CHAPTER 7: THE DANCE OF SHADOWS

1. BEFORE THE STORM

Chang Le never truly slept at night. Beneath the dazzling neon lights and bustling streets, the underworld never stopped moving—like a colossal machine beyond anyone's complete control.

Xuan Xingli sat quietly by the window of Qing Yun Pavilion, her ruby-red eyes reflecting the gentle glow of an oil lamp. She idly swirled her wine cup, letting the fiery taste of Tian Mu Spring (天目春) seep into her lips.

"It seems tonight won't be peaceful," Mo Yan remarked from across the table, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the wooden surface, following the beat of an old tune.

"If the storm comes, let it come," Xuan Xingli replied with a faint smile, her gaze shifting toward the street below. Hidden among the crowd, shadows lurked—patient hunters waiting for their moment.

2. THE BEGINNING OF THE DANCE

In a narrow alley behind Qing Yun Pavilion, a group of men dressed in black gathered. They didn't need to exchange words—each movement followed a silent order, proof of rigorous training. The leader held a small slip of paper, his eyes scanning the line of text:

"Target: Xuan Xingli. Execute tonight."

A low whistle cut through the night. The group swiftly dispersed, taking up positions at the inn's entrances.

Inside, Mo Yan had already sensed the shift in the air. The melody from her guzheng suddenly changed tempo—from graceful and flowing to deep and foreboding, like a silent omen of the battle to come.

Xuan Xingli set down her cup, a smirk playing at her lips. "They arrived faster than I expected."

Mo Yan chuckled softly. "I can handle a few, but if there are too many..."

"No need. I've been waiting for this."

3. CLASH UNDER THE LIGHTS

The doors of Qing Yun Pavilion burst open. Five figures rushed in, their weapons gleaming under the dim lantern glow. The other patrons flinched but quickly retreated to the sides, knowing better than to meddle in affairs beyond them.

One of the attackers lunged straight at Xuan Xingli, his blade slicing through the air. Yet, before it could reach her, a black ribbon flashed—wrapping around his wrist and jerking it backward.

Crack! The sound of shattering bones filled the silence. The man barely had time to scream before a sharp kick to his chest sent him crashing into the wooden wall.

The rest did not hesitate. Swords and daggers reflected the flickering candlelight as they struck. But every attack was blocked—deflected with ease. The black ribbon in Xuan Xingli's hand moved like a living entity, coiling around weapons, redirecting attacks, and striking back with uncanny precision.

Beside her, Mo Yan had drawn a short blade from beneath the table. Her movements were not flashy, but every slash was accurate and lethal. The scent of fresh blood soon permeated the air.

Realizing the disadvantage, one assassin abruptly retreated, pulling out a small flute. A sharp, eerie note cut through the night—it was a signal for reinforcements.

"This is bad. We need to leave," Mo Yan warned.

"No need. I want to see what else they have prepared," Xuan Xingli murmured.

4. SHADOWS IN THE NIGHT

More figures appeared on the rooftops, their blades glinting under the moonlight. These were no mere thugs—they were trained assassins.

A deep voice emerged from the shadows. "You may have defeated a few, but you can't take on an entire unit. Xuan Xingli, surrender peacefully."

Xuan Xingli chuckled. "Who said I was alone?"

At that moment, a sudden whoosh echoed from above. A volley of darts rained down, striking the assassins on the rooftops. A white-cloaked figure landed gracefully in the courtyard, their movements fluid like a phantom.

Mo Yan exhaled softly. "Finally."

The newcomer was none other than Luo Chenxi. Her deep violet eyes swept across the scene, lips curling into a slight smirk. "Looks like I arrived just in time."

The assassins hesitated. They knew of Luo Chenxi—a name none wished to cross.

"Let's go," Xuan Xingli whispered before vanishing into the night alongside Luo Chenxi.

The chaos of Chang Le continued, but hidden in the mist, another pair of eyes watched. A hand clenched within the folds of a dark robe, as though contemplating the next move in this dangerous game.

The night was far from over—this was merely the prelude.