A heavy cement flowerpot plummeted from the eaves, smashing toward Zhen Nuan’s head. She didn’t notice the danger at all, still captivated by the young people soaring through the extreme sports area.
Out of the corner of her eye, a dark blue shadow shot toward her.
She spun in surprise—only to collide with Yan Yan’s sudden, solid presence. Her vision vanished behind his broad shoulders, and one arm wrapped tightly around her waist.
Before she could even react, she was lifted into his arms, her feet dangling helplessly. Like a rag doll, she was carried several steps away.
The faint, masculine scent of his trench coat enveloped her. Zhen Nuan froze, stunned, and only then did her eyes trace over his shoulders—just in time to see the flowerpot crashing to the ground.
It shattered with a sharp, resonant sound. The clay fragmented, and chunks of cement flew, dislodging pieces of the corners around it.
The paper bag she had been holding slipped from her fingers in shock, scattering matches and candles across the ground.
Yan Yan quickly set her down, glancing up. A shadow darted away along the eaves, while a faint figure loomed on the opposite roof.
Brother Tan and Lao Bai didn’t pause to ask questions—they sprinted after the two fleeing figures.
Yan Yan calmly scanned the rooftops, eyes narrowing, then retracted his gaze. He looked unshaken, almost serene.
“Follow me,” he instructed.
Zhen Nuan’s face flushed white and red, and she nodded, silently keeping pace.
The distant noise of the parkour group floated faintly through the air, but here, Yan Yan was a ghost—silent, deliberate, every movement controlled, exuding an aura that disturbed nothing.
Zhen Nuan didn’t speak, simply trailing him in quiet awe.
At the end of the alley, he stopped, turned, and pressed a finger to his lips—a perfect signal for silence. Then he ascended the winding stairs ahead, nimble as a cat.
They entered a vacant, graffiti-laden building, walls splashed with riotous color. Yan Yan rounded a corner and suddenly accelerated. At the same moment, a figure appeared at the far end of the curved staircase and sprinted upward.
Zhen Nuan immediately gave chase.
The building was a maze of twisting stairways and uneven floors, each slab high or low, each wall painted in chaos. The masked figure moved like a trained acrobat—leaping, twisting, turning, almost surreal in agility. Yan Yan followed with the same fluid grace, leaping and landing with effortless precision.
Zhen Nuan reached the rooftop, breath ragged. The sky was high and pale, a sharp north wind biting at her face. The roof beneath her feet was painted in volcanic hues, jagged and broken, a gaping hole revealing the chaos below.
Through the hole, she glimpsed the interior—a dizzying, sunken world of bold colors, like a descending hell.
The masked figure shot down the stairs, bounding along the “rock” corridors with astonishing speed. Yan Yan planted a foot on the railing, coat flaring like a swallow, and vaulted down the stairwell.
The masked man knelt, sliding with ease, landing safely on the ground floor. The first and second floors shared a vast living area, the floor painted with a grotesque grimace, its bloody mouth gaping as if to swallow anything in its path.
The masked man ran along the second-floor corridor, leapt onto the spiral stair railing, and slid gracefully to the first floor.
Yan Yan, unflinching, stepped onto the railing, propelling himself into a precise jump.
Zhen Nuan’s heart stopped. He’s jumping from the second floor?
He gripped a chandelier in the center of the room, swinging upward with momentum before letting go to fly toward the opposite spiral staircase.
The distance was perilous—the masked man had just cleared the nearest railing.
“Captain!” Zhen Nuan’s shout ripped through the air, but before the sound finished leaving her lips, Yan Yan’s hand caught the railing.
For a heartbeat, he hung there, suspended, the perfect picture of control. Then, in one fluid motion, he released his grip again and snagged the stairs below.
Now, Yan Yan was completely suspended in the gap of the spiral staircase.
With a precise push of his legs, he launched into the next circle of the stairs, perfectly striking the masked man sliding down.
The masked man lost balance, tumbling down the steps with a shriek. Yet, he was incredibly agile, springing to his feet and racing forward like a predator.
The two figures moved with astonishing speed, sweeping past the magma-painted floors and grotesque grimaces like wind scattering leaves. They burst from the building into the alley beyond.
Zhen Nuan sprinted across the rooftop, her heart pounding, eyes scanning the dizzying 3D murals below. The chase continued, weaving across tall buildings painted with surreal landscapes.
The sky above was an intense winter blue, thick and immovable like wet paint. There was no time to admire it; she ran with every ounce of energy, focusing solely on the pursuit.
At the gap between two buildings, she halted, legs trembling. Below, the painted canyon stretched thousands of feet deep, its vertigo-inducing illusion making her knees weak. Yet Yan Yan and the masked man had already leapt across, racing toward the parkour ruins where young athletes swung and bounded like monkeys.
The parkour crowd, seeing the chase, whistled and cheered, some joining the pursuit across the extreme sports obstacles.
The masked man leaped across straight and curved floors, but Yan Yan’s skills were unmatched. He soared, leapt, slalomed, and scaled walls with terrifying precision—over three-meter-high walls, down five-meter-high platforms in seconds, his movements fluid, lethal, and perfectly measured.
The man realized he was being truly challenged for the first time in over ten minutes. He darted up a long, curved wall, attempting to shake Yan Yan mid-air.
Yan Yan followed step for step, scaled the curved wall, spun through the air, landed steadily on the beach, and delivered a kick to the masked man’s back.
The man flung sand behind him, but Yan Yan’s instincts were faster—he dodged and read his moves. The masked man rolled, staggered, chest heaving, and fled straight toward the graffiti district, abandoning his parkour tricks.
Both chased back toward the graffiti-filled buildings, disappearing from Zhen Nuan’s view atop the rooftop. She scanned the area, straining to pick up any trace.
Ten seconds later, she heard the soft thuds of running footsteps from the building opposite—right there.
Instinctively, she stepped forward, only to freeze as the painted abyss beneath her threatened to unnerve her again.
Moments later, the masked man appeared on the opposite rooftop, ignoring her completely. Yan Yan followed, eyes locked on his target.
Zhen Nuan bit her lips, terrified, and instinctively covered her mouth, keeping her focus forward. The wind tugged at her hair, and the chill did nothing to quell her racing heart.
Yan Yan’s sharp gaze caught the subtle tremor of her fingers. She had realized someone was behind her. Without a word, she obeyed, remaining perfectly still, trusting him utterly.
A faint, approving smile flickered across his eyes. Good girl.
At the cliff’s edge, her trust was absolute, even as fear coursed through her limbs.
Without warning, Yan Yan sprinted toward her like the wind, a living shadow against the bright blue sky.
She gasped. He’s jumping across—four, five meters of open space!
Before she could register, he sprang from the rooftop like an eagle, dark silhouette blocking the winter sun as he landed before her.
She stumbled backward, panic rising—but he reached for her waist mid-fall. The momentum sent them both tipping outward. Even as they fell, Yan Yan kicked the masked man in the head, toppling him to the ground.
Zhen Nuan clutched him instinctively, her body pressing against his chest. The sensation of weightlessness hit, her face buried in his neck. The fall abruptly halted as they collided with the wall, his groan of exertion audible.
He held her with one arm wrapped tightly around her waist, the other gripping the rooftop’s edge. Muscles taut, veins standing, his body radiated controlled, raw power.
Zhen Nuan, delicate and soft, was pressed against him, her body bouncing against each upward movement. Heat surged through her, a confusing mix of fear, adrenaline, and something… intoxicating.
Her hair whipped in the wind, the rough wall scratching at her, yet every brush of their bodies against each other sent shivers down her spine. Summer’s memory seemed to awaken in her chest—sudden warmth, overwhelming, undeniable.
Even Yan Yan, who had long been unmoved by temptation, felt the reaction of his own body stir. The soft curve of her form, the closeness, the delicate scent and tremble—he couldn’t deny it. Something unanticipated, uncontainable, sparked within him.
“Hold on tight,” he commanded lowly.
She obeyed, arms circling his neck.
“Neck!” he growled, half frustrated, half amused.
Blushing, she adjusted her hold, finally locking her arms around him.
He shifted, bracing, lifting her with a sudden surge. She pressed against him, breath wild, heart racing, heat pooling in places she hadn’t expected.
“Good… tight enough?” he asked, his voice rough but gentle.
She nodded against his chest, face flushed, breath hitching.
The climb continued, arduous and intimate, each upward motion a testament to his strength and her reliance. Each collision, each brush, each involuntary touch was an electric pulse, binding them together through sheer trust and necessity.
Zhen Nuan’s pulse raced, body trembling, caught between fear, awe, and an inexplicable, heady thrill.
Even Yan Yan’s normally controlled composure flickered for a moment—something dangerously like… desire.
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