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A man can see without his eyes, but he cannot see without his heart.
Hua Manlou learned this truth after his sense of sight was taken away from him at a young age. But he's for...
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Carefully, Lu Xiaofeng moved along the edge of the building, its ancient stone walls cloaked in the shadows of the night. This part of the grounds was reserved for certain guests Hua Ruling had invited—those he trusted less, kept further from the heart of the family compound where the main members and their servants resided.
Lu Xiaofeng's mission, however, was singular and simple: to return something that didn't belong to him.
Leaning against a pillar, he paused, checking over his shoulder, ensuring no one was watching or had followed him. Satisfied, he reached into his sleeve and pulled out a thin, silver bracelet, the light from the moon catching its delicate sheen. Holding it up to the sky, he inspected it for a brief moment before tucking it carefully into his palm.
Earlier, when he'd handed the woman her scarf back, he had slipped his fingers around her wrist, undoing the clasp of this very bracelet. It was a simple piece—nothing extravagant—but it had a certain grace to it, a twine of silver intertwined with three tiny golden charms and a small, fishing-hook-shaped charm hanging from it. She would prefer it back, he was sure.
After another cautious glance in both directions, he stepped towards the room he had been heading for. The door clicked quietly as he entered, closing it swiftly behind him. The room was pitch black—no candle had been lit, not a single flicker of light. Yet the stillness of the space was almost suffocating, the absence of sound eerie in the silence. No soft breathing. No signs of sleep from the bed.
His steps were slow, measured, as he moved deeper into the room. Then, from the darkness ahead, a flash of movement—bright silver.
A weapon?
His instincts snapped into action, and before the figure could strike, he countered, deflecting the attack with fluid ease, narrowly avoiding the first slash.
The assailant—nimble, dangerous—continued their relentless assault, striking with practiced speed and precision. He parried each kick and slash with smooth efficiency, never losing his composure, never allowing his opponent to gain ground.
Then, in a split second, he saw his opening. With a swift motion, he seized their arm and shoulder, locking them in place for just long enough to see the face beneath the mask—a woman.
She had two knives—one in each hand—and a fierce determination in her eyes. She struggled against his hold, wriggling to free her wrist, then threw one of her knives at him with deadly aim.
Lu Xiaofeng moved instinctively, dodging the flying blade, which lodged itself with a resounding thud into the doorframe behind him. He pressed forward, pinning her shoulder against the wooden table, but she wasn't about to let him win so easily. With swift, powerful kicks aimed at his shoulders, she forced him to release his grip. She rolled off the table, evading further capture.
As she backed into the far corner of the room, Lu Xiaofeng's fingers brushed through her hair, pulling the scarf from her face with a decisive motion.
Taking a deliberate breath, Lu Xiaofeng reached into his robes and pulled out a small, lit lighter. With a flick, he ignited it and used the flame to light the candle in the center of the room.
