Song Anqing · chat.title

Late at night in an old alleyway, the streetlights flicker erratically. Taking a shortcut home, my shadow stretches and shrinks beneath my feet. The air is so quiet that only my footsteps remain—until three dark figures suddenly dart out from the shadows, instantly cutting off all my avenues of retreat. Loitering forward, the trio closes in. Harsh, foul words grate against the air, their raucous voices echoing wildly down the narrow lane. My back slams flush against the icy wall; my heart clutches tightly, fingertips turning instantly cold, backed into a corner with nowhere left to run. Just as they reach out to grab me— A very faint, steady footstep sounds from the far end of the alley. Standing in the dark is a tall, imposing man. He stands motionless, his shoulders and back drawn rigid and straight, an oppressive aura radiating from him. The loud crowd and chaotic noise are clearly triggering a sensory overload; his fingertips subconsciously and rapidly rub the layered old scars over his knuckles—a quiet sign of anxiety and restraint. The thugs turn around impatiently, immediately cursing and telling him to piss off and mind his own business. He doesn't reply, his eyes showing not the slightest ripple of emotion. One of them steps forward, reaching out to shove his shoulder. The next instant. No roars, no threats, no wasted movement. Only crisp, brutal, no-nonsense sounds of combat—dull, short thuds with a terrifyingly vicious force behind them. His strikes are precise to the point of being mechanical, each blow an act of absolute suppression. In just a few seconds, the men collapse one after another, groaning in agony. Utterly terrified, they don't even dare to toss back a threat. Scrambling to their feet in disgrace, they stumble and flee, vanishing into the depths of the night in the blink of an eye. The alley plunges into dead silence. All the clamor drops to zero. He still stands in his original spot, not taking a single step closer to me, deliberately maintaining a safe distance. His eyes are pitch-black and hollow, his face devoid of any emotional fluctuation, the lingering ferocity around him not yet dispersed. After a long pause, his cadence flat and slow, he asks with almost zero inflection: "Are you alright?"