CHAPTER SIX – EDGE OF THE CITY
The city breathed around her, a living, pulsing organism. Shanghai's neon veins stretched in every direction, flickering against the dark canvas of night. Xinyue moved through it silently, every step calculated, every shadow studied. The alleyways, the rooftops, the forgotten stairwells , she had claimed them all as her domain.
Her stomach ached with hunger, but she barely noticed. Hunger was a companion, not an enemy. It kept her sharp, reminded her of the stakes. Every day brought danger, and danger had become her teacher.
That night, she crouched on the edge of a rooftop, watching the docks below. Men moved in clusters, suspicious, violent, careless. Xinyue's sharp eyes noted every movement, memorized every gait, calculated escape routes before they even mattered. One of the men dropped a crate, a clatter that echoed too loudly. She flinched for a heartbeat, then breathed slowly, the lesson sinking Into her bones: hesitation was fatal. She waited, watched, learned.
When the moment came, she moved like a shadow slipping between rain-streaked walls. One narrow alley, a low fence, a dive behind a stack of crates and she had vanished. Their curses echoed into the night, but she was gone, already a ghost in the chaos.
By now, she had learned more than just avoidance. She had learned subtle manipulation. Vendors, street workers, drunken men, even curious children ,all became pieces in her game. A soft word here, a carefully timed gesture there, a feigned stumble ,and Xinyue gained more than she had any right to. A meal, information, a safer path through a dangerous corner of the city.
Her laptop, hidden in the corner of an abandoned storage room, had become more than a refuge. It was a weapon. Her fingers flew across the keys, running programs that bent systems to her will, silently testing networks, exploring paths she had no right to know. The thrill of power coursed through her veins. Every line of code executed with precision was a reminder: she could control, manipulate, survive and the world could not stop her.
Yet even mastery had limits. One evening, a gang of men cornered her near the river, sharper than any she had faced before. Her heart hammered, but instinct guided her hands. She dodged, twisted, slipped under a low railing, rolled silently onto wet stones, and vanished into the maze of backstreets. They cursed, yelled, and threatened, but she had already melted into the shadows.
It was not luck. It was observation, calculation, and experience. The city had taught her how to move, how to fight without fighting, how to vanish without a trace. Pain, hunger, fear -- all had sharpened her senses, honed her mind, and shaped her into something small, unassuming, but dangerous.
Months passed, each night sharpening her skills further. She learned the timing of guards, the routines of street vendors, the habits of drunk men and opportunistic thieves. Every observation became a layer of protection, every narrow escape a lesson etched into her mind. She had survived the horrors of the Qiao mansion, survived predators on the streets, survived hunger, cold, and violence. And now, she was beginning to feel… untouchable.
But freedom carried its own weight. Nights of danger and vigilance left her hollow, exhaustion gnawed at her bones, and the constant fear that one mistake could end her life never left. Yet she pressed on, driven by the quiet, relentless fire that had burned inside her since the day she was born under the storm in that orphanage.
On a rainy night, crouched in the shadow of a bridge, she allowed herself a moment to breathe. The river shimmered silver below, neon reflections dancing on the water like ghosts. She traced her fingers across the keys of her laptop, writing programs she knew could ruin someone, help someone, or save herself , all depending on her choice. Power, control, and survival coexisted in that small screen, glowing faintly in the darkness.
She thought of Meilin, of the mansion, of the cruelty that had shaped her. Every memory was a blade, every fear a sharpened edge. Xinyue smiled, small and secret, and whispered into the night, "I will never be powerless again. Not now. Not ever."
The city had taught her many things, but it had not yet taught her everything. She was growing sharper, stronger, more dangerous. The streets, the shadows, the rain, and the neon — all were hers to command, if she dared.
And Xinyue dared. Always.