Morning in the City was rarely silent. Even before the sun crested the eastern ridge, hawkers in the market district would be rolling up the reed mats from their stalls, bakeries would be stoking the brick ovens, and the shrill calls of delivery boys would echo along narrow alleyways.
But this morning, Lau Rhen noticed something odd.
When he stepped outside the apartment's narrow door, the usual thrum of noise was distant, muffled, as if a thick curtain had been drawn over the city. The cobblestones glistened faintly, though there had been no rain. And there was mist — not drifting from the river, but curling along the ground in thin tendrils.
Mist that smelled faintly of camphor.
He paused at the landing, eyes half-lidded, and extended his perception. A thin pulse of qi rolled out like invisible ripples across the stones, rebounding faintly off the surrounding buildings.
The world's shape came back to him — the weight of wood in the eaves, the density of metal nails, the faint movement of air where a sparrow darted between rooftops. All normal.
Except for the footsteps.
Soft, measured, coming from the direction of the main street.
Yet when he turned his head, the lane was empty.
He began walking, unhurried, hands clasped loosely behind his back. Each step matched the rhythm of the unseen footsteps — one echoing the other, like two melodies entwined.
At the corner near the herbalist's shop, Xiao Xiao appeared from a side alley, carrying a small basket. She looked startled to see him so early.
"Rhen? You're… out before the tea stalls even open."
"I could say the same for you," he replied without stopping.
She jogged a few steps to keep up. "My aunt needed more licorice root for her cough remedies." Then, seeing his gaze shift past her, she frowned. "What are you looking at?"
"The footsteps," he said simply.
She blinked. "What footsteps?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he stopped in front of the herbalist's shuttered door and waited.
Xiao Xiao tilted her head, clearly hearing nothing but the faint rustle of the mist.
Then — three soft steps, somewhere just beyond the veil of white.
Her eyes widened. "Okay… I hear it now."
The mist parted — but not by wind.
A figure emerged, tall and cloaked, the hood drawn low enough to hide the face entirely. The fabric was wet with condensation, yet not a single drop clung to the boots.
The footsteps stopped a few paces away.
"Lau Rhen," the figure said. The voice was neither deep nor high — flat, as if any tone had been carved out of it long ago.
Xiao Xiao looked at him sharply. "You know them?"
"I've never seen them before," he said. Then, to the figure: "You've come a long way to speak my name."
The hood inclined slightly. "Your name is carried further than you realize."
"Names are carried by tongues," Lau Rhen replied coldly. "And tongues are easily cut."
For the first time, there was the faintest shift in the figure's posture — perhaps surprise, perhaps calculation.
"You will be sought," the figure said at last. "Sooner than you think."
Then, as if the mist itself had been a doorway, they stepped backward — and were gone.
Not vanished in a puff of smoke. Not sprinted away. Simply gone, as though the space they had occupied no longer existed.
Xiao Xiao let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "That was—"
"Not from here," Lau Rhen finished.
"You think they were… from off-world?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he looked up at the morning sky, still pale with early light. "If they were, the question isn't where they came from. It's who they serve."
And in his mind, he added a third question — the one he would not speak aloud in front of Xiao Xiao.
And how much they already know about me.
***
The rain had stopped hours ago, but the streets still carried the faint sheen of water, reflecting the dim amber of the old street lamps. Lau Rhen walked without urgency, hands buried in his pockets, his expression unreadable as ever. His pace was steady, yet every step was deliberate—like a man measuring the world in inches, not minutes.
Behind him, the city breathed its usual nighttime rhythm—muffled conversations, the hum of passing cars, the occasional bark of a stray dog. Yet in the faint resonance of qi that only he seemed to notice, there was something off. A shift. Small, but undeniable.
He didn't look back. He didn't have to.
The watchers were there.
They didn't move close; they didn't need to. They simply trailed in the corners where lamplight thinned, their grotesque forms barely concealed behind the distorted shimmer of space. Lau Rhen had already mapped their positions in his mind—four on the left, three on the right, and one… above.
The one above was dangerous.
He turned into a narrower street, the kind no one used at this hour. The smell of damp stone and rusted iron greeted him. His shoes clicked against the pavement, an echo that felt almost too loud.
And then, from the shadows ahead, a figure emerged.
It wasn't a monster. It was a boy.
"You're Lau Rhen, right?" The boy's voice was calm, but his qi flow betrayed a slight quickening.
Lau Rhen didn't slow down. "Depends on who's asking."
The boy stepped forward into the weak light. His face was sharp but young, his hair tied loosely in the style Lau Rhen had seen once in the off-world markets. He was dressed in the same school uniform as Lau Rhen's, but the faint azure embroidery on his sleeve marked him as more than just a student.
"Name's Shen Qiye," the boy said, stopping three paces away. "Fourth branch of the Shen Clan, beast Sect."
That got Lau Rhen's attention—but not enough for him to show it. His eyes flickered for just half a second before he spoke.
"And?"
Shen Qiye's gaze sharpened. "You've been noticed. That's not always a good thing."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward—it was sharp enough to cut the air between them.
Lau Rhen took one more step forward, closing the distance to two paces. His voice was low, almost bored. "Then whoever's doing the noticing should make better use of their time."
From the rooftops, one of the watchers shifted, its limbs curling unnaturally, its eyeless face tilting downward like a predator deciding whether the prey was worth it.
Shen Qiye glanced upward just enough to notice. "You see them too, then."
"I see everything worth seeing," Lau Rhen said flatly.
There was a pause. Shen Qiye's expression darkened—not from anger, but from the weight of understanding. "Then you should know. This city isn't as safe as it pretends to be. And the watchers… they're not acting alone."
Lau Rhen let his gaze drift past Shen Qiye's shoulder, toward the end of the alley. He could see movement there too, faint and quick. "I already know that."
Shen Qiye tilted his head slightly, studying him. "Do you?"
For a moment, neither spoke. The sound of dripping water somewhere nearby filled the silence. Then Shen Qiye's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "You're either going to be very useful… or very dangerous."
Lau Rhen stepped past him without another word.
As he walked away, Shen Qiye spoke again, his voice calm but carrying an edge. "If you want answers, follow the trail to the abandoned clocktower in the east quarter. Midnight. Don't be late."
Lau Rhen didn't respond. He didn't need to.
Because he had already decided—he was going.