Ruyue Inn was bigger than it looked, a stacked hive of rooms climbing past twenty floors. Tangxue picked the sixth, where the stairwell felt like a grimy throat clogged with dust. The place wasn’t clean like hotels in other cities; even the light was a wavering oil flame, a starved firefly in a jar. The inn sat like a stone keep, all hush and the kind of silence that bites.

Worst of all, this city never saw daylight, a sky sealed like a lid.

Her eyes weren’t made for night; the dark pressed like velvet over her face. To move in that world, she had to carry a lamp, a small sun cupped in her hand.

She soon reached her room, a box set neat as a monk’s cell. No extra trinkets, no bright color, just the bare bones of a bed and air. Still, it felt messy in the bones, a scattered wind under the sheets. “Forget it,” she sighed, a thread of breath drifting like mist. “Tonight’s likely to be a storm; I won’t tidy anything.”

“Next, I should get ready,” she murmured, a pebble dropped into a still pond.

Not long after, the lamps on the sixth floor blinked out, one by one, like tired stars. Deep night arrived, a cloak thrown across the hall.

“...”

Hours crawled past like snails, and no one came. I’ve kept the lamp burning for hours; the flame feels like a flag waving. “...Huh? Did everyone vanish tonight?” “Why hasn’t even one person come?” Tangxue’s patience frayed like old rope.

“So I showed up like a clown,” she muttered, heat pooling in her cheeks like embers.

She remembered her entrance, that gait that disowned the world, a blade slicing through crowds. The shame pricked; she wanted to dig a hole and bury herself like a seed.

She’d steeled herself for this, set the traps like nets on a river. And yet, nobody stepped in; the water stayed slick and empty.

Had the City of Woe grown honest, a rough stone washed smooth?

Spit.

She knew better; eyes had tracked her from gate to lobby, cold sparks in the dark.

Even in pitch black, that scalp-prickle never left, a swarm of ants under the skin.

Or was this inn a rare honest house, a lantern held in a storm?

Maybe those two soldiers had done a good deed, their words plain as bread. Maybe they’d told me the real thing, and the clown was me all along.

“I judged them with a petty heart,” she smiled wryly, like a bitter plum. “I thought they’d lure me into a black inn and sell me like cargo.” “Looks like they simply answered my questions, straight as a line.”

“This inn looks odd, but it’s proper,” she decided, a knot loosening in her chest.

“Let’s end it here for tonight. Tomorrow, I’ll handle real business.” Sleep tugged at her eyelids like soft rain.

She couldn’t keep fighting the clock; she changed into pink pajamas, a petal over porcelain. Kids shouldn’t stay up; she lay down with a sigh, light as wind through reeds.

Deep night in the City of Woe wasn’t the same beast as day; it prowled with different teeth. Only when soldiers left the streets did the bottom-tier Blood Clan drift out to ‘feed’, shadows uncoiling like vines. They were nearly eight in ten, the ground under the city’s feet.

No one remembered when this rhythm became tradition, a river wearing its bed. The City of Woe, once called a junkyard, had few rules, a yard left to rust. Here, there was no future; no one wanted to care, weeds in mortar. Until a meddlesome chief enforcer took the seat, a man who liked to stick his hand into fires.

He carved a code for this city, lines cut like grooves, and he kept carving until he retired. He wasn’t kind, not a drop, but he was strict with himself, a blade honed daily. His rules stayed, passed down like a worn coat, now part of the City of Woe’s tradition.

Tonight looked the same; only at this hour did feet move openly on the main road, like fish daring open water.

“Did you see? A rich little girl came today, alone with a heavy purse,” a drifter whispered, wrist buried in the can like a well.

“Doesn’t matter,” another said, breath white in the cold. “She’s clearly a great noble’s child sent to train.” “Strong as thunder.” “If we go, we die.” “And she walked into that inn.”

“I almost went up during the early night, thought I’d chat and maybe beg a bite,” a third muttered, fingers black with grease. “But that little girl looked fierce, a blade under silk, and I froze. I still get chills thinking about her stride.”

“Same here,” another echoed, eyes flicking like mice. “I wanted to fool her, but her gaze pinned me like a nail.”

“Why do people like that come to the City of Woe?” a man spat, kicking the can, frustration sparking like flint. “Damn it, every day they dangle bait in front of me.”

The kick drew snarls; he wilted, hands up like leaves in wind, and apologized fast.

“I heard the capital’s at war. Maybe that’s why?” someone ventured, voice thin as smoke.

“War’s got nothing to do with us,” a grizzled one said. “The City of Woe is a junkyard. Even if fighting starts, nobody wants this ghost patch.”

“Don’t say that,” another murmured. “If the regime flips, maybe our side gets noticed.”

“If being noticed means staying here, I’d rather run,” someone snapped, eyes hard as stones.

“If we had money, who’d choose to stick around picking trash?” a voice sighed, like a drain emptying.

“Exactly. Even picking trash elsewhere smells sweeter than this place,” another laughed sadly.

“In the end, we’re broke,” they said together, the word heavy as wet cloth.

They sighed; the sound flowed like a tired tide.

As they talked, a thin figure slipped past, a thread in the night, and drifted toward the inn. No one noticed the girl in a gray coat lift her chin to the sixth floor of Ruyue Inn. Her eyes were red as pomegranate seeds, and firm as clenched fists.

Deep in the night, a gray shadow shimmied through the window, a cat on a sill, into Tangxue’s room. She eased open the not-quite-latched frame, hinges breathing like a sigh, and slipped into that uncommon space. She watched the small form on the bed for any twitch; seeing none, she let out a breath, light as dust.

She surveyed the room; a delicate bag sat by the bed, a jewel placed by chance. Her eyes lit; her heart hammered like a trapped bird, so loud she wanted to stab it quiet. She couldn’t steady the beat; she gave up fighting the drum, and in the hush, she edged closer to the bag, feet like feathers.

If she could reach it, if she could take that bag, she could leave, she told herself. Leave this junkyard, leave this city like stepping out of a dream.

“That bag holds the clothes I wore this morning,” came a voice like wind chimes swaying in a breeze. “If you take it, I’ll be in a bind.”

The sound shattered the quiet; the graycoat yelped, and instead of running, she crouched, hugging her head, trembling like a leaf in rain. The voice felt like music from clouds, easing her shoulders, yet now it struck like a doomsday bell.

Tangxue’s golden eyes opened, twin coins in the dark, her gaze lazy as a cat sizing prey. She hadn’t slept from the start, the bed too wide without a hug; blame that dream-crone, she groused inside.

“Hmph. Didn’t think someone would dare steal from me. Wait—she’s a little girl?” Tangxue said, and with a tug, she pulled back the gray hood.

The thief was smaller than Tangxue, maybe not even ten, a sprout under frost. With her hood pulled down, the girl stared at Qingsheng Tangxue in pure fear, eyes wide as moons. Her snow-white hair, stained and matted with grime, clashed with her tender, lovely face. Even so, that cute face left Tangxue stunned, words lost like swallows.

Why was it not some creepy uncle, but a tiny girl? What was she supposed to do? The thought buzzed, and Tangxue felt her calm unravel like thread.

“Filthy,” Tangxue snapped, disgust a thorn under the tongue. “Wash yourself, alone, and clean. Or I throw you out from here.”

“I…” the girl rasped, her voice sandpaper against porcelain, wrong against her pretty face.

She couldn’t understand why a noble miss didn’t kill her on sight; nobles hated trash like her, like flies on fruit.

“I won’t say it twice,” Tangxue said, voice cold as iron. “I’ve got a cleanliness obsession. If you don’t want a flight from the sixth floor…”

“Thank you…” the girl bit her lip and nodded, gratitude shining like a small flame.

“Wait,” Tangxue said.

The girl froze again, trembling, and squatted to shield her head, a rabbit under hawk-shadow.

“I’ll wash my hands first,” Tangxue muttered, speechless, and headed for water, the faucet singing a thin note.

“...”