In Kyoto, Chu Zihang walked alone through the darkness. This was a shadowed alley in the old district. The dim streetlights stretched and shortened his shadow, making it resemble a specter.
His steps were steady and evenly paced. The soles of his leather shoes struck the wet bluestone pavement, producing clear, lonely echoes.
As he passed the third intersection, his left foot, raised in midair, imperceptibly stalled for one-tenth of a second before landing steadily, as though he had merely stepped on a slightly larger pebble.
Someone was following him—
Not a coincidence, nor the unconscious trailing of a drunkard. It was an extremely professional pursuit, with the distance and rhythm deliberately controlled. The footsteps almost overlapped with his own, while the follower's breathing and presence had been suppressed to the lowest possible level, like a parasite clinging to bone—
Chu Zihang's expression remained completely calm. Even his breathing rhythm did not change. As though utterly unaware of the shadow behind him, he continued forward at his original pace, only subtly adjusting the angle of his shoulders so that the corner of his eye could catch a wider range behind him.
Ahead, the alley was about to turn into another, narrower side street. Rather than continuing straight, he turned into it with the natural ease of habit. The instant he entered, his figure was swallowed by the shadows cast by the walls.
Like a cold stone statue, he silently pressed himself into the recessed corner of the wall behind the turn. Holding his breath and focusing his mind, he merged with the darkness, suppressing his presence until it nearly vanished.
Faint footsteps approached, almost synchronized with the sound of friction against the ground. The newcomer was clearly extremely cautious as well. They paused for a moment at the corner, seemingly