It was past midnight, and the rain was still pelting the city of Wēichéng (巍城). The heavy storm didn't let up, and the rain covered the narrow backstreets. Lanterns on the walls moved wildly in the strong wind, casting strange, shaking shadows on the damp bricks.
A stranger in black clothes, wearing a foreign outfit, ran through the dark. His face was half-covered with a crimson cloth. He jumped over walls quickly and quietly. A man in white pyjamas ran a short distance behind him. His clothes were sodden and heavy from the rain. He was breathing hard, but he kept looking at the dark figure in front of him.
They left the city and went into the woods. Among the thick trees, the man in black suddenly disappeared. It was as if he vanished in the mist. Slowly, the heavy storm got weaker and turned into a light rain. The forest became quiet. Then, the man in white noticed something: the flicker of a yellow light near the riverbank.
He crept behind an ancient tree and peered out cautiously. In the clearing, the orange glow of a brazier cut through the darkness. What he saw turned his blood to ice. A man, half-naked, was bound to a crude wooden stake. bruises and blistered burns marked his face and chest; and both wrists had been shattered, hanging at a sickening, unnatural angle.
It looked like the torturer had tried to turn him into a shivering heap of flesh.
An old, long scar ran from his left cheek to his eyebrow; a scar that held a long story behind it!
Moments later, another stranger clad in black filled a heavy wooden bucket from the freezing river and splashed it mercilessly over the captive. The icy shock of the water forced him to wake up. He let out a piercing moan and shivered violently from the stinging agony of his wounds.
At that precise moment, the door of the hut creaked open with a harsh groan. A man dressed entirely in a black robe stepped out. His sleeves were bound tightly at the wrists and forearms with cord. He wore a Douli hat (斗笠) [Conical Chinese Bamboo Hat], advancing with a terrifying calm.
The victim, his eyes blurred and trembling, whimpered in a weak, shaky voice:
"I... I know no more than this. I cannot bear the pain any longer... Just kill me and be done!"
He, with chilling composure, walked towards the fallen tree trunk where a blood-stained axe was embedded. His fingers coiled around the handle and wrenched it free. The sound of the axe leaving the wood was sharp and terrifying. Then, the man in the black robe stood still and slowly raised his head to fix his gaze upon the trembling victim.
The man in white watched from behind the tree. As the brim of the Douli rose and the black-clad man's gaze glinted in the light of the brazier, he recognised those wild eyes in that familiar face. The man in white's eyes widened in horror; his eyes widened in horror; he shook with fear and whispered:
"No... this is impossible!"
The axe was raised for the final blow. With cold, calculated precision, he aligned the blade directly over the wretch's skull. While the man in white's attention remained fixed on the raised weapon, a sharp coldness suddenly settled against his throat: the edge of a sword. The black-clad stranger had taken his hunter by surprise. Without a struggle, he let his weapon fall, thudding into the mud.