Chapter 151#
The Hunt 02#
At the far end of the gift section, the shelves were lined with gift boxes of every shape and size — some small, some large enough to fit two people inside.
There was a discreet little staircase here, connecting the floors above and below. The stairwell was utterly silent; peering in through the half-open door, one could see moss growing on the damp walls and thick dust covering the floor, undisturbed by any hunter’s footstep.
Light, unhurried footsteps approached. The silver-haired guest in the black robe arrived among the mountains of gift boxes, apparently intending to pass through and take the stairs.
He paused briefly in front of a large silver gift box.
“Your blood is leaking out,” he said quietly.
Sure enough, of the four corners where the silver box met the floor, one had already been stained red. Blood was seeping out, running into the cracks between the floorboards.
If one listened carefully, the sound of rapid, suppressed breathing could be heard from inside the box. Someone was hiding in there.
Five seconds after he spoke, the lid of the gift box shifted.
A pale-faced young boy lifted the lid and poked his head up from inside.
“I think I… saw you just now, when I was running for my life,” the boy said.
The silver-haired guest’s tone was detached but not impolite. “Likewise,” he said.
The group from earlier had been chasing this very boy; they’d lost track of him partway through — the prey had hidden himself here.
The boy stared at the face behind the black veil. “You’re covering your face. You’re prey too, aren’t you?”
No answer.
Not far away, the muffled sounds of footsteps and voices drifted closer.
“Where’d he go?”
“He was here a second ago — he must be hiding somewhere.”
“Search the whole place.”
Not only had they not been shaken off, they were getting closer. The boy’s face went a shade paler. He kept his voice as low as he could manage. “There are people out there hunting, too. Moving alone is too dangerous. Can we escape together?”
As he spoke, the boy climbed out of the gift box. There was a deep gash on his leg, dripping steadily with blood. He looked at the person before him, his voice almost pleading. “Help me, please. I can’t get far on my own.”
“Aren’t you afraid I’m a hunter too?”
The boy shook his head. “I have a very special mid-tier item. It can tell whether someone means me harm. You don’t.”
Through the ornate black lace veil, the boy could vaguely make out the corners of that person’s mouth curving slowly upward. A smile.
His item told him this person still held not the slightest ill intent toward him.
After so many days in Misty City, this was the person with the least malice he had ever encountered.
No malice — which meant goodwill.
And that smile from behind the veil put the boy further at ease.
The sound of pursuing footsteps drew closer.
A rough, hoarse voice said: “Think they could’ve hidden inside one of the boxes?”
The boy looked at the person beside him like a startled bird, and reached out a hand. “Quick — let’s take the stairs down. My leg hurts a bit, but I can manage. You just need to hold onto me — I won’t slow you down. I have three mid-tier items. What about you?”
The person’s arm shifted. A hand emerged from the black robe — graceful and slender — and lightly took hold of the boy’s, leading him toward the staircase.
Looking at that hand, several thoughts flashed through the boy’s mind in quick succession.
This was not a woman’s hand.
Looking more carefully at the whole figure ahead, aside from the hat, nothing about the attire was actually feminine.
Then, judging by the build and height…
Could it be that the hat wasn’t to hide the eyes at all, but to obscure the age?
No matter. Either way, this person was definitely a qualifying target. No question about that.
The kind soul leading him forward by the hand, the converging sounds of the hunt closing in behind — the boy ran his tongue over his canine teeth and let a smile spread across his face, thick with cold menace.
Grey mist began to rise slowly from their interlaced fingers.
Mid-tier item: Proof of Friendship
Effect: Freezes the target’s blood throughout their body, causing death.
Restriction: Takes effect ten seconds after initiating a handshake with the target. Single use only.
The hunters were drawing closer, weaving between the gift boxes.
Seven seconds. Six. Five…
Three. Two…
The boy’s footsteps slowed involuntarily. A smile settled at the corner of his lips.
One more second, and he would have a high-tier item.
The silver-haired guest turned his head slightly to look back at him, his gaze calm and unhurried.
So there really were kind-hearted people in Misty City after all.
The boy opened his mouth, still smiling. “Good ni—”
The second syllable never came. A gunshot rang out directly above his head.
The tremendous impact struck the crown of his skull like a meteorite hitting the earth. Everything before his eyes twisted and warped. The next instant, a bizarre repelling force travelled up through his hand as well — his grip went slack, powerless, and his body toppled toward the ground like a leaf falling in autumn.
In the last flicker of his peripheral vision, he saw the top of the tallest shelving unit, where — at some point without his notice — a dark figure had appeared.
As his body continued to fall, he caught one final glimpse of the silver-haired “kind soul’s” expression, still exactly as composed as it had been from the very beginning.
“Good night, Five of Spades.”
The chaotic sound of footsteps surged from far to near. The hunters, upon hearing the gunshot, rushed forward all at once and finally arrived at the gift box area.
Unfortunately, the boy they’d been hunting the whole time was already a corpse on the floor.
“For fuck’s sake — all that for nothing.” One of the hunters swore out loud, then in the same breath caught sight of a familiar silhouette — a black wide-brimmed hat — and blurted out: “How are you here too…”
Then the hunter’s eyes gradually adjusted to the dim light, and he realized that in this small space there was in fact a third person — and this person was levelling a gun at that very hat.
The bullet had just fired once; the muzzle of the gun in Yu Feichen’s hand was still warm. He stood before the silver-haired figure, the gun barrel grazing the ornate black lace veil, leaving a slight impression in the netting.
Then the black barrel rose slowly and flicked the hat off.
The magnificent hat hit the floor. A strand of imperfectly pinned silver hair came loose, cascading down — like night clouds parting to reveal a cool, solitary moon.
The same exchange that had played out once already now repeated among the hunters.
“Does someone like this count as young-looking?”
“No idea. Kill first, figure it out later.”
“There’s no penalty for guessing wrong anyway.”
They glanced at each other, both faintly excited, reaching a silent agreement — and then turned back toward that silver-haired, striking prey, only to find themselves abruptly meeting another gaze entirely.
The third person had one hand gripping the prey’s shoulder, pressing him in against his own chest. It was something resembling an embrace, yet so forcibly done that it felt cold and dangerous.
He looked out from half-lidded eyes, his gaze drifting without urgency across the assembled hunters. The gun barrel came to rest slowly at the prey’s temple.
A wordless gesture, making one thing perfectly clear.
Mine.