‘This is the 500th time that you will die.’

  “I know,” K said, bored. Yawning, he scratched at his veiled cheeks. “Ah, I didn’t have a good dream, Hun.”

  Blearily, he blinked away the dregs of sleep from his eyes. His dream slipped out of his mind like rain through a gutter.

  He had seen butterflies, fluttering at the edge of his vision.

  ‘I know, Sire. Not to worry— there’s always next time.’

  “We’ve been stuck at four dreams for five years.” K frowned at the ceiling. “Master Banzai told me that if the Beast’s Blessing didn’t bring me a new dream by next year, he’d raise Sunren’s prices.”

  For a moment, Hun was silent. ‘What did you dream about, Sire?’

  K laid in bed, the ratty scraps of cloth he called a blanket hanging limply off his frame. The collapsed ceiling above him held all manner of aged debris and rusty rebar. There was a window beside the bed, broken panes casting an uneven wash of light atop him.

  K still heard screams, here. The wild crackle of fire, the scorching of hair and fabric. It filled his chest until it grew heavy. He only knew one song:

  Revenge, revenge, revenge.

  “Butterflies, I think,” K said simply.

  “Ah, this place is filthy,” a new voice replied. “I don’t know why you choose to stay here.”

  Because it was where K belonged. Where his new life was birthed.

  ‘It is where we met for the first time, Sire.’

  K raised his heavy head. Across the concrete floor of the compound stood his warden.

  The title was not bestowed upon the man due to any crimes K might’ve committed (though, he has committed many). No, that was simply the best moniker for the man’s role within K’s life.

  “Good morning, Sunren.” K sneered. “Here to collect your dues?”

  The voice in his head chuckled.

  “You have a mission today,” Sunren said evenly. He stepped forward until the tip of his walking stick touched the end of K’s bed. “The Golden Phantom is needed.”

  ‘See? What did I say, Sire— the 500th time.’

  K frowned petulantly. “I know, I know! I still don’t have enough money saved up, though.”

  “Doesn't matter. Master Banzai found out about the partial payments.” Sunren said gravely.

  His eyes stared down at K, even though they both knew that the man couldn’t see anything past his scarred pupils. Blinded, it made his irises shine a strange, off-white color.

  At least K was protected from his gaze by the swathes of gauze and linen that were wrapped around his face. They extended down his neck, beneath his frock coat, and across his arms.

  It made K appear like a corpse, ready to be buried.

  ‘And you lay in this rotting place like one, too—’ said the little voice in the back of his mind.

  “Quiet,” K hissed at it.

  “Please, child. Now isn’t the time to talk to yourself. Master wants you to pay everything in full today.” Sunren said with a guilty look in his eye. “I’m sorry, but… if you don’t give me what you owe, Banzai won’t let me save you. You’ll stay dead.”

  K sighed heavily. Regardless, he shoved his hands into his frock coat’s pockets and began to rifle around.

  He made a show of it, despite the fact that all he could feel were a few pieces of lint and a crumpled newspaper clipping.

  Sunren sighed, before he grasped roughly at K’s chin.

  “Open,” the man ordered. Still, he betrayed a sense of remorse at the act.

  “No.” K shook his head wildly. He did not despise pain, merely what it represented.

  Sunren didn’t ask again.

  K protested, “You already took the other one.”

  “Please. If you keep struggling, the more it will hurt. So— open.”

  That was the last thing Sunren said, before he ripped away the gauze covering K’s face. It was a surprising move for a blind man.

  With K’s mouth now bare, Sunren shoved his fingers down his throat.

  ‘How dare he do such a thing to you, Sire.’

  K gagged, but remained still. The last time they had done this, he struggled too much. And now, the scarred cavity next to his cheek was a little too deep for his liking.

  ‘Let me show you the full extent of your Blessing. We can stop him.’

  K couldn’t even spare a witty reply, since his throat was too busy screaming.

  Sunren had his fingers tightly curled around one tooth— digging into the soft gums. “You know I hate doing this, child… but tooth fillings still fetch a pretty price.”

  K wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Maybe a few minutes or an hour. It felt like days, though; as his tooth was slowly pulled from the jawbone.

  The sensation of flesh and blood squeezing past the muscles of his mouth was enough to make him sick.

  “There you are,” Sunren muttered as he turned the tooth around in his hand. He rubbed his thumb against the crown, tapping it with his fingernail. He frowned. “Metal? I thought the Master paid you for golden fillings?”

  “In this economy?” K droned, blinking away the pain. He sniffled pathetically. “Ahh… that really hurt.”

  Sunren chuckled with a shake of his head. “The bratty act isn't going to work on me.”

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  K cocked his head to the side, whining. “...You sure?”

  The man's expression wavered. “Agh, alright. That's the last time, I promise. This should account for my wages, anyway.” Sunren pocketed the tooth in his long coat. “Remember, please don’t go past 10 minutes. Last time, you went too far and the Beast’s Blessing nearly sent you into a coma.”

  “Yes, sir,” K said softly. As quietly as he could, he gathered the blood in his mouth and spat right on Sunren’s shoe. The man did not move away and he grinned madly.

  “I mean it, child,” Sunren said, frowning. “Just because Banzai doesn’t value your life doesn’t mean you shouldn’t as well. I know why you…”

  The words were soft, and yet they sounded like a taunt upon K’s ears.

  “You don’t,” K could’ve growled. “You don’t know anything.”

  “You’re right.” Sunren squared his shoulders, tone far too kind and placating. “I don’t know why you live as Banzai’s dog, completing these worthless missions…”

  K was frozen— before he smiled. It was crooked and bloodied.

  “Don’t you see?” He raised a brow. “I want to take my revenge.”

  Sunren watched him, hollowly.

  ‘I will kill that man for you, Sire. Just let me offer you my power. We can paint him red together.’

  “Hush now,” K murmured, stepping out of the bed. He tied the gauze back onto his face, obscuring his identity once more. “It’s time to get to work, Hun.”

  The Red Light District faced Tianxia’s biggest ports— and K called it home. Not only because the compound’s derelict remains were erected there, but because he was tied to it.

  Bones and blood and flesh, mingling with the Beast he harbored in his mind.

  K was sure that everyone who strutted down the Red Light Disctrict’s streets carried the same melancholy. Once you were trapped in the District’s throes, there was little you could do to escape.

  ‘Perhaps that is why it’s always so crowded there. Always teeming with crime and filth.’

  “We are the crime,” K chastised Hun in a low voice as they walked down its familiar streets. “We are the filth.”

  Uneducated expats passed Tianxia’s borders through illegitimate means, carted in fruit trucks and shiploads from countries like Ninh Son or Long Shore.

  They lived and bred in these streets like sewer rats, thriving off one another’s bad businesses like mosquitoes on a tick.

  The Triads thrived on that. Swooping in like saviors to give these expats the boost they needed. A life debt disguised as a loan. Sinister work shrouded by a promise of boarding and steady pay.

  Those poor idiots would believe it. K would know— he did, too. All those years ago.

  ‘We’re here,’ Hun told him. ‘Your mission begins once you step through those doors.’

  K stood in front of one of the deeper alleyways. Far from the port and hidden behind other brick and mortar businesses. A building faced him with moldy walls, faint chatter audible through the doors.

  Just as K was about to step closer, a man rushed out the building’s entrance. He swept past K in a flurry, brows moist with sweat and a wild frown painted on his features.

  Harshly, his arm collided against K’s shoulder. “Agh, watch where you’re going, beggar!”

  K recognized the man. His face was printed on the paper posters tacked all across Tianxia’s utility poles.

  He was Dae-Jung, public representative of the Lang family— one of the greatest political dynasties in the nation.

  How strange to find him in such a quaint hole-in-the-wall. He watched as the man left in a flurry of angry swears.

  K let the thought linger in his mind as he finally entered the building.

  It was a restaurant. Dingy and black with wall-mounted lamps. There was a record player nestled somewhere, playing er-hu classics.

  K locked the deadbolt as he pushed through the door.

  ‘Nobody will be coming out. Not after we are finished with them.’

  Just then, his stomach grumbled.

  “I should’ve eaten something,” K mourned as he perched atop his seat.

  Perch was the right word. No matter how many times Sunren told him to ‘sit straight, like a proper lad’— he left his feet criss-crossed atop one another. Knees in a little pretzel as he sat in a hidden corner of the room.

  “You’re in a restaurant,” came the reply. “Menu’s to your right.”

  K glanced toward the speaker.

  It was another boy, about his age. Sandwiched in his crumpled waiter’s uniform with a shock of tan skin, white hair, and rosy pink eyes.

  ‘A Cultivator, clearly.’

  He was smiling down at K with a mischievous dimple in his cheek.

  “Do you have any…” K began as he peered past the other boy’s shoulder.

  There were ten dining tables, seating around 4 to 5 people each. Mostly men— around three women, hailing from all corners of the Centrality.

  They were all laughing, drinking, chatting. Plates and bowls of rice, boiled chicken, and the appetizing scent of all-spice and chili oil caught K’s nose.

  K counted their heads.

  Seventeen.

  “I see that you like people-watching,” the boy prompted. He was still smiling. “I do too.”

  “Sure,” K replied offhandedly, letting out a soft chuckle. It sounded like the chittering of cicadas. Chilling and a little cruel. “Do you have any stir-fried bitter gourd?”

  “Of course not, sir. Nobody likes bitter gourd.”

  “Oh,” K slouched into his seat. “How about endives?”

  “Uh…” the boy looked a bit disgusted. “We have some in the cellar.”

  “Just a plate of those. Nothing else, thank you.”

  When the waiter didn’t make any move to walk away, K cocked his head at him. “What?”

  “I’m sorry if this is rude....” The waiter sounded strangely eased. It was as if he was asking about the weather. “But what’s wrong with your face?”

  Ah, that’s why he had been smiling. Many found it amusing to point and laugh at his appearance.

  K didn’t waste a second to respond. He lifted a hand to run his fingers across the expanse of cotton gauze wrapped tightly around his face.

  “It’s from the war,” K tipped his old student's hat to shroud his single, visible eye. “Long Shore’s.”

  The waiter hummed, “Sorry about that.”

  ‘You are getting distracted.’

  “Don’t sass me,” K whined.

  “Excuse me?” the waiter asked, a little taken aback.

  K didn’t reply, trying his best to look away.

  The waiter just shrugged. Finally, he padded toward the kitchens.

  ‘It’s no use wasting time on that boy. You ought to reveal yourself now, Sire,’ Hun suggested. ‘I am sure that everyone in this room is already on edge.’

  K silently agreed.

  From the way Dae-Jung had stormed out of the place, this little get-together appeared more stringent than it seemed.

  He turned to the menu on his right. There was a shallow saucer of soy sauce placed on top of it alongside a few jars of pickles.

  Swiftly, he placed his hand on the menu, swiping it off the table.

  All of the condiments, jars, and even the soy sauce went flying.

  It crashed onto the floor, shards of glass shattering everywhere.

  A screech of chairs echoed in reply— all the people within the room had jolted to their feet.

  Without a single second passing, they had drawn all of their guns. The ones with bright hair and eyes blared their auras.

  None of them looked at K. Shrouded in black, silent as the still air.

  All it took was a little spook and their hesitant show of ease was destroyed.

  “Alright, fess up,” one of the men growled. His gun was pointed at the nearest person to him, a bespectacled woman. “Why did you call us here, Emi?”

  “Oh, please,” the woman, Emi— scoffed. Pure Cultivational power was running through her veins. “This is your gang’s property, Wuhao. We’ve been playing nice because we both work under Master Banzai… but bringing my men out here was foolish.”

  The man named Wuhao barked a laugh. “You’re crazy, lady. It was one of your transport trucks that delivered this letter to me!”

  He tossed a white slip of paper onto a table, surrounded by plates of half-finished soup and rice.

  The paper read: I know your secret. Meet at the Dragonfly Diner.

  “…What?” the woman whispered. She rifled through her blazer’s pockets, sliding a folded scrap of paper beside Wuhao’s. It proudly stated: I know your secret. Meet at the Dragonfly Diner.

  The two fell quiet.

  “Then,” Wuhao frowned. “Who sent us here?”

  “Yes, that would be me!”

  Everyone turned to the restaurant’s left-most corner.

  Sitting alone on one of the tables was a boy. Hardly on the cusp of adulthood, he looked to be around 17 or 18.

  He was covered head-to-toe in bandages, like he had recently risen from a grave.

  Only a single, golden eye was visible on his face.