A normal day passes on Slave Street, where Ruo Yu continues to live in secret, quietly, without desire or expectations, helping when asked, speaking when necessary, and the only thing that was different about her was that she was now looking around, watching, or searching for Xue Yan. He kept appearing, and whenever he appeared, she revealed more of herself.
And for a girl like her, the more she was exposed, the greater the danger—this was the exciting game that Xue Yan had started and never realized how it would end. Had he realized it, he might have done it all again.
Ruo Yu came out of her room, the street was simply shabby rooms, a bed next to the bathroom, and the food was not much, 4 times a week. Just one meal. And on occasions maybe the whole week when nobles throws away leftover food that no one wants.
Ruo Yu noticed a strange mark on the back of a child's neck. The child turned around and was so surprised that he almost cried because suddenly she was standing behind him. She got down to his level and looked into his eyes with a smile. When he looked into her eyes, he started to calm down. She put her hands on his neck with a smile. "I noticed a mosquito on you. Sorry I scared you." She patted his hair as she got up to leave.
________________________________________
A lone figure moved silently through the dense forest, their steps barely making a sound against the damp earth. The thick canopy above allowed only slivers of moonlight to pierce through, casting fragmented shadows across the ground.
The figure reached a massive stone structure—a fortress or temple, its walls ancient and unyielding. Towering above, an iron door loomed, its surface marked with age and the weight of many secrets.
For a moment, nothing stirred. Then, from beyond the door, voices murmured. The unmistakable sound of weapons being drawn sliced through the silence.
The figure did not flinch.
Instead, they reached into their cloak, pulling out a small card, its edges worn from use. A gloved hand raised it toward the door as a voice, smooth yet firm, finally broke the stillness.
"Jade. 444."
Light flickered, illuminating the figure's face—or what could be seen of it. A mask covered their features, adorned with crimson lines that almost seemed to glow in the dimness.
A heavy clang echoed as the iron door creaked open.
The masked figure stepped inside, moving through endless corridors carved from cold stone. The air carried the scent of damp earth and something else—something metallic, lingering.
Finally, the long walk ended before an enormous door. Without hesitation, the figure pushed forward.
Inside, a seated man awaited, his presence as imposing as the mask he wore. Unlike the intruder's, his mask did not aim to conceal but rather to unsettle—a grotesque, inhuman visage that twisted reality itself..
"You came quickly this time, Jade 444."
"Of course, whenever you call for me, sir, I answer."
A low chuckle, neither warm nor mirthful, filled the space.
"Your mission today… is to find the founder of the brothel that escaped us recently. Thanks to you, the imperial spy there has already been dealt with. But tell me, is there anything else I should know? Any… peculiarities?"
A pause.
The master's fingers tapped idly against the armrest.
"And the girl dancing beside her? They say the dancer stabbed her before she died."
"Confirmed. That girl is dead."
A moment of silence stretched between them.
Then, the master's voice, colder than before.
"Where is her body?"
"She ran. A man took her. You know how these things go."
A sharp inhale, but no immediate reaction.
"And you did not interfere?"
"Not my duty, sir."
A pause. Then, an approving nod.
"True. That is not your duty."
The weight in the room shifted—an unseen tension pressing against the walls.
"Then do your best. Find the owner of this palace of comfort."
"Should I get rid of him?"
"Do what you usually do. Should I tell you this?"
"Consider it done, sir."
The masked figure (444) turned, footsteps fading into the darkness. The mission had begun.
________________________________________
Number 444 arrived at an abandoned building. The air was thick with the stench of rot and filth, a putrid mix of damp decay and something worse—something human. Water dripped from unseen cracks, each drop echoing in the emptiness like a countdown to something inevitable.
He walked forward, his steps deliberate, the worn floor creaking under his weight. Ahead of him, a man sat bound to a chair, unconscious but otherwise unscathed. His skin was clean, his clothes intact—he did not belong in a place like this. Yet, the moment he opened his eyes, he would understand just how wrong he was.
A movement to the side—another masked figure approached, carrying a bucket filled with a strange, murky substance. Without hesitation, 444 took it and hurled the contents onto the bound man.
A scream tore through the silence, sharp and raw. Crows, hidden in the rafters above, erupted into flight, their cries mixing with his agony. If they had voices, perhaps they would have thanked him for their release.
The man thrashed, his breath coming in sharp gasps, his skin tingling as if he were being eaten alive. His wide eyes darted down to his body, expecting burns, wounds—anything to match the searing pain. But there was nothing. Just the sensation. The mind's torment was always more powerful than the body's suffering.
444 finally spoke, his voice calm, unhurried. "Don't be afraid. Death won't come quickly."
The man flinched at the sound, his already panicked gaze snapping to the masked figure before him. Recognition dawned, and his lips parted in a terrified whisper. "Hui Lang...?"
444 began to move, circling him like a predator sizing up its prey. "Tell me, what do you think freedom means? Does it even exist?"
The man's breath came in ragged gulps, sweat trickling down his temples. His mind raced, searching for an escape, a lie, a plea that might buy him mercy. But he found nothing.
Still, he tried. "Hui Lang... please—"
444 ignored his desperation, repeating the question as he stepped closer. "What does being free mean to you?"
He stopped directly in front of the man, the mask he wore an enigma of cruelty. "Perhaps you think it means doing whatever you want."
The bound man hesitated before nodding weakly. "Yes... yes, that's freedom, isn't it?"
A low chuckle vibrated from behind the mask, humorless and cold. "That explains you perfectly."
The man swallowed, confusion flashing across his face. "W-what do you mean?"
"You understand freedom in the wrong way," 444 said, tilting his head slightly, his presence suffocating.
"Wrong?" the man rasped, his voice trembling. "How could I mistake the meaning of a mere word?"
444's laughter filled the space, merging with the rhythmic drip of water. Together, they created an unsettling melody—an omen of suffering yet to come.
"For people like you, freedom is just a word," he mused. "But for some, it is their life."
He lifted a candle, the small flame casting flickering shadows against the damp walls. The firelight reflected in the terrified man's eyes, now wide with realization.
444 brought the flame closer, enough for the heat to lick at the man's skin. He flinched, body trembling violently, but his restraints left him helpless.
"It is nothing to you," 444 continued, his tone almost contemplative. "But to the weak—those who have nothing but hope—it is a fire that burns their very souls."
The man gasped, confusion evident. 444 sighed, shaking his head. "You people never understand. You don't know what it means to covet something that was never yours to begin with. Because, in truth, nothing ever belonged to you."
His victim swallowed hard, his throat dry. "And... am I supposed to understand?" His voice was barely a whisper. "Each of us lives the life he is given..."
444 stepped back, exhaling slowly. "Freedom is living as you wish in your own life. But for people like you, it means doing whatever you want, simply because you have the power to do so."
His voice hardened. "That is a sin I will not forgive."
Without another word, he dropped the candle. The flame met the liquid on the floor, igniting instantly. The man screamed as the fire crawled toward him, heat licking at his legs. His prayers spilled from his lips—desperate, frantic, useless.
Darkness swallowed him whole.
A sudden hiss—one of 444's assistants doused the flames. Smoke curled into the air as embers sizzled on the damp floor.
The bound man trembled, his breath coming in broken sobs.
444 moved closer, crouching before him. He tilted his head, watching the man shake before finally reaching out and patting his head like a child.
Then, without warning, he pressed a dagger into the man's thigh.
A strangled cry tore through the space, sharp as shattered glass. Blood seeped into the already stained floor, but the wound was shallow—not meant to kill. Only to remind.
444 twisted the blade slightly before pulling it out, his fingers light as he wiped away the blood. He watched as the man's body jerked violently, his hands pulling at the ropes, his entire being rejecting the pain forced upon him.
"Did you get an answer to my question?"
The man nodded desperately. "Yes—yes! I understand!"
A masked assistant stepped forward and drove a fist into the man's face. Bone cracked, and the sound of breaking fingers followed as his hands were crushed beneath the force.
444 laughed. "No, I don't think you'd know that quickly."
The man sobbed like a child, his body shaking, his spirit shattered.
444 wiped his tears, his touch almost... affectionate. "Don't cry. This is what happens when you pretend to understand something you don't." His voice softened, laced with mockery. "I don't like fools."
"Please," the man gasped, his voice raw. "Forgive me—I'll do anything! I'll give you anything! Just... let me go. My family is waiting for me."
444 sighed, tilting his head. "Don't worry. I'm the best person to tell you this—" He leaned closer, whispering into the man's ear, his voice slow, deliberate.
"They won't die without you."
The man's face crumpled as more tears fell. Despair clung to him like a second skin.
444 leaned in further, his voice dropping to a whisper. "You know," he mused, "you have such beautifully tragic eyes. If only you weren't in such a disgusting state, I might have been impressed by them."
The man's breath hitched. Rage, humiliation, fear—his emotions twisted together, forming something wordless and desperate. The worst thing the man realized from these words was his own words. "You... you—! Ruo---"
He never got to finish.
444 drove the dagger deep into his stomach, silencing him instantly.
He let out a weak, gurgling sound, his body jerking once before slumping forward.
444 exhaled, his tone almost thoughtful. "I keep my promises. This is your mercy killing."
He pulled the blade free, letting the body drop to the floor with a dull thud.
Another job done.