That night, in Foshan.
The barbershop.
The night was deep and quiet, the lamplight soft.
A light rain fell outside, fine as strands of hair, like a tangle of cotton that could never be cut through, painting the stone paving and walls a dull gray.
A faint chill drifted through the air. Yang Lian sat inside the shop, one hand tucked into her sleeve, the other holding a teapot from which she slowly drank. She sat on into the night, only looking up when footsteps sounded outside the barbershop.
A tall, powerfully built figure arrived through the rain. It was Lian Youming, who had hurried over that very night.
Lian Youming had never imagined that he could even have a stand-in.
Of course.
He had already thought of how the Junk King had clearly traveled far from home with him, yet someone had still been at his house.
That had to have been a stand-in too.
Honestly, the man should have told him sooner. He had kept that secret buried deep.
Now that there was a stand-in, there was so much more he could do.
"How long have you been waiting?"
Seeing the lights still on inside, Lian Youming grinned and laughed, secretly channeling his Hua Jin. Like a tiger shaking itself, he shed every drop of rain from his body, as though a pair of invisible hands had stripped them away. They turned into a cloud of mist beneath the light, then dispersed into the wind.
"Oh?"
Yang Lian frowned as she studied the young man before her.
They had only been apart a few short days, yet Lian Youming's presence seemed different again. With his every movement, the shadow at his feet almost seemed to become a tiger baring its fangs and claws, prowling and waiting to strike,