The rain had been falling since dusk, slicking the streets of Huajing into sheets of glass. Inside the narrow coffee shop, the air smelled of burnt sugar and espresso steam. Li Wei balanced three cups on a tray, his sneakers squeaking with every step. The manager’s voice had just warned him, “Don’t mess up Table 7—it’s the important client.”

He didn’t notice the three men in black suits until he was already turning the corner. One glance—shaved heads, coiled energy—and his palms went slick. At their table sat a man who didn’t quite belong to the ordinary world: posture straight, eyes unreadable, a faint scar tracing his jaw like an unfinished thought. Zhou Yichen.

Li Wei’s breath snagged. For a second, the café noise dimmed. Then his heel slipped on the wet tile.

Hot coffee arced through the air and splashed down the sleeve of the most dangerous man in Huajing.

The crash of the tray seemed louder than thunder. Li Wei froze, heart pounding in his throat. “I’m—oh no— I’m so sorry!” He grabbed napkins, fumbling. “I didn’t see the— please don’t— I’ll pay for the—”

“Stop,” the man said quietly. His voice wasn’t raised, but it carried the kind of authority that silences rooms.

Li Wei looked up. The man’s eyes were pale gray, the color of cold smoke.

“It’s fine,” Zhou Yichen said, dabbing once at the sleeve. “You can’t afford it anyway.”

The words hit like a slap, and Li Wei’s embarrassment ignited into defiance before he could stop it. “You don’t know what I can afford.”

Something almost like amusement flickered through those eyes. One corner of Yichen’s mouth lifted. “Apparently not.”

The three men behind him exchanged looks. One, tall with a jagged scar—Han Shen—chuckled under his breath. The second, Rui Lang, grinned and whispered, “Boss likes this one.” The third, a lean figure with silver glasses—Mo Jin—didn’t look up from his phone but murmured, “He’s still alive, so yes, apparently.”

Li Wei tried again, pressing napkins against the fabric until their fingers brushed. The contact was accidental, a spark where skin met silk, but it made him still. Yichen didn’t move either; his gaze held Li Wei’s for a heartbeat too long.

“Careful,” Yichen said, tone softer now. “You’ll burn yourself.”

“I—it’s just coffee,” Li Wei stammered.

“Not the coffee.”

He didn’t explain. The words lingered between them like the aftertaste of something bittersweet.

Han Shen stood, collecting the untouched cups. “We’ll go, Boss.” His glance at Li Wei was half-warning, half-pity. Rui Lang tossed a napkin onto the counter as they left. Only Mo Jin gave a small nod in Li Wei’s direction— acknowledgement, or maybe curiosity.

The door closed behind them, leaving Li Wei with the smell of roasted beans and adrenaline. He sank onto a stool, exhaling. Around him, the café resumed its hum, but the space they’d occupied felt heavier, charged.

Outside, the rain kept falling.

In the back seat of the waiting car, Han Shen muttered, “That kid’s got nerves.”

Rui Lang laughed. “Or none at all.”

Mo Jin finally looked up. “You’re smiling, Boss.”

Yichen adjusted his cuff. “He smelled like rain.”

They drove off into the night.

Li Wei locked the café alone after closing, stepping into the damp air. The streets gleamed under neon, puddles catching flashes of red and gold from distant signs. He pulled his jacket tighter, wondering why his chest still felt tight. Somewhere behind the sound of rain and traffic, a heartbeat he didn’t recognize echoed once, faint and certain, like a promise waiting to unfold.

Morning in Huajing came filtered through gray light and the buzz of mopeds. The city felt like it had never really slept; it only dimmed. Li Wei dragged himself across the square toward the university gates, coffee still in his bloodstream from the late shift. He told himself he’d forget the whole thing — the man, the spill, the impossible stillness of those gray eyes.

By the time he reached the lecture hall, half the class was already bent over their screens. Chen Luo waved a pen at him from the back row. “Late again, clumsy saint! Did the espresso machine win this time?”

“Don’t ask.” Li Wei collapsed beside him, muttering, “I think I burned a mafia boss.”

Chen Luo laughed so loudly the professor paused. “Sure. Next you’ll tell me he offered you his empire.”

But the memory kept replaying: the heat of the coffee, Yichen’s hand closing over his, the way the words Not the coffee had sounded more like warning than anger.

Outside the window, a black car idled by the curb. Someone inside was watching the university gate.

That night the café felt emptier. The rain had stopped, leaving the streets washed clean but reflective like a mirror. Li Wei was sweeping when the bell above the door rang. He didn’t look up until he saw polished shoes stop in front of the counter.

Zhou Yichen.

He wasn’t alone — the same three men trailed behind him like shadows. The air shifted as people noticed the suits, the quiet. Yichen’s gaze found Li Wei and stayed there.

“Off work?”

Li Wei nodded too fast. “I— in ten minutes.”

“Good.” Yichen placed a folded paper on the counter — compensation for the spilled coffee, perhaps, though the number written there made Li Wei’s throat close. “You’re coming with us.”

“What? Why?”

Yichen’s expression didn’t change. “Because someone saw you talking to me last night. And in my world, that can get you killed.”

The world tilted. “Your world?”

“Get in the car, Li Wei.”

The ride through Huajing’s midnight districts felt like sinking underwater — neon blurring past, engines humming low. Han Shen drove, Rui Lang dozed with his feet on the dashboard, and Mo Jin tapped at a laptop that cast blue light across his face.

Li Wei sat rigid, clutching his bag. “So… what exactly is your world?”

Yichen’s voice came from beside him, calm and final. “The part of the city that doesn’t exist on maps.”

They stopped before a walled compound lit by discreet lanterns. Inside, corridors opened into an office lined with glass. The scent of ink and smoke lingered in the air.

Yichen set down his jacket and turned toward Li Wei. “You’ll stay here tonight. Safer until we find who’s asking about you.”

“I can’t just— I have classes—”

“Classes won’t matter if you’re dead.”

The bluntness made Li Wei’s pulse spike. He wanted to argue, to run, but there was something in Yichen’s eyes — exhaustion wrapped around command, a flicker of something lonely. Against his better judgment, he whispered, “Are you always like this? Ordering strangers around?”

“Only when I care whether they survive.”

The silence after that was heavier than the walls. Yichen looked away first, motioning to Han Shen. “Show him a room.”

As Li Wei followed, he caught Rui Lang’s grin and Mo Jin’s deadpan comment: “He talks back. Finally, someone who might give the Boss an aneurysm.”

Han Shen led him to a guest room overlooking the courtyard. The sheets were crisp, the city lights distant. Li Wei sat on the edge of the bed, heartbeat echoing through the quiet.

Through the half-open door, he heard Rui Lang whisper, amused, “You think he’ll run?”

Yichen’s answer came low, unreadable. “No. Not yet.”

Outside, Huajing shimmered like a promise waiting to break. Inside the compound, two very different worlds had begun to circle each other — one cautious, one cold, both already caught in something neither fully understood.

---

Night draped itself over Huajing like a silk curtain, heavy and still. The compound of the Black Dragon lay inside that darkness, a quiet labyrinth of polished floors and soft lamplight. Li Wei woke to the faint thud of doors closing and voices outside. He followed the sound into a corridor that smelled faintly of smoke and leather.

At the far end, he saw him — Zhou Yichen — the man from the café, only now he looked nothing like any man Li Wei had ever met. The long black coat fell from his shoulders like ink; his hair, slicked back, caught the light in precise lines. When he turned, the movement was slow, deliberate, the kind that made air itself hesitate.

He spoke to the three men waiting near the balcony. No one interrupted; even the city outside seemed to listen. Li Wei understood then, without needing an introduction, that this was not a client, not a businessman, but the man people meant when they whispered Black Dragon.

Yichen’s gaze found him. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Li Wei shook his head, swallowing the instinct to apologize for existing. “Too quiet.”

Han Shen, the scarred one, grinned. “Wait till the shooting starts. You’ll miss the quiet.”

Rui Lang laughed, easy and bright. “Boss, this is the kid? The café hero?”

Yichen’s tone carried no humor, but no cruelty either. “Li Wei. You’ll stay here until it’s safe. These three will make sure of it.”

“The Three Blades,” Rui Lang said with a flourish, as if announcing a circus act. “That’s Han Shen—muscle and menace. I’m Rui Lang—charisma and chaos. And the one pretending not to care is Mo Jin—our brain.”

Mo Jin looked up from a tablet, expression flat. “Our only brain.”

Han Shen threw an apple at him; he caught it without looking. Li Wei couldn’t help laughing, and suddenly the room felt less like a fortress and more like the world’s strangest dormitory.

Yichen watched the exchange from the balcony, a faint crease in his brow. It wasn’t annoyance; it was something else, something almost soft.

Han Shen clapped Li Wei on the shoulder hard enough to make him stumble. “You eat yet?”

“No.”

“Good. Breakfast’s at dawn. If you can cook, you might survive.”

“I can make instant noodles.”

“Then you’re already family,” Rui Lang said solemnly.

For a second, even Yichen’s mouth twitched.

---

Later, Li Wei found him outside by the koi pond, the water black beneath floating lanterns. Yichen stood alone, coat unbuttoned, cigarette burning between his fingers.

“You really are the leader of the Black Dragon?” Li Wei asked quietly.

“I am.” The words were simple, but they carried the kind of weight that could end a conversation.

Li Wei stepped closer anyway. “You don’t look like a monster.”

Yichen exhaled smoke, a pale ghost in the air. “Monsters rarely do.”

Something about the line stayed with Li Wei, sharp and sad.

“Then why help me?”

Yichen’s eyes met his. “Because you looked at me like I wasn’t one.”

They stood there, silence stretching between them until a door slammed somewhere behind them and Rui Lang’s voice echoed: “Boss! We’re out of noodles—again!”

The moment broke; Yichen sighed, half amused, half resigned. Li Wei bit back a laugh.

When Yichen passed him to go inside, their shoulders brushed. The contact was brief, but the warmth lingered.

Li Wei watched him disappear into the corridor and realized that the quiet wasn’t so frightening anymore.

---