⚠️ Content Warning: The following scene contains depictions of violence, threatening behavior, and disturbing language. Reader discretion is advised.
Outside the cafeteria, dusk draped the alleyways in quiet shadow, broken only by the occasional hiss of traffic in the distance. Hua Rong stood beneath the flickering signboard, a white cake box resting gently in her arms—inside, a soft pink-frosted cake and a single candle nestled beside a sharp, real kitchen knife her mother had handed her earlier.
They told her to wait. The workers were still cleaning, and her mother had promised: Once we're done, we'll all celebrate your birthday together.
She'd been waiting. But her grip on the box had shifted—now the knife was in her hand, not out of threat but fidgeting restlessness. She twirled it absently, letting it glint in the dim light.
Then—voices.
Low, male murmurs drifting from the alley to her left.
"...Yeah, her shift ends at eleven."
"Let's wait till then. You know how it is..."
A third voice snickered. "Seriously, those bitches drive so n wild."
The words didn't fully register at first. They hit her brain like static. But then—sothing cracked. Her mind... blanked. Not with confusion, but with a frightening, complete silence. A silence she'd only felt once before, a long ti ago.
Her knuckles whitened around the knife handle. Every breath felt thin. She stepped forward, one quiet, slow footstep at a ti.
There were three of them. n in their twenties maybe, leaning lazily against the wall like predators just out of the spotlight. One was smoking, the end of his cigarette glowing like a firefly in the dark.
The first one saw her and blinked. "What's this? Beta's out of her pen?" he scoffed, glancing sideways at the others.
"Hey, kid, get lost," the second one barked with a casual wave of his hand.
"Who sent you here?" Hua Rong's voice was low. Too calm. Too quiet.
They frowned.
"Sent us?" one of them laughed. "What the hell's she babbling about?"
"Go back to whatever little school you ca from, brat," the other sneered. "Before soone teaches you how to behave."
"I said..." She stepped closer. The knife glead in her grip, her fingers curled tightly around it. "Tell who sent you... and I'll let you go."
That's when they noticed the weapon wasn't so toy.
"...Wait. Is that a real knife?" The man with the cigarette straightened, suddenly alert.
"Kid, don't play with shit like that," another said. But his voice had lost its edge—there was caution in it now.
"She thinks we'll get scared of her?" the third one laughed, but uneasily. "Little brat—"
But he didn't finish.
Because Hua Rong moved.
In a flash, the blade cut the air with a sickening whistle—and slashed across the cheekbone of the first man, just beneath his eye. He scread, staggering back, blood pouring through his fingers as he clutched his face.
The second lunged to grab her wrist—but she twisted, viciously, and drove the knife straight into the center of his palm. He howled, stumbling back as she yanked it free, his blood staining her arm.
The third man backed up, both hands raised now. "H-Hey! Don't co closer!"
But Hua Rong was already there, the tip of the blade pressed cold against his neck, just above the collarbone.
"Talk," she hissed. Her eyes, dark and storm-wild, locked on his. "Tell who sent you. Now. Or I swear—I'll make you wish I hadn't let your friends go first."
"I—I don't know!" he stamred, voice shaking. "We—we were just told to wait, that's it! So guy paid us off to scare soone! I swear!"
"Na," she demanded.
"I don't—I never t him in person! Just a na—Zhao Mingyu! That's all I got, I swear!"
That na.
That na again.
Her breath caught like tal grinding against stone.
Her hand trembled, but she didn't pull the knife away.
"Take to him."
"What—?"
"Take. . To him."
.....
They were in the alley near a building. The alley had grown still, too still. The scent of iron was thick in the air, mingled with sothing far more primal—fear.
Hua Rong had one of the n on his knees now, his arms yanked behind his back, trembling as her hand gripped the back of his hair to keep him still. The knife was pressed against his throat from behind, so sharp that a single twitch might draw blood.
She didn't flinch. Not even when the other two stood there with their hands half-raised, glancing between their injured friend and the blade in her grip like they couldn't believe this was really happening.
"Call him," she ordered coldly, eyes locked on the man holding the phone. Her voice didn't rise—it didn't need to. The chill in her tone was enough to make them move.
"W-What?" the man stamred.
"Call him and tell him to co outside. You're not taking in. He's coming out."
The man with the bleeding cheek glared but didn't argue. With shaking hands, he fumbled for his phone and dialed. Sweat slipped down his temple as the call connected.
"Hey man," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, "co outside—we brought her."
There was a pause on the line.
"Isn't it too early?" The voice that answered was calm. Male. Cold.
"Yeah, her shift ended early," the man lied quickly. "So we, uh, brought her here."
Another silence. Then: "Fine. Bring her inside."
"No, man—we ain't dragging her in," he said, glancing at Hua Rong with dread. "You haven't paid us enough for that kinda work."
A pause. "Fine." The line went dead.
The man pocketed the phone and stared at her. "Now... let him go."
Hua Rong's eyes narrowed. She didn't say anything. Instead, she shoved the hostage forward—hard. He stumbled into the arms of the others, gasping, nearly falling over as the knife pressure vanished from his neck.
They clutched him quickly, steadying him. Blood still dripped from his friend's cheek, the cut beneath his eye deep and raw.
"Take him," Hua Rong said, stepping back but not lowering the knife. Her voice dropped into sothing even darker. "Take him, and run. Now."
They hesitated. One of them stared at her like she was sothing inhuman. "What are you going to do with him?"
She tilted her head slightly, and for a second, the streetlamp caught the reflection in her eyes. Cold. Unblinking.
"I'm going to kill him," she said simply. "And if you don't want to die too, you'd better run while I still feel rciful."
None of them moved for a beat.
Then—they did.
One grabbed the injured man, slinging his arm over his shoulder. The other backed away slowly, his eyes locked on Hua Rong like she might co at him again.
When they turned and fled, she didn't chase them.
She just stood there in the alley, the blood-ward knife still in her hand, and waited for him to co.
Zhao Mingyu.
The na pulsed like a curse in her mind.
The source of this c𝓸ntent is fr(e)𝒆
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