Stroll 2

The elegantly dressed young man enters the tea shop, where his unsuspecting victim is sipping her tea. Most of the customers in the shop are unmarried women with various backgrounds. As the mysterious man, clad in black robes and possessing a captivating allure, steps inside, their cups freeze mid-sip, and their mouths form perfect "O" shapes. Their greedy eyes remain fixed on the direction of this enchanting creature who has just graced their presence

"Oh my! Who's family household is this nice meat came from!"

"Ah! So handsome! I think I lose my chastity by looking at him!"

"Indeed this young master is an eye candy! Is he married or not?"

" Oh! Ah! Look he is meeting someone!"

"Ah! She must be his girl! How envious!"

The handsome young man caught wind of the hushed whispers from the women behind him. Naturally, his ego swelled twofold, and a smug smile graced his handsome face as he glided elegantly toward his unsuspecting target. With a feigned cough, he audaciously claimed the vacant chair at her table. Sporting the veneer of a proper gentleman, he began conversing, his words dripping like honey from his lips.

"May I sit here, m- AH! Y-YOU!" He can't help but shout startling the dreamy girls who are rattling their fantasies

The beautiful young man's face distorted as if he saw something he didn't want. He pointed to the person in front of him and shamelessly said.

"Why are you here? What's with that getup?"

The person who is sipping tea calmly looks at him and puts the cup elegantly on the table.

"I am completing my mission" The person mimicked a woman's voice when speaking but there is a feint deep tone in the voice

The striking young man emitted a disdainful snort, his gloved hand sweeping across his face to alleviate the stifling warmth. The lower half of his countenance remained concealed beneath the shadow of a finely crafted mask, yet his obsidian eyes—sharp and inquisitive—betrayed a mixture of curiosity and mockery. The air around him seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly allure, drawing the attention of all who dared to glance his way.

"Oh! So this enigmatic figure before me can set aside his pride and don attire typically reserved for women. Yet, it seems the audience is far from disappointed; your allure is akin to that of a captivating maiden. Even I find myself drawn to your beauty—my eyes opened wide in surprise! Heh! Little did I realize that your so-called mission holds such significance," he taunted.

The individual observing him remains remarkably composed, seemingly impervious to the mocking words of the striking man. Clad in women's attire and adorned with delicate hairpins, this person conceals their true identity beneath a thick layer of makeup. Their blue-green eyes exude tranquility, devoid of any hint of annoyance. With a serene smile, they regard the young man before them, who fans himself with affected elegance.

"Thank you for your compliment," the green-clad individual retorts, their calm facade unwavering.

"I wasn't aware of your fetish for crossdressers. Truly, people these days harbor a myriad of preferences."

The elegant figure in the black robe scowled, snapping his fan shut with a crisp sound. His gaze bore into the composed individual before him, a cold intensity radiating from obsidian eyes.

"Are you implying that I straddle both genders, like a fickle pendulum?" His voice dripped with disdain as if he longed to throttle the man with his gloved hands.

The green-clad person merely arched an eyebrow, seemingly unfazed. "Ah, did I strike a nerve? Well, if the shoe fits, wear it. By the way, this young lady has completed her mission, so I shall take my leave." With a nonchalant lift of their brow, they stood up.

The once beautiful man now seethed with dark energy, tendrils of black smoke curling around his right hand.

"YOU—!" His curse was cut short as his vision blurred, darkness encroaching. He swayed, consciousness slipping away.

The green-dressed man sighed. Fortunately, he had procured a potent sleeping needle from an old wanderer.

Who knew that a seemingly innocuous purchase would save him from a protracted confrontation? Fate had a peculiar sense of humor. 

The quaint tea shop fell into an astonished hush as patrons gawked, their eyes bulging like overripe fruit. The once-handsome young man swayed, his equilibrium betraying him, and he began a slow descent toward the floor. In a heartbeat, his green-clad companion—whose arms seemed forged from iron—darted forward, deftly scooping the unconscious man into a bridal hold. The collective thought echoed through their minds:

This sister wields the strength of a raging bull, arms like a gorilla!

The womenfolk, wide-eyed and incredulous, surreptitiously pinched their own arms. Could it be true? Could a delicate-looking woman bear the weight of such a hefty burden?

That sister's arms are made of steel.

Having successfully apprehended the so-called flower thief, the cross-dressing man stepped out of the tea shop, cradling the unconscious beauty in his arms. Spectators watched, jaws slack, eyes like saucers. Some even choked on their tea in sheer disbelief.

And so, one conscious and one insensate figure exited, slipping into the shadows of a dim alley. No one outside noticed their passage. The green-clothed person throws the other—once a vision of allure—onto the ground with the casual disdain of discarded scraps. A pat to straighten his attire, and his smiling countenance underwent a 180-degree transformation. He emitted a silent whistle, and from the inky darkness, a black shadow materialized. It bowed, its voice dripping with apathy:

"Mission accomplished." 

"Chen Wu is here, What task does he command this humble servant to undertake?" The apathetic voice reverently intoned, one knee pressed into the ground.

The verdant robes enveloping the man's form underwent a swift metamorphosis, shifting into elegant azure attire. His blue-green hair, once cascading freely, was now secured in a ponytail, adorned with a sapphire-studded crown. The makeup that had veiled his features was washed away, revealing a countenance both serene and striking—a face that would compel even the most indifferent observer to steal a second glance.

"Deliver this unconscious soul to his loving family," the master's cold directive sliced through the air. "Ensure the old master receives word of our success." With that, he vanished into the obscurity, a shadow melting into the night.

Chen Wu surveyed the pitiful figure sprawled on the ground—the once-formidable black-robed man now reduced to vulnerability. A helpless sigh escaped him. Fate had woven an intricate tapestry, and he, a mere thread, played his part in this enigmatic drama. 

"Ah, this young master is pitiful," Chen Wu mused, resigned to his orders. He lifted the unconscious man into his arms once more, the weight familiar against his chest.

And so, the beautiful young man found himself cradled in a bridal hold once again. To any passerby glancing skyward, it would appear as though a shadowy figure—clad in dark garments—was spiriting away a vision of loveliness. The scene resembled a clandestine lover's abduction from her family's estate.

Chen Wu, the young man in question, grumbled inwardly. Why, out of all the shadow guards trailing their master's every move, had he—the last in line—been thrust forward to receive these peculiar orders?

Those old foxes! he fumed silently. Those stupid seniors! They bullied the young while cowering like frightened chickens. It was infuriating!

With a determined stride, Chen Wu carried his unconscious burden into the night, the weight of duty heavy upon him. Fate had woven its threads, and he, a mere strand, played his part in this enigmatic drama. 

Deep within the sprawling expanse of the imperial palace, a tempest of panic and frenzy swirled. Eunuchs scurried, their robes billowing like startled birds, while maids darted through corridors, their footsteps echoing the urgency of their mission. Even the courtiers—usually composed and dignified—now resembled frantic ants, their polished shoes skidding on marble floors.

"Your Highness?!"

The cry echoed down the opulent hallways, a desperate plea for the elusive young lord to reveal himself. The palace walls absorbed the anguish, the very stones quivering with anxiety.

"Wuwuwuwu, Your Highness! Young Lord! Wuwuwuwu, please come out, ah!"

The maids' voices trembled, their hands wringing in distress. They had seen the wrath of the king before—the swift justice meted out to those who dared defy the royal edicts. And now, their beloved young lord had vanished, leaving them to face the storm alone.

"Ah! I don't want to be punished again!" A eunuch clutched his heart, beads of sweat forming on his brow. "Oh, your Excellency Young Lord! Please come back! We, servants, don't want to meet King Yama so early, ah!"

The servants' wails reverberated through the palace, their fervent prayers hidden behind trembling lips. They knew the stakes—the precarious balance between life and death. As they scurried, their footsteps echoing off gilded walls, they wondered if their young lord would emerge unscathed from this enigma that had gripped the imperial court.

Amidst the opulent halls of the imperial palace, a tempest brewed—a maelstrom of factions vying for supremacy. The courtiers, like chess pieces on a grand board, aligned themselves into three distinct camps.

The supporters of the Crown Prince rallied behind the heir apparent, their voices echoing with fervor. To them, the crown rested upon the rightful head, and any deviation from this path was an affront.

The champions of the Second Prince, though fewer in number, staunchly defended their chosen candidate. They argued that gentleness and kindness defined him, and perhaps the throne would find a more compassionate ruler in his hands.

And then there were the neutral officials, astute minds navigating the currents of power with precision. They abstained from the fray, their loyalty unwavering toward the emperor and the kingdom itself. Their silence spoke volumes.

Within the palace walls, the two prince factions clashed—a cacophony of hair-pulling, raised voices, and retorts. Haggard yet resolute faces locked in verbal combat, each side defending their chosen path. Meanwhile, the neutral officials observed, their expressions inscrutable. They were the silent witnesses to this dog-and-cat fight, content to remain on the sidelines.

"That Crown Prince is so careless," a blue-robed official lamented, lecturing the Prince. "How can he leave the palace and venture outside?"

"Shut that dirty mouth of yours!" The red-clothed official snapped back. "The Second Prince is equally culpable for dragging his highness into this mess!"

"The Second Prince is gentle and kind," argued another. "How can you blame the young Lord? Open your eyes and see!"

"Oh hoh?! Wash my eyes?" The old geezer's retort dripped with disdain. "Come here, and I'll sew that wide mouth of yours shut!"

"Ridiculous! How dare you?!"

"Come bite me!"

"Pei! I won't sink my teeth into old, decayed meat!"

As the verbal skirmish escalated, the palace trembled with tension. Amidst it all, the emperor's edict became the sought-after resolution:

"Your majesty, please intervene!" pleaded an old official in crimson robes.

"Restore order! They must complete the ceremony!"

Amidst the opulent halls of the imperial palace, chaos reigned. The courtiers, like a swarm of agitated bees, prostrated themselves on the marble floor. Their wrinkled foreheads touched the cold stone as they blabbered and pleaded, their voices a cacophony of desperation.

Seated upon the magnificent Dragon throne—an emblem of power—the emperor Quiang Guo Xi cut a striking figure. His yellow-gold robes shimmered, adorned with intricate dragon motifs that seemed to take flight toward the heavens. A golden crown rested atop his flowing white hair, and his long beard cascaded like a waterfall. Though age had etched lines upon his face, his eyes remained sharp—windows to a past filled with conquests and wisdom. His presence, both majestic and terrifying, filled the vast chamber.

Yet, even the emperor's patience had limits. As the officials' clamor intensified, their voices rising like a tempest, he endured the piercing noise. Their bickering echoed off the walls, each face contorted with frustration. It was as if they silently challenged him: Fight me, and I will bite you to death!

But enough was enough. The emperor's hand slammed onto the golden table, the resounding thud echoing through the hall. The courtiers gulped, their fear palpable. They dared not meet his gaze—an annoyed expression etched upon his features.

You old foxes are sure so lovely! 

The emperor's voice thundered through the court, silencing the bickering factions. His patience had worn thin, and he spared no one from his wrath.

"You!" His finger pointed accusingly at the representatives of both prince factions. "And you! Zhen is tired of your incessant blabbering mouths! If the two of you can't cease this squabbling, I'll personally sew your lips shut! Heh! This Zhen is leaving!"

With that, the emperor swept out of the court, his golden robes billowing behind him. The courtiers watched in stunned silence as their ruler departed, leaving them to grapple with their guilt and the weight of his displeasure.

"… Your majesty?" The two factions exchanged glances, their bravado replaced by unease.

Meanwhile, the neutral court officials slipped away, their satisfied grins hidden behind respectful masks. They had witnessed the spectacle—the dog-and-cat fight—and now retreated to their quarters, contented from watching their colleagues the comedic bickering.

In the dimly lit confines of a lavish brothel, two enigmatic figures reclined, their identities concealed by ornate Dragon robes and masks. The air hung heavy with the scent of opulence and intrigue.

The first man, draped in a black Dragon robe, emanated an aura of cold detachment. His mask obscured half his face, leaving only his eyes visible—obsidian pools that seemed to pierce through the shadows. He nursed his wine, gaze unwavering, as if waiting for a clandestine rendezvous.

Beside him sat the second man, resplendent in a white Dragon robe. His mask covered the upper half of his face, leaving only his eyes and a hint of sly amusement visible. His brows furrowed, and he leaned closer to his brother, the rim of his wine cup brushing against his lips.

"Who are you waiting for, brother?" he inquired, voice low and conspiratorial. The wine's crimson hue mirrored the intrigue that swirled around them.

"...."

The white-haired man's teasing words hung in the air, but his aloof and cold brother interrupted the banter. Abruptly rising from his seat, the black-haired man's icy demeanor shifted imperceptibly. The white-haired companion ceased his teasing, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"We're leaving alre—" The white-haired man's sentence remained unfinished as the black-haired figure took decisive action.

....