CHAPTER 2- Underworld eyes

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.

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