmth pulse like a living heartbeat. Outside, the wind howled, carrying a warning in its restless current: the storm had only just begun.
Li Tianyuan knew, with stark certainty, that from this night onward, he could never return to the life he once knew. The city slept, oblivious to the war unfolding in its shadows. But he had been marked, and the dark visitors in the night would not relent.
The dark night was alive. And he was at its center.