Huo Yingxue · Chat

The night at the abandoned cannery is torn apart by flashing red and blue lights. You have lost count of how long you've been locked up here. Your mouth is sealed shut with duct tape, and the zip ties are cutting into the flesh of your wrists. The smell of blood and rust blends together, making every breath feel like swallowing razor blades. There are three kidnappers, all beastmen. The hyena beastman with a scar on his face just kicked you again, complaining that your "eyes aren't behaving." You curl up in the corner, hearing them argue in hushed voices outside—about ransom, deadlines, and killing the hostage. "Twenty minutes left," Scarface walks in and squats in front of you, his yellowed eyes staring at you, his smile stretching from ear to ear. "You'd better pray someone cares about you." You close your eyes. Then, you hear that sound. Extremely soft, extremely fast, like a night breeze passing through a window crack. With a muffled thud, the lookout kidnapper outside collapses to the ground before he can even scream. Scarface suddenly stands up, reaching for his waist. Too late. The metal door of the cold storage is violently kicked open from the outside. Not by explosives, but by a kick. The hinges shatter, and the iron door panel flies three meters away. A massive white figure stands against the light. His platinum hair gleams coldly under the fluorescent light. His ice-blue tiger eyes bypass the messy floor and lock onto you with precision—in that moment, there is no playfulness or laziness in his eyes, only the absolute focus of a predator locking onto its prey. Huo Yingxue. He is wearing an all-black SWAT tactical uniform. The bulletproof vest accentuates the lethal lines of his broad shoulders and narrow waist. You can even see the contour of his chest muscles rising and falling with his breath, tightly bound by the tactical vest. That thick, long white tiger tail behind him is tensed like a steel whip, without a hint of laziness. "Fuck," Scarface curses, reaching out to grab you as a human shield. Huo Yingxue moves so fast you can't even see it clearly. With a height of 203 cm and nearly two hundred pounds of muscle, his starting speed is like being launched from a catapult. In two steps, he crosses the entire room. On the third step, he uses the wall for leverage, spinning in mid-air and delivering a devastating whip kick right to Scarface's face. *Crack*—the sound of a nasal bone shattering. Scarface flies backward, crashes into the wall, and goes completely still. The last kidnapper lunges from the corner, thrusting a dagger directly toward the back of his neck. Huo Yingxue doesn't even look back. He reaches back with his right arm, locks his fingers around the other's wrist holding the knife, and then—twists. The sound of dislocating joint is quiet, but the scream is deafening. Only then does he turn around, driving a fist into the man's stomach. As the man falls to his knees, Huo Yingxue casually slaps the back of his head, and the world goes quiet. Thirty seconds. Three men. He half-squats, bringing his gaze level with yours. In his ice-blue eyes, the coldness from a moment ago is rapidly fading, replaced by something else—warmth. A living, burning warmth. His movements are incredibly gentle as he peels off the duct tape, but his tone is still that same annoying, playful attitude: "Hey, kiddo, next time you get kidnapped, can you pick a closer spot? This crappy factory is in the suburbs; I ran four red lights on my way here." The moment the tape is pulled off, cold air rushes in, making you cough violently. His large hand cups the back of your head, pressing you against his shoulder—the tactical vest is hard, carrying a clean scent of soap and a faint smell of gunpowder. "Alright, alright," his voice sounds above your head, the vibration of his chest rumbling through to you. "It's okay now." You feel his tiger tail wrap around you at some point, loosely encircling your waist, forming a tiny protective barrier that allows no one else to intrude. A cold voice comes through his earpiece; it's Lin Yan: "The other kidnapper, I picked him up on the road, alive. How's your side?" Huo Yingxue presses his earpiece: "Three. One might need to go to the hospital first." "Doing this again." Lin Yan's tone is flat, but the disapproval is clear. "Su Heming," Huo Yingxue ignores him and switches channels. "Hostage is safe, emotional state is fine, have the ambulance ready." "Received," Su Heming's warm voice comes through, carrying a smile. "Xuexue, you were three seconds slower than expected today. Didn't sleep well last night, or is your physical condition declining?" "Fuck off." "Lu Zheng is already whining, saying you stole his kill." "Tell him to train for another three years." Huo Yingxue releases you and takes half a step back. He doesn't care about the bloodstains on his tactical vest; he just uses his thumb to wipe the dust off your face, then looks down at your wrists, which are chafed by the zip ties, and frowns. He doesn't say anything, but unfastens his tactical gloves and slips them onto your hands, which are shivering from the cold. The gloves are too big, so he tightens the Velcro for you. "Let's go, taking you home." Behind him, Lin Yan packs up his sniper rifle and slides down from his vantage point. Lu Zheng runs in carrying a battering ram, complaining about missing the fight. Su Heming leans against the doorframe, smiling as he yawns. Huo Yingxue doesn't wait for them. He carries you in his arms, walking at the front. His shoulders are broad, and his tiger tail sways lazily behind him.