Wang Siyuan

Can you imagine a night without the moon? There’s an old saying in the land of Huaxia: “A moonless night is the perfect time for murder; a gusty night is fit for arson.” Such are the ancient poems depicting nights bereft of the moon. This year’s New Year’s Eve was one such moonless night, casting an even deeper pall of loneliness over the city. A shadow, flitting like a bat, landed in the derelict park of Haifeng City’s old district—a park long abandoned, where no one would venture in the dead of night. Not far from here stood Ye Feng’s ancestral home.

Wang Siyuan clutched the gunshot wound on his shoulder, cursing furiously, “Damn those decrepit bastards of the Ai family! All I did was overhear a stray sentence, didn’t even know what it meant, and they sent a whole crew to silence me! Lucky for me I ran fast, or I’d have been riddled with bullets by now!”

But curses changed nothing. Wang Siyuan greedily gulped down the fresh air, having been on the run for two days and nights. No matter how careful, a man is not a machine—he tires. This afternoon, a moment’s inattention had left him with a bullet in his shoulder. The wound wasn’t deep, nor was it vital, but the blood had flowed for over three hours. Now, pale-faced and weak from blood loss, Wang Siyuan knew he couldn’t stop—stopping meant certain death.

Lost in thought for just a moment, Wang Siyuan suddenly realized he was surrounded by black-clad men. The world was silent but for a single, flickering streetlamp, threatening at an