The streets outside the café were shrouded in silence—a suffocating quiet, like a heavy curtain of cold fog had descended upon the city. The old stone lanterns hanging on the walls flickered slowly, casting their pallid light over the cobblestone alleys, as if pulsing with the city's own unease. A faint breeze drifted through the lanes, carrying the scent of damp wood and faded memories, but it couldn't extinguish the storm howling inside Dai Mubai's chest.
His footsteps struck the stones with a muted echo, yet each step was heavy, unsteady, as though bearing the weight of wounded pride. The ground beneath him was merely an extension of the furious voice within; every step reverberated in his chest like distant war drums. Tang San, Oscar, and Ma Hongjun followed behind him in silence. Not one of them spoke, as if the tension-thickened air had grown denser, pressing against their chests and stifling any attempt at words. They walked as though afraid their voices might shatter—that speaking would unleash the painful truth.
Dai Mubai, who had always stood tall like a lion—proud, confident, brimming with arrogance and might—now resembled a shadow... no, a ghost burdened by betrayal. His eyes were sunken in a silence that ached, his breaths ragged, as though each one tore another shred of dignity from his lungs.
"Was that necessary?" he finally said, his voice hoarse and cracked, without turning to face them. The words emerged broken, as if clawing their way through the wounds of his soul.
Oscar replied softly, cautiously: "If we hadn't stopped you, you'd be on the ground right now... or worse." He added after a heavy pause that echoed in the void: "That man... he's no ordinary person, Boss Dai."
Dai Mubai halted abruptly, as if colliding with a wall of truth. He turned slowly, and when his eyes met theirs, they still held that sharp glint—but behind it lay a deep fissure, a crack that ran from his heart to the lines of his face.
"I don't care who he is. What he did was an insult. In front of everyone... in front of Zhuqing." Each syllable seemed to gnaw at his chest.
Ma Hongjun, voice gentle, tried to soften the blow: "But Zhuqing chose to stand by his side. Didn't you notice?"
Dai Mubai's eyelid twitched, as though the words were a slap—or a knife slipped quietly between his ribs.
"I know," he whispered, barely audible, like a shameful confession dredged from the depths of a broken heart. "But she was my fiancée... even if she was unwilling. I thought... there was still a chance."
Tang San approached him with measured steps, steady as ever. He placed a hand on Dai Mubai's shoulder, his touch both firm and tender. "There might have been hope, but not like this. What we saw today... wasn't just a lost battle. It revealed a harsher truth. Zhuqing isn't waiting for you anymore, Dai."
The words cut deeper than any physical blow. Dai Mubai didn't want to admit it, but the truth was undeniable. Zhuqing hadn't defended him. She hadn't hesitated. She hadn't even glanced back.
Zhuqing had chosen another.
Zhuqing... was no longer his.
They walked in silence, the only sound the tread of their feet on the cobbled path, where their shadows intersected with the faint light of scattered streetlamps. The sky above was clouded, stealing the moon's glow, as if the night itself mourned with them.
_
They finally reached the guesthouse. Its simple structure of aged wood and gray stone mirrored them in that moment: outwardly intact, inwardly fractured. At the door, Dai Mubai said nothing. He climbed the steps slowly, pushed open his room's door, and the moment it closed behind him, his body collapsed onto the bed. This wasn't the fall of sleep—it was a plunge into a bottomless inner void.
The room was dark, its heavy curtains blotting out the light, the air stagnant as if time itself had frozen. Dai Mubai lay there, eyes wide open. Each time he closed them, he saw Yu Tian's face—that lethal calm, those indifferent eyes hiding mountains of strength, that mocking smile that wasn't disdain but a confirmation of the chasm between them.
This opponent was different. No visible ferocity, no blazing anger. Just a wall—solid, unshaken. And Dai Mubai, for all his strength, had been striking at empty air. This fight wasn't merely physical. It was a mirror. A mirror that showed his true reflection... small, floundering, powerless against the unyielding truth.
But worse than all of it was Zhuqing's gaze.
No pity. No regret. Not even disappointment.
Empty.
Empty of him.
_
In the adjacent room, the other three sat in a silent circle. A dim lantern in the corner cast their shadows flickering against the wooden walls, as if mirroring the turmoil in their hearts. Each was lost in thought, the shock they'd witnessed no less crushing for them.
Oscar finally broke the silence. "Do you think he'll recover from this?" His voice held equal parts worry and grief, like a brother watching a fall from grace.
Tang San sighed, the sound heavy with experience. "It'll take time. Dai Mubai isn't one to collapse easily. But he needs to see things clearly. Zhuqing was never his possession."
Ma Hongjun leaned against the wall. "That man... who is he? His power isn't normal. That aura he radiated... I doubt even the grandmasters of sects could match it unscathed."
Tang San nodded thoughtfully. "Agreed. There's something off about him. He barely revealed a fraction of his energy, yet he crushed Dai Mubai methodically—without lifting a hand."
Oscar bit his lip. "Do you think he's an enemy?"
"Unlikely," Tang San said after a pause. "If he'd wanted to harm us, he would have. That man seemed... purposeful. Zhuqing, perhaps. Or something else."
Silence settled again, but this time it was quieter, as if they'd drained their emotions dry.
In his room, Dai Mubai writhed between memories. Zhuqing's rare smiles—ones that had once been his alone. Her quiet walks beside him, her silence brimming with solace. The promise he'd made to protect her... and how he'd failed.
Now, she didn't need him. Didn't see him. Didn't wait for him.
_
The hours crawled like grains of sand slipping through time's fingers. By midnight, the city's stillness grew heavier. Lights dimmed, stars hid behind clouds, even the insects' chirps turned timid.
Then, at the stroke of midnight, Dai Mubai's door creaked open. He emerged, steps slow, face pale, eyes red from sleepless tears—but his features held something new. Not surrender, but resolve.
He entered the common room and stood before his friends. No need to raise his voice.
"I want to improve," he said softly, yet firmly.
Tang San arched a brow. "Meaning?"
"My strength. My mind. My heart... everything. I'll grow stronger. Understand more. Never again be the fool who loses what he loves because he doesn't know how to fight for it."
Oscar smiled faintly. "That's the Boss Dai we know."
"No." Dai Mubai gazed out the window. The sky was still dark, but the first gray threads of dawn seeped through. "This isn't him. This will be someone new. Someone who won't lose again."
Tang San watched him with quiet admiration. This wasn't just training or battle—it was rebirth.
And as the next day's sun pierced the clouds, the shadow who'd left the café began to transform...
Into a true blade—one that knows no retreat.
...
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