Inside, dim lanterns cast a faint orange glow, illuminating rough wooden beams and stained walls. Smoke hung in the air, curling lazily around the low ceiling. Patrons crowded around mismatched tables, their conversations a chaotic blend of drunken boasts and whispered deals. At the center of it all, a crude fighting pit dominated the room, its dirt floor stained dark with old blood.
A roar erupted as one man slammed his fist into another's jaw, sending him sprawling into the dirt. Coins exchanged hands as the crowd cheered, jeered, and demanded more.
Han Wei's steps faltered as he glanced at Yao Qin. "No questions," he whispered. "Just listen, do he says."
Yao Qin's gaze swept the room, noting the hunched figures in shadowed corners and the glint of weapons strapped to belts. The tavern was more than a den of vice; it was a battleground for power, and every patron was a player in the unspoken game.
Scarface sat in his usual spot, a red velvet chair elevated on a crude dais. The incense burning near him filled the air with a cloying sweetness, masking the tavern's filth but failing to obscure its menace.
Han Wei approached cautiously, his shoulders hunched. "We've come as you requested, Scarface," he said, his voice steady despite the tension in his posture.
Scarface's gaze flicked to Yao Qin, his grin widening with predatory delight. "Well, well. The little killer finally arrives," he drawled, leaning back in his throne. "We've been waiting for you, redhead."
Yao Qin met his stare, cold and calculating, memories of his past life flickering in his mind. Scarface's jagged scar seemed to twist further as his grin widened. "You made quite the mess of my courtyard earlier—a quarter of our earners come from those homes."
Han Wei tensed, stepping slightly in front of Yao Qin. "He didn't mean—"
"Didn't mean?" Scarface barked a laugh, the sound sharp and grating. "Don't insult me, Han Wei. I know exactly what he meant. A brick to the skull, a knee broken backward—necessary, wasn't it, boy?"
Yao Qin tilted his head, his voice cold and deliberate. "A coward and a brick-drunk idiot aren't good for business."
Scarface's laughter cut through the room, silencing the low hum of conversation. "Not good for business, huh?" he echoed. "Clever. Efficient. Controlled. Not bad for a kid."
Han Wei's hands clenched into fists at his sides, his tension palpable. "He's just a boy," he said, his voice firmer now. "You don't need to—"
"Save it, Han Wei." Scarface raised a hand, cutting him off. His grin never wavered. "If you're so worried about him, maybe you should've kept him out of my courtyard. But now he's here, and he'll prove himself."
Scarface's grin turned sharp as he gestured toward the pit. "Let's see what you've got."
Yao Qin didn't hesitate as he stepped forward, his gaze steady. The crowd roared in anticipation, and Scarface's grin widened. Yao Qin gripped the dagger offered to him, the worn handle fitting uncomfortably in his palm.
This was a game of survival, and he would play it to win.
The crude fighting pit was a ring of chaos, its dirt floor saturated with the grime of years past, layered with old blood and misery. Lanterns hung unevenly from the low ceiling, casting flickering shadows that danced like spectres around the circle. Every cheer, jeer, and howl from the gathered crowd reverberated, amplifying the tense energy of the space.
Yao Qin stepped into the pit, his dangerous eyes scanning the arena. His opponent, Xiao Wugan, towered at the opposite end. A barrel-chested brute with arms as thick as tree trunks, Xiao Wugan carried a flail bristling with jagged spikes. The weapon swung lazily in his grasp, a cruel promise of violence. The crowd roared their approval, a mixture of drunken taunts and eager cries for blood.
Han Wei stood near the edge, his face pale and his hands clutching the railing so tightly his knuckles turned white. "This isn't right," he muttered under his breath, glancing nervously at Scarface.
Scarface leaned against a wooden post, radiating menace. His grin was sharp and cruel, a predator's smile. "Watch closely, Han Wei," he said, his gravelly voice carrying over the crowd. "You might learn something about your little friend."
Xiao Wugan cracked his neck and sneered, his voice a deep rumble. "Don't cry, kid. I'll make it quick."
Yao Qin didn't respond. His grip tightened around the hilt of the jagged dagger in his hand. Though the weapon was crude and worn, it felt oddly familiar, a tool of survival he'd wielded in another life. His eyes locked onto Xiao Wugan, cold and calculating.
The brute swung first. The flail arced through the air with deadly speed, the spiked ball whistling as it tore toward Yao Qin. He ducked low, the weapon missing him by inches and slamming into the dirt with a heavy thud, sending dust flying. The crowd erupted, their cries of bloodlust growing louder.
"Big swing for a big man," one spectator jeered. "Bet the kid's paste by now!"
Xiao Wugan snarled, swinging again, this time faster. Yao Qin sidestepped, the flail smashing into the ground once more. His movements were precise, fluid, like a shadow darting through chaos. The brute's frustration mounted with each miss, his swings growing wilder and less controlled.
"Like a rat," another voice sneered, though a grudging tone of respect lingered beneath the mockery.
Yao Qin bided his time, weaving through the attacks with practiced ease. His mind was a calculated storm, analysing the brute's movements, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. When the flail slammed into the dirt for the third time, Yao Qin moved. Grabbing a handful of dust, he flung it into Xiao Wugan's face.
The reaction was immediate. The brute roared in pain, clawing at his eyes as the dust blinded him. The crowd erupted into mixed cries of outrage and amusement.
"That's a dirty trick!" someone shouted, though laughter followed. "I like it!"
Yao Qin darted to the side, his movements quick and deliberate. He slashed at the back of Xiao Wugan's leg, the dagger biting deep into muscle. The brute stumbled, dropping to one knee with a guttural growl. Blood dripped onto the dirt, staining it a darker shade of crimson.
Han Wei gripped the railing tighter, his breath caught in his throat. "Now's your chance!" he hissed, his voice tight with worry.
But Xiao Wugan wasn't finished. With a bellowing roar, he dropped the flail and lunged forward, his massive hand shooting out to grab Yao Qin by the waist. In a single motion, he slammed the boy to the ground. The impact knocked the air from Yao Qin's lungs, leaving him gasping as the brute loomed over him.
Xiao Wugan's massive hand closed around Yao Qin's throat, cutting off his air. His other hand, , raised into a fist poised to deliver a crushing blow.
"Finish him!" someone in the crowd screamed, their voice thick with anticipation.
Scarface watched with narrowed eyes, his grin fading slightly. Han Wei took a step forward, his expression desperate. "He's going to—"
"Let him handle it," Scarface growled, his tone brooking no argument.
Yao Qin's vision blurred as the lack of air burned in his chest. But his mind stayed sharp, focused. With a sudden motion, he thrust the dagger upward, the blade sinking into Xiao Wugan's hand as it shot towards him. The brute howled, recoiling as blood spurted from the wound. Yao Qin wasted no time. He slashed again, this time severing the fingers clutching his throat.
Xiao Wugan stumbled back, clutching his mangled hand as blood poured from the wounds. He dropped to his knees, his growls turning to pained whimpers. The crowd fell into a hushed silence, the tension thick enough to cut.
Yao Qin scrambled to his feet, his breaths ragged but his focus unbroken. He stepped forward, his dagger glinting in the dim light. Without hesitation, he slashed Xiao Wugan's throat, the blade cutting clean through flesh and muscle. Blood sprayed in a crimson arc, and the brute collapsed, his life draining away.
Scarface stepped forward, his heavy boots crunching against the blood-soaked dirt. He looked down at Xiao Wugan's twitching body with mock pity. "If more of my boys had your fire," he muttered, "we'd have taken half this city by now."
Then, with sudden ferocity, Scarface raised his boot and brought it down on Xiao Wugan's head. The sickening crunch of bone silenced the room. A second stomp shattered the skull completely, sending blood and brain matter splattering across the pit.
Scarface turned to Yao Qin, his grin sharp and predatory. "Not bad, redhead. You might just survive."
The crowd erupted into cheers and jeers once more, the violence fuelling their frenzy. Han Wei's face was pale as he turned to Yao Qin, his expression a mixture of horror and anger. But Yao Qin didn't meet his gaze.
Instead, he stared at Scarface, his dangerous eyes cold and calculating. One day you'll be the one lying in the dirt.
The energy in the tavern shifted dramatically after Yao Qin's decisive victory. The crowd, once raucous and wild, now simmered with a mix of awe and unease. Scarface rose from the bloodied sands in a single hop, perching himself at the edge of the pit, his frame illuminated by the dim, flickering lanterns.
Yao Qin followed Scarface, climbing out of the pit, his steps slow and deliberate. Blood stained his hands and splattered his clothes, but his expression remained cold, his dangerous eyes scanning the room. The dagger, still slick with Xiao Wugan's blood, hung loosely in his grasp.
Han Wei approached hesitantly, his face pale but his posture firm. "You okay?" he asked in a low voice.
"Fine," Yao Qin replied curtly, his gaze flicking to Scarface, who had yet to speak. The air between them crackled with tension, the gang leader's grin sharp and unreadable.
Scarface's voice cut through the oppressive silence. "Not bad, redhead. You've got fire… and guts." His lips twisted into a predatory smile as he stepped forward, his boots crunching against the bloodstained floorboards. "But remember, fire burns out fast if you don't feed it right. Stick with me, and you'll stay lit."
Yao Qin said nothing, his face an impassive mask. Inside, his thoughts churned. Scarface was dangerous, his bloodlust insatiable.
Scarface's gaze shifted to Han Wei, who stiffened under the intensity of his stare. "As for you," Scarface said, his tone darkening, "you'd better hope your friend here keeps pulling his weight. Otherwise…" He trailed off, the implied threat hanging heavy in the air.
Scarface gestured toward the back of the tavern, where a group of his lieutenants gathered around a makeshift map spread across a table. "Come," he barked. "We've got work to do."
Yao Qin and Han Wei exchanged a brief glance before following. The map, stained and frayed at the edges, depicted the city and its surrounding regions. Key locations were marked in bold, red ink, including the Tang factory—their next target.
Scarface leaned over the table, his burned skin creaking faintly as he pointed to the factory's location. "We get inside, find their stores, and bring me something worthwhile. Pills, poison, potions, anything we can use."
Han Wei's jaw tightened. "And if we get caught?"
Scarface's grin widened. "We don't get caught."
Yao Qin's sharp eyes scanned the map, committing every detail to memory. The factory's layout, the surrounding streets, the likely escape routes. His mind worked quickly, piecing together a plan even as Scarface continued.
"I have business there, so I'll be your backup," Scarface spat, his tone casual but his expression deadly serious. "But don't expect a rescue. If you screw this up, you're on your own."
Yao Qin's dangerous eyes met Scarface's, unflinching. He had no illusions about the man's intentions. This wasn't just a mission; it was a test. One designed to weed out the weak and enforce loyalty through fear.
Scarface straightened, casting a long shadow across the room. "Twilight. The lane behind the Tang apothecary. You know the place." He glanced at Yao Qin, his grin twisting into something darker. "And redhead… try to impress me. I like surprises."
With that, he turned and strode away, his heavy boots echoing against the tavern floor. The lieutenants dispersed, leaving Yao Qin and Han Wei standing by the map.
Han Wei exhaled sharply, his tension breaking through the silence. "This is suicide," he muttered. "He's sending us to our deaths."
"Not our deaths," Yao Qin replied, his voice calm but his tone firm. "Our initiation."
Han Wei shook his head, frustration evident in his posture. "You're too calm about this. How can you just…"
"Because panicking won't help," Yao Qin interrupted. His dangerous eyes locked onto Han Wei's. "We've been given a chance. Use it."
Han Wei fell silent, his unease still palpable but his protests subdued. Together, they left the tavern, stepping out into the cool night air. The city's chaos loomed around them, the distant glow of fires casting eerie shadows on the crumbling buildings.
As they walked, Yao Qin's mind churned with possibilities. The Tang factory was no ordinary target, and Scarface's test was more than a simple job... One I won't fail this lifetime.
Yao Qin glanced at Han Wei, who stared ahead with a mix of determination and fear. The road ahead was perilous, but Yao Qin had lived through worse. And this time, he wouldn't just survive.
He would win.
The streets of Red Blossom whispered with unease as Yao Qin and Han Wei made their way back toward the orphanage.
Han Wei walked with his head down, his shoulders hunched as though the weight of the night threatened to crush him. "This isn't what I wanted," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible.
Yao Qin's sharp eyes darted to him briefly before returning to the road ahead. His steps were deliberate, measured. "What did you expect?" he asked, his tone cold but not unkind.
Han Wei hesitated, his hands clenching into fists. "Not this," he said finally. "Not Scarface. Not… whatever the Redbloom King is."
Yao Qin didn't answer immediately. His thoughts churned, the memories of Scarface's charred visage and the King's haunting presence fresh in his mind. The path they were on wasn't one of choice—it was one of necessity. The Great Sin Gang was a noose around their necks, and the only way forward was through fire and blood.
"This is survival," Yao Qin said at last, his voice low and firm. "And survival doesn't care about what you want."
Han Wei stopped walking, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "And what about you? Do you care about any of this? About us? Or are you just—"
"I care about the end," Yao Qin interrupted, turning to face him. His dangerous eyes glinted in the dim light, cold and calculating. "I care about getting out of this alive. You should too."
Han Wei's mouth opened as though to argue, but he snapped it shut, the weight of Yao Qin's words settling over him like a shroud. Without another word, he fell back into step beside Yao Qin, his silence heavy with unspoken tension.
As they neared the orphanage, the oppressive atmosphere of the city seemed to press closer. The faint sound of laughter echoed from a distant tavern, a cruel reminder of the city's indifference. Yao Qin's gaze lingered on the crumbling buildings and shadowed alleys, his mind calculating every potential threat, every possible escape.
The orphanage loomed ahead, its decrepit structure barely holding together under the weight of neglect. Yao Qin paused at the gate, his sharp eyes scanning the courtyard. It was empty, the faint glow of lantern light from within casting long, eerie shadows.
Han Wei hesitated beside him. "Do you think he'll really let us walk away if we fail?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
"No," Yao Qin said simply, pushing the gate open with a creak. "He won't."
They stepped inside, the familiar scent of decay and despair wrapping around them like a suffocating cloak. Yao Qin's dangerous eyes flicked to the darkened corners, his senses sharp and alert. He didn't trust the quiet—it was too still, too unnatural.
As they made their way to their shared sleeping quarters, Han Wei finally broke the silence. "Why do you seem so… calm?" he asked, his voice tinged with frustration. "After everything we've seen tonight?"
Yao Qin didn't stop walking, his expression unreadable. "Because panic gets you killed," he said simply. "And I don't plan on dying."
Han Wei didn't respond, his gaze dropping to the floor. Yao Qin didn't miss the flicker of doubt in his friend's eyes, but he didn't address it. There was no point. Doubt wouldn't save them.
As they settled onto their threadbare mats, the faint sounds of the city drifted through the cracked windows. Yao Qin lay back, his sharp eyes staring at the ceiling. His mind churned with thoughts of the Redbloom King, of Scarface's brutal strength, and of the mission that loomed over them like a shadow.
He exhaled slowly, his breath misting faintly in the cold air. The path ahead was treacherous, but it was one he had no choice but to walk. Survival demanded it.