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.
---
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