YMW CH 20

Demon

Cen Wu headed to Blue Night to look for A’Ling, but when he found him, A’Ling shrugged and said, “He just left.”

Earlier that night, A’Ling had gone outside for a smoke and spotted a tattooed man with a menacing aura lingering by Blue Night’s back door. The man wasn’t alone—he had a group with him.

Although the guy hadn’t explicitly said he was looking for Xie Guilan, A’Ling’s instincts were sharp from working in such a chaotic environment. He’d immediately messaged Cen Wu to give him a heads-up.

“Thanks,” Cen Wu said, not lingering for long before heading out to search.

In the original story, it was mentioned that the area around Blue Night was crawling with shady types. The bar attracted plenty of drunken patrons, and anyone who passed out in the alleyway could easily lose their wallet or phone.

Even if they weren’t drunk, muggings weren’t uncommon.

Moreover, Blue Night was near Huaijing No. 1 High School, and right next to it was No. 13 High School—a place infamous for its failing grades and delinquent students. The students there often mingled with the local thugs.

Xie Guilan had a history of clashes with them.

Already ostracized after offending both Xie Shangjing and the original protagonist, Xie Guilan had no one to shield him. Being just a high school student, he became an easy target. These guys would rob him whenever they got the chance, knowing full well he never fought back.

A’Ling had been surprised when Cen Wu approached him for information but made it clear he didn’t want A’Ling stepping in to help Xie Guilan—just to report any trouble.

However, A’Ling couldn’t predict whether Cen Wu, unpredictable as he was, would actually keep his word. Tonight, A’Ling had tested the waters, half-expecting Cen Wu to lash out at him for not interfering. But to his surprise, Cen Wu had stayed calm.

Those misty, beautiful eyes of his remained steady, betraying no hint of panic.

Cen Wu.

“…”

A’Ling bit down on his cigarette, narrowing his eyes. What could have happened to change him so drastically?

Cen Wu left Blue Night and began searching the nearby streets. He ran into a waiter sneaking a break by the back door. The waiter pointed down the road. “Brother Xie? He went that way.”

Guessing that Xie Guilan was headed back to his rental, Cen Wu started walking toward the school. Before long, his walk turned into a run, his heart pounding wildly in his chest.

It had rained heavily the night before, and the moonlight tonight was cold and washed clean, trailing ghost-like shadows behind him. When Cen Wu lifted his head, he finally heard the sound of an argument coming from a nearby alley.

He froze for a second, then prepared to charge in. But halfway there, he skidded to a stop, spun in a circle, and quickly grabbed a steel pipe from nearby. Only then did he cautiously peek around the corner.

The alley was dim and damp, with a single flickering light under a broken eave. Seven or eight people stood there, their hair dyed in garish colors, resembling enchanted feather dusters. The leader, sporting a full-sleeve tattoo, had a cigarette dangling from his mouth.

“Look, we don’t want to make this hard for you,” the tattooed man said, gripping Xie Guilan’s school uniform collar and slamming him against the wall. “Just hand over some money for smokes. Why are you making this so complicated?”

“Exactly,” chimed in a lackey with yellow-dyed hair, stepping forward to snatch Xie Guilan’s backpack. “Be smart and cough up the cash. Don’t make our boss get physical with you.”

Xie Guilan stood there in the cold, dark alley, his face still marked with bruises from a fight at the stables. The hostility in his eyes was icy and sharp.

His arms hung limply at his sides, veins bulging faintly against his pale skin, yet he made no move to retaliate.

Instead, he merely watched as Yellow Hair reached for his bag.

Nobody really carries cash anymore. In Xie Guilan’s backpack, there was only a few hundred yuan from his part-time job at a barbecue stand.

The gangsters crowded around him, one of them sneering in disgust, “What the hell is this? Is this kid really this broke?”

Their leader, the man with the tattooed arm, grew impatient. He shot Xie Guilan a cold smirk and raised his hand, ready to strike.

“L-let him go!” Cen Wu’s heart raced as he gripped the steel pipe and charged forward. “I’ve called the police!”

His voice, still weak and hoarse from a recent fever, trembled slightly. Yet in the dead silence of the alley, every word reached the gang. They turned their heads, one by one, cigarettes dangling from their mouths, their torn jeans and heavy chains giving them an air of brutality.

“…”

Cen Wu’s hands shook, but he still marched toward Xie Guilan, his face set in a cold, determined expression. He shoved the tattooed leader back, standing between him and Xie Guilan.

“I said I’ve called the police,” Cen Wu repeated, his trembling legs betraying his fear, though his tone was sharper than the moonlight that night. His pale face was icy, unwavering. “You’d better run while you still can.”

His fever-reddened eyelids glistened under the faint light, and a cooling patch still clung to his forehead. Despite his attempt to look fierce, he appeared delicate, his expensive clothes standing out in the grimy alley.

The tattooed leader exchanged a glance with his cronies before they burst into mocking laughter.

They didn’t believe for a second that Cen Wu had called the police. In this part of town, who relied on cops to solve problems? Clearly, this was just some spoiled rich kid who thought he could scare them off with a few empty words.

Cen Wu: “…”

He felt utterly humiliated.

His privileged status held no weight here. While the managers at high-end venues knew his face and treated him with deference, these local thugs couldn’t care less.

“Boss,” one of the lackeys, a green-haired punk, waved his hand. “Enough talk. Let’s just beat them into submission!”

With that, he threw a punch at Cen Wu.

Cen Wu: !!!

What’s the point of calling the police if they’re still going to hit me?! Where’s the honor in that?!

Though Cen Wu wasn’t entirely afraid of a fight—he could hold his own—his legs felt weak from his lingering fever, slowing his reactions. As the fist hurtled toward him, he braced himself, thinking it was over. But the blow never landed.

When he looked up, Xie Guilan had grabbed the thug by the collar, yanked him aside, and delivered a brutal punch. Blood spurted from the man’s nose as he crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

The tattooed leader snapped, lunging at Xie Guilan. But Xie’s wiry frame moved with precision. His pale, sinewy arms were deceptively strong. He grabbed the chain around the leader’s neck, yanked it tight, and choked him until the man couldn’t even scream.

The leader gasped, clawing at his neck, his lungs emptying as though he’d been punched in the gut. Before he could stumble away, Xie Guilan wrapped the chain around his hand and slammed his fist into the man’s face repeatedly, drawing blood with each hit.

Xie Guilan’s strikes were ruthless, almost inhuman. The tattooed leader crumpled to the ground, convulsing in pain, his eye sockets throbbing as if they were about to burst. He could barely croak as he locked eyes with Xie Guilan, whose dark pupils were so deep and cold they seemed bottomless—like the eyes of a demon.

“…”

The remaining gangsters froze, their legs trembling. They’d mugged people here countless times, but they’d never witnessed such savagery. The scent of blood mingled with the damp rain in the air.

Who spread the rumor?

Weren’t they told this kid never fights back?!

The tattooed leader lay sprawled in the dirt, bloodied and twisted, barely breathing. His chest barely rose anymore.

Xie Guilan hadn’t given any of them a chance to scream for help. The eerie silence made it feel as though they could be killed right there and no one would ever find out.

By the time it was over, none of the gangsters managed to escape.

Cen Wu’s steel pipe remained untouched. The thugs were already on the ground, unconscious or writhing in pain. Xie Guilan’s face was as cold as his bloodied hands, which dripped crimson down his pale knuckles and wrists.

“Y-you…” Cen Wu’s voice quivered.

Xie Guilan’s long lashes lowered, his gaze indifferent. With steady hands, he slowly unwound the blood-stained chain, giving Cen Wu a chance to run.

But instead, Cen Wu’s trembling legs carried him closer. His pale face betrayed his fear, but his delicate fingers twitched as if wanting to touch Xie Guilan’s bloodied hand—though he didn’t dare.

Those misty eyes of his brimmed with a mix of fear and something else, something inexplicable. In a soft, shaky voice, he asked, “D-does your hand… hurt?”

Xie Guilan paused.

Cen Wu sniffled quietly, his fevered cheeks flushed. He hesitated for what felt like an eternity before glancing up. Under the dim light, he finally saw Xie Guilan’s lips move silently.

Xie Guilan mouthed the words, “Idi*t.”