Chapter 11: The Immortal Under Moonlight

                              

Night deepened over the capital, and the alley lay silent except for the soft leap of a stray cat, its faint meow rippling through the cool spring air.

Hé Yan slipped through the winding alleys like a shadow, clutching the weight of her winnings close. An innocent man carrying treasure invited disaster—she knew that better than anyone. With so much silver won at Letong House, resentment was inevitable. If anyone followed her home and discovered the He family’s residence, the consequences would be dire.

But fate had a cruel sense of timing.

She stopped.

The alley spilled onto a narrow street lined with closed taverns and shops. Darkness pressed against the wooden doors; not a soul stirred. Only moonlight brushed pale silver across the stone path.

Hé Yan turned back, crouched, picked up several stones, then spun and flicked them sharply.

They sliced through the air like arrows. Several dull thuds sounded as silhouettes collapsed from the shadows.

“Stop following me,” Hé Yan warned. “You won’t catch me.”

“How about with us added?”

A voice floated out from the street entrance. More men appeared, led by a bare-chested brute whose hands looked capable of breaking necks with ease.

“Kid,” the man sneered, “you sure stirred up trouble. No one taught you to keep your head down your first time at a gambling house?”

Hé Yan’s grip tightened around the silver. “Since it was my first time, no one taught me anything,” she said calmly. But inwardly she agreed—soldiers had long warned her that gambling houses knew no honor.

“Still talking back?” the brute snarled. “You’re seeking your own death. I’ll twist off your arms and make you kneel and call me grandfather!”

They closed in from both ends of the alley. She had no weapon, nowhere to flee.

“Well then,” she murmured, raising her fists, “let’s see what you’ve got.”

“Arrogant brat!” The brute’s underlings charged, and he lunged behind them, bringing down a heavy chop meant to break her spine.

But under the moonlight, the youth slipped aside, fluid as water. Before he could react, pain exploded across his back. He roared, turning—only to find her already vaulting onto the wall.

“Catch him!”

Someone grabbed at her robe; fabric tore with a sharp rip.

“Oh dear,” she said with real regret. “Ruined.”

“Still thinking about clothes?” the brute bellowed. “I’ll kill you!”

He lunged. The alley shook with his weight, but the youth danced through the chaos like a fox among hounds. One by one, the servants crashed to the ground. Her strikes were few but precise—always at the right place, the right moment.

Finally, she dodged another heavy punch, flipped clean over him, and kicked—

But her angle slipped.

The brute shrieked.

“Ah—sorry,” she said, wincing. “Didn’t mean that.”

Her body and new strength weren’t perfectly aligned yet. The brute collapsed, clutching his most vital area, groaning miserably.

Hé Yan began gathering the scattered silver. After a night of hard work and a full battle, she would let none of this fall into someone else’s pockets.

Moonlight glinted off silver and jewels across the ground. The youth crouched amid it, looking like a character out of a strange tale—a scholar stepping into an immortal’s treasury.

The image amused her. She chuckled softly.

Once everything was retrieved, she turned to leave—

“Young brother, you dropped some silver.”

She paused.

At the door of a dark, closed tavern stood a young man in an indigo wide-sleeved robe, the fabric billowing gracefully. His jade coronet bound his hair, and the moonlight softened his features into something almost unreal—gentle, clean, elegant. Like an immortal from a distant painting.

He stepped forward, holding a piece of silver she must have lost during the fight.

She had noticed someone standing there earlier, but since he hadn’t intervened, she assumed him a harmless passerby. She hadn’t expected… this.

She had lived among men most of her life; brutes like tonight’s were common. Xu Zhiheng had once been the most refined man in her world, but compared to this figure, even he seemed dimmed.

For a moment she wondered: had she stepped into a story? Was this the immortal granting guidance to a wandering youth?

“Young brother?” he called gently, bringing her back.

She accepted the silver, offering a faint smile. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied, smiling with eyes like quiet water.

Hé Yan sprang away over the wall, vanishing into the night like a wild cat—fast, light, untouchable.

Moments later, more figures approached the blue-robed young man. One leaned close and whispered, “Fourth Young Master, that youth—”

“Just a passerby,” the immortal-like man said with an amused smile. “No need to mind him. Quite clever.”

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