Torrential rain poured down, washing over the dilapidated streets.

Lu Feng hurriedly ducked under his house’s eaves. He glanced at the downpour, then at his soaked clothes dripping water—and sighed in worry.

“Guess I’m out of dry clothes…”

Lu Feng ran a small clinic in Lingjiang Town, a quiet, underdeveloped place. Locals were sturdy, rarely fell ill.

Most days, he sold cold medicine or chrysanthemum tea. Business was scarce—almost nonexistent.

But for a doctor, that was good news. It meant people were healthy. A trace of comfort warmed his chest.

Few patients came by, yet the shop was inherited from his parents—saving him rent.

With the government’s rural doctor subsidy, life was manageable, if not lavish.

“What a rotten day. Better brew brown sugar ginger tea to shake off the chill,” he muttered.

He peeled off his wet shirt, reaching for the rack—then froze.

Eyes glazed. Arm suspended mid-motion. Time seemed to halt.

A soft rustling filled the air. Strange vines wreathed in inky mist slithered up the walls, swallowing the room. Black fog swirled thickly.

Some vines crept toward the medicine cabinet, passing through glass as if it weren’t there, seeping mist inside.

One thick vine stood center-room. A massive jet-black bud bloomed. Petals unfurled. From its heart, a girl with long black hair slowly rose.

She opened pitch-dark eyes, scanning the room with cold indifference. Then, as drowsiness washed over her, she curled back into the flower.

Petals closed gently, sealing her within. The bud shrank like reverse growth, vanishing into the vine. All traces of mist and vines disappeared. Silence returned.

Lu Feng blinked back to awareness.

“Did I zone out? Must be the chill,” he muttered, scratching his head. A cold shiver ran through him.

*Better brew ginger tea, warm up, then get back to gaming.*

…

A crimson flash. Silver hair whipped through rain. Sisha’s blade slit a black-clad assassin’s throat. Thick red liquid traced the steel—then vanished under the downpour, revealing cold metal gleam.

Crimson eyes deep as night. Porcelain skin. Cherry lips. A tailored black uniform. Silver hair flowing over her shoulders. Beneath a pleated black mini-skirt, slender legs sheathed in black stockings—beauty edged with allure.

To her enemies, utterly terrifying.

“Damn vampire!”

The last wounded assassin roared, raising his silver dagger.

Too slow.

Sisha’s sword pierced his chest. His body stilled.

The failed ambush ended in the rain-drenched alley.

“And you dared target *this* princess?”

Clutching her bleeding arm, Sisha gazed at the corpses, a faint smile on her lips.

As Blood Clan princess, her noble bloodline granted immense power—completing perilous missions, surviving countless ambushes.

But the smile faded. Leaning against the wall, dizziness washed over her. Silver wounds refused to heal; blood still seeped steadily. Old injuries flared anew. Even supreme bloodline had limits. *Need shelter. Rest. Heal.*

Her sword dissolved into blood, sinking into her skin. She pulled a cloak over her shoulder, hiding the wound, and stepped into the street.

Through the rain, a light glowed ahead—a clinic door left open. Inside: a glass medicine cabinet facing the entrance, shelves lined with bottles. Empty. Quiet.

“Ugh, what’s the soul of a ‘masterpiece’ game if you can’t even see the leggings?”

A voice grumbled from the back. A young man emerged, holding a steaming bowl.

Lu Feng paused at the sight of her—drenched, shivering—then hurried forward.

“Here for a check-up? Sorry, I was just brewing brown sugar ginger tea.”

*Rare customer. Must help.*

“Mm.” Sisha gave a slight nod, playing the part of a pitiful, rain-soaked girl. *Ordinary human. No threat.*

“Anything wrong?” Lu Feng offered a dry towel.

“Thank you. Just a cold,” she said softly, lowering her hood, dabbing rain from her cloak—but keeping it on.

“Let’s check your temperature.” He handed her a thermometer.

As she held it under her arm, her gaze swept the room. *Best healing? Feed. Young doctor. Good blood. Remote location. Perfect.*

“Nothing serious. Drink this to warm up.” Lu Feng checked the thermometer, then placed the bowl before her with a warm smile. “Made extra—on the house. Building goodwill matters.”

Sisha kept smiling.

*Hmph. Lowly humans. A mortal doctor diagnosing Blood Clan nobility? Absurd. Our symptoms defy human logic.*

But as her fingers closed around the bowl—she froze. A tremor ran through her hand.

What met her eyes was not tea.

A bowl of eerily boiling blood. Crimson mist swirling above it.

…