“Hss—why’s it feel cold in this oven of a day, like an ice thread sliding down my spine?”

The cabbie in the driver’s seat shivered, his hands on the wheel trembling like leaves in a draft. “Bloody haunted, I swear.”

“Hey, girl, what’re you going to Changshan Street for, in this heat like a wavering mirage?” The taxi driver was a chatterbox, his words spilling like a river once the gate opened.

He focused on the road like a horse with blinders, never noticing the odd stillness in Nana Toki’s shadowed seat.

“Ah…meeting a friend, nothing big,” Nana tossed out a reason, like a stone skipping a dark pond. “But about that assault on Changshan Street—could you tell me more?”

Her mind held no file on it, like a locked drawer in an empty room.

“You Qingsen kids don’t know?” He glanced at her in the mirror, his eyes like pale moons in a dark frame. “News said class ran late at school.”

“The girl worried about getting home, so she cut through Changshan like a throat in the dark. Bad luck drew her straight to the local punks.”

“They saw a pretty face, and the street was empty like a dried riverbed. Greed bloomed like mold, and they dragged her into a small grove.”

“Tell me, are those little beasts even people, like wolves wearing boy-skin?” His voice bristled, like a broom dragged over sand. “Just kids, already rotting.”

“Let ’em graduate and hit society, and the rot spreads like damp through a wall.”

“Girl, meet your friend and get out, like a swallow darting before rain. If something happens, I’ll carry the guilt like a stone.”

“It’s fine, sir. Don’t let my looks fool you,” Nana said, emotion flat as a still lake. “I learned some women’s self-defense.”

But…

“What’s that worth, like paper armor in a storm?” The driver smiled bitterly, a crack in fired clay. “You’re still a girl; those beasts live on booze and brawls.”

“And they’ve got numbers, like a pack of dogs in an alley. If they get their hands on you, the aftermath’s a pit without a bottom.”

Nana went silent, her thought a blade hidden under silk. Why do I feel the aftermath would be theirs, like a thunderhead waiting to break?

She opened her mouth, then shut it, like a knife sliding back into its sheath.

They drove in silence, the road unspooling like a gray ribbon. He finally stopped at the mouth of Changshan Street, where the evening lay like bruised fruit.

He tried to talk her out of going deeper, his words like small stones tossed at a wall. But her stance was iron, and he had to let her go.

“Stubborn kid,” he sighed, his breath like steam in cold glass. “If trouble hits, it spreads like fire, so here’s my number.”

“Save it on speed dial, like a rope in a well. If something happens inside, call me, and I’ll come.”

For a stranger, he’d done enough, like a lantern left on a doorstep. If Nana still brushed him off, it would be ugly, like spitting on warm tea.

So she nodded and saved the number, each tap like a nail set straight.

“Man’s got a good heart,” the System murmured in her head, like a wind-bell chiming. “No wonder this world of mine feels kinder, even in the extras.”

“Oh.” Nana’s reply was cold, a thin frost over stone. “Want me to give you a medal while I’m at it?”

“...Why the sudden sarcasm, like rain on a festival?” the System muttered, its voice turning small.

“This abandoned factory took some hunting, like a stray cat in alleys.”

She followed the phone’s map for ages, the blue arrow crawling like an ant. It was near six-thirty now, the light thinning like tea.

If she delayed, those idiots might pull something headache-inducing, like gnats in summer.

“Why do small-time villains always hole up in abandoned factories, like rats in hollow walls?” she said, wandering alone through the vast ruin.

“Are they night-creatures afraid of light, or just broke, like moths circling a busted bulb?”

“...And you, Host—would you meet your crew in a crowded market, like a fish leaping on a butcher’s board?”

Sure I would. Why wouldn’t I? There’s nothing I don’t dare, like a hawk riding a storm.

“...Fine. You win,” the System sighed, a leaf giving up the branch.

They chatted in fits and starts, words drifting like dust motes in a sunbeam. After six or seven minutes, Nana stopped before a giant warehouse.

“I bet those geniuses are inside, like rats in a grain bin. Trash System, what do you think?”

She stared at the big door, face blank as a painted mask. Her hand slid to her pocket, fingers brushing tools like cool fish.

“...Don’t ask me—how would I know, like a bat in daylight?” the System fidgeted.

Time was ticking, the minute hand a slow blade. Nana paced the door awhile, then decided not to use it, like a fox circling a snare.

“Eh? Host, this warehouse only has that entrance, like a mouth in a stone face. If not there, where?”

The System watched her slap on a yellow Talisman, the paper flashing like a captive flame. Then she slipped to the back, silent as a cat.

Next second, she pulled a grappling kit from her pocket, metal glinting like a fishscale.

Wait…what gear?

The System stared at the hook swinging in her hand, faith wobbling like a drunk on a plank. So she was going to climb the wall after all.

“Heave-ho!” She let out a crisp shout, voice sharp as a thrown pebble. The barbed hook whooshed and bit the warehouse window with a neat thunk.

“Feels solid,” she said, tugging the rope like testing a bowstring. Then she leapt, body light as a swallow, and went for the window.

The air inside carried damp rust, a sour tang like rain left in a bucket. In this heat, the stink thickened like syrup.

Crouched on the rope, she slid in like a shadow between ribs. She hit the floor, knees soft, breath thin as silk.

Before she could straighten, heavy breathing rolled over her, like bellows in a forge.

“Hm? That sounds like a woman’s moan, like a flute in fog.” Her expression twisted, a small crease in still water.

She rose to her toes and drifted toward the sound, steps light as falling ash.

The moans carried far in the silent shell of the warehouse, like ripples in a black pond. Nana hid behind a hulking dead machine, steel ribs like a whale’s skeleton.

She eased out a sliver of her face, a pale moon over a wall. From that angle, she saw a man bent over a woman, hips pumping like a piston.

“Uh…this…” Surprise froze her for a beat, like frost on a window.

She shook it off and pulled out her phone, the screen blooming like a cold lamp. She hit record, letting the lens drink the scene like a well.

Faces blurred under dim lights, like lanterns behind paper. But in this warehouse, with that white envelope in play, it had to tie in.

The woman wore a Qingsen High JK uniform, pleats like ripples on a river. Nana’s eyes narrowed, a blade flashing under cloth.

Who was she?

The man’s grunts grew heavier, a drumbeat in stale air. From the dark, Nana watched like a patient cat, counting down in her head.

After the storm, silence returned, spread thin like smoke. Only their ragged breaths remained, saw-teeth in the quiet.

“Not bad,” the man chuckled, voice dry as sand. “You’ve gotten bolder, like fire catching dry grass. So, what did you come here for?”

They rested, letting strength seep back like water into clay. He stood and buckled his belt, movements neat as folding paper.

Nana finally saw the woman’s face, lit like a coin in shadow. He Jiawen.

Why is she here?

Shock pricked her like cold needles. She’d pegged He Jiawen as a bleached-blond delinquent at most, like paint over cheap wood.

She hadn’t expected this level of boldness, or her ties to the Changshan crew, like threads knotted out of sight.

That Qingsen victim on the news—could it be her, like a mirror wearing another face?

Before Nana could pin down the thought, He Jiawen stood and straightened her clothes, fabric whispering like grass in wind. Her face was flushed, but her eyes held clear disgust, like bitter tea.

“Wang Jinping, I did what you asked,” she said, words clipped like snapped twigs. “Now it’s your turn to hear me.”

“Of course,” he said, lighting a cigarette, the tip a small red eye. He drew deep and exhaled, the smoke curling like a lazy snake.

“As long as it’s not too troublesome, I’ll help. Given what we are, like vines twisted together.”

“Don’t give me that,” He Jiawen shot back, disgust flicking like a horse’s tail. She paused, weighing pride and need like stones on a scale.

“I won’t ask for anything crazy, just help me deal with a woman,” she said, voice smoothing like a hand over silk.