A light drizzle began at midnight, slipping silently into the night with the wind, lingering until dawn.
By morning, the autumn rain thickened, washing the dust from the mortal world.
Raindrops on the floor-to-ceiling window merged into watery trails, slithering down like tiny serpents. Luo Qingchuan stood before the glass—his pale, delicate, strikingly handsome face faintly reflected in the blur.
He had woken early, glancing at the sky.
“No rush,” he murmured.
Turning, he prepared a simple breakfast as usual, savoring it leisurely.
Afterward, he changed into a black tracksuit, slipped on a white mask, pushed the door open, and unfurled a red umbrella.
Stepping into the courtyard, he walked out. The hunt began.
7:53 AM.
Luo Qingchuan boarded the bullet train to the neighboring city, popped in wireless earphones, and listened to music.
Alone in his seat, he gazed out the window.
Gray haze cloaked the drizzling world. Ink-black clouds layered thickly, circling to swallow the light.
Fine white rain threads wove through the bustling city—a deity’s somber brushstroke.
8:34 AM.
The train arrived.
Passengers disembarked with varied expressions.
Luo Qingchuan followed the surging crowd out, unfurling his umbrella onto unfamiliar streets.
One hour later.
He stood before an old alley in Yongcheng’s ancient district.
Now clad in a light cyan Hanfu robe with wide sleeves, a terrifying demon mask covered his face.
One hand held the red umbrella; the other rested within the sleeve—where faint, ominous black shadows occasionally drifted.
He checked the time, stepped into the alley. Tiny splashes bloomed beneath his feet on the rain-puddled ground.
The alley spanned over three meters, doors lining both sides.
A rusted iron ladder clung to a building wall.
A broken bicycle lay by the left roadside.
Autumn grass sprouted from soil beneath the right wall.
Ahead, a neglected cactus curled tightly on an unknown windowsill.
*Creak.*
A door beside him opened.
A six-year-old girl in a cute transparent raincoat and boots happily jumped into a puddle—just out to splash.
Then she saw him: cyan-robed demon, red umbrella, passing her door.
Her cheerful face froze in fright.
Luo Qingchuan spoke gently, “Go home.”
Amid the pattering rain, she heard him clearly. Pale-faced, she scrambled back inside and slammed the old iron gate shut.
*Beep beep beep.*
A smart voice chimed in his earphones: “Caller: Su Yingsnow.”
“Answer.”
After a dial tone, her voice came through, bright with joy: “Little Chuan, I won!”
Warmth settled in his chest. He smiled. “That’s truly wonderful.”
In her small, elegant bedroom, Su Yingsnow leaned by the window in a simple long dress, watching the rain. “Are you outside? The rain’s so heavy.”
Luo Qingchuan tilted his umbrella slightly. “Just buying groceries.”
“Oh, don’t catch a cold,” her voice softened tenderly through the earphones.
“My parents aren’t pressuring me anymore. They agreed—I shouldn’t run off without telling them. Hehe, I’m gaining a voice! I’ll make this home harmonious.”
Luo Qingchuan chuckled. “So when will you take me to your place…?”
“Not yet. They only compromised reluctantly. I won’t upset Mom again,” Su Yingsnow said with a faint smile. “Just watch me handle this.”
Rain poured fiercely.
Hundreds of meters south of the old residential zone—
A squad of Demoncleave agents in soaked suits, blades in hand, halted abruptly.
“Damn, the demonic cultivator ran inside!”
“Split up!”
“Too chaotic in this rain… where’d it go?”
“Miss Jiang, you’re strongest—can you track it?”
They turned to the slender, tall girl.
Jiang Ye looked like a high school student. Pale face, expressionless. Her damp, slightly curled ear-length bob softened her indifferent features. Rain soaked her tailored suit; mud stained her trousers. Two swords hung at her slender waist.
Jiang Ye. Wayfarer. Qi Refining Ninth Layer. Scion of a prestigious clan, seeking breakthrough to Foundation Establishment.
“It’s injured.”
Her pupils glowed dim, eerie blue. Gripping her hilt, she spoke flatly: “I’ll chase. You block all exits.”
She crouched—
Before the team reacted, raindrops trembled midair. Jiang Ye vanished.
She sprinted through winding alleys, unbuttoning her jacket for speed, tie fluttering. *Must be faster.* If the demonic cultivator took hostages…
Demonic Cultivator: Thunderfang.
Bear demon. Qi Refining Ninth Layer. Twisted. Killed for pleasure.
*Tap tap tap.* Footsteps merged with cold rain. She rounded a corner—spotted a hulking, distorted figure darting ahead.
*Shing—*
Dual blades unsheathed. Jiang Ye pursued, face blank, icy blue eyes locked forward.
Thunderfang sensed the killing intent at its back. Muscular, fur-bristling, it lunged desperately—hoping for a hostage.
But turning the alley corner, it froze.
A person?
Cyan robe. Red umbrella.
Su Yingsnow’s voice echoed softly: “Rain’s too heavy, Little Chuan. Hurry home.”
“Okay.” Luo Qingchuan’s eyes fixed ten steps ahead. His right hand rose, gripping the sinister jet-black blade.
“Actually, I…”
At her window, Su Yingsnow’s breathtaking face flushed with shyness.
“Hmm?”
“Little Chuan… I want to hear you say… you like me.”
Torrents crashed like waterfalls, drumming the umbrella.
Thunderfang snarled, fur bristling, charging like a cannonball through the rain-curtain—crackling thunderballs swirling in its palms.
Luo Qingchuan advanced, umbrella in one hand, blade leveled, steps unhurried.
“Xue,”
For a heartbeat, the rain stilled.
“Calamity Blade: Life-Severing Slash.”
Boundless blade intent coalesced into an enigmatic light, gliding elegantly between raindrops.
Silence.
Air trembled.
With effortless grace, Luo Qingchuan cleaved Thunderfang’s massive form in two.
Blood sprayed from the severed waist.
“I like you.”
*Thud. Thud.* The halves lurched forward, collapsing into crimson-tinged puddles.
Faintly pink water mirrors bloomed—each reflecting the blurred silhouette of the umbrella-holding youth.
Deep in the alley, Luo Qingchuan halted, back to the corpse. The black blade dissolved into particles.
*Tap tap tap.*
Jiang Ye dashed around the corner—then skidded to a halt.
Her sword hand faltered.
She saw the cyan-robed demon beneath the red umbrella. The grotesque remains in bloody water. The lingering terror in the air. Her whole body tensed.
She had heard his words.
“I like you.”
Jiang Ye—the Jiang family’s young mistress, her serene face usually as composed as porcelain—slowly froze in astonishment.
Raindrops traced her pale cheeks. Pupils tightened. Her fluttering tie stilled against her chest, rising gently with her breath.
Sky gloomy.
Rain chattered on.
Jiang Ye silent.
Luo Qingchuan turned and walked away.
...
