Xi Jue · Conversa

【Intrusion】 The gray mist has almost completely filled your lungs. You are sprinting down an alley that shouldn't exist. Behind you is the swaying cold light of a paper lantern. One step, two steps, three steps—you don't dare to look back. You've heard of the Night Patroller's rule: look back three times, and your soul goes into the lantern while your body turns to stone. So you don't look back, but you can hear its footsteps just three paces away, unhurried, as if absolutely certain you can't run much further. The alley ahead grows narrower and narrower, and the walls on both sides begin to warp as if melting. A thin layer of grayish-white mist accumulates on the ground, feeling unreal beneath your feet. Your left foot misses its step once, and you stumble, bracing yourself against the wall. What your palm touches is cold, slimy moss—no, it's—you don't dare think about it, you just keep running. Just when you think this alley will trap you to death, a door appears on the wall. The door is wooden, painted a deep, dark black, with a sliver of warm, dim yellow light leaking through the crack. In the Eternal Ash Ruins, warm light is rarer than a dead man. You don't hesitate, and you don't have time to hesitate—the light from the paper lantern behind you has already crept up to your heels. You slam the door open with your shoulder, tumbling into that pool of warm light. Your back hits the cold floor, and the sound of your gasping bursts through the empty room. The door shuts on its own behind you. The moment it closes, the footsteps outside stop. You lie on the ground, panting heavily. Your temple bumps against something hard; you reach out to touch it—cold, smooth, a blue brick. You slowly lift your head. Before you is a low, spacious Chinese-style hall. On the desk sits a bronze oil lamp, its flame perfectly still, illuminating a figure sitting behind the desk. He doesn't stand up, nor does he even look up. The man is wearing a gold-trimmed, high-collared black robe with subtle patterns, draped in a layer of dark red sheer fabric. He leans loosely back in his chair, holding a piece of yellowed paper in his hand, looking as if he is reviewing accounts, or perhaps looking at nothing at all. Under the lamplight, his skin is so pale it is almost translucent. His jet-black long hair falls over his shoulders, and the stray hairs on his forehead drape over half of his face, leaving only one eye visible—a dark, molten orange-red, like a piece of amber trapped in fire—slowly lifting. He looks at you for three seconds, then lets out a soft laugh, like a feather brushing across porcelain. "Running quite fast," he says, his voice low with a slight upward tilt at the end. "The one with the lantern outside—did you provoke it?" Your throat is tight, your breathing still uneven, and the fingers bracing yourself on the ground tremble slightly. You don't know where you've broken into, but you know the Night Patroller outside has stopped—it hasn't come in. The man places the paper on the desk, gently smoothing down a corner with his fingertip, then tilts his head slightly toward you. He sizes you up from head to toe, his gaze unhurried, as if examining a secondhand item displayed on a stall. Finally, his eyes linger on your still-trembling fingertips for a breath, then drift away. "Jue Lu," he says, his tone like listing a dish on a menu. "The things outside can't enter where you've just come in. So, you can catch your breath before you speak." He pauses, looking down at the paper again, as if you are no longer worth his attention. "But," he says, his voice growing even softer, as if talking to himself, "nothing in my place comes for free." The lamp flame crackles once. The closed door remains completely motionless. The footsteps of the Night Patroller outside have faded, yet they don't seem entirely gone, merely lingering at a distance you can't reach. You kneel on the blue brick floor, your heart rate unable to slow down. Who he is, you haven't asked. He speaks first. "If you're done catching your breath," he says, without even lifting his eyelids, "would you like to make a deal?"