Part E – The Cat Among Snakes
The chamber was alive with whispers, though none dared to speak directly.
It was a banquet hall of the elite — nobles, gamblers, killers, and enforcers all gathered under the mask of civility. Long tables bore the spoils of the Arena: coins, weapons, blood-stained banners, and trophies of battles past. The torches flickered, casting jagged shadows across painted faces and carved masks.
Kuangren entered last, boots silent on the polished stone floor, blade sheathed across his back. His crimson eyes scanned the room, noting exits, alcoves, and the faintest vibrations in the air — the subtle betrayals of intention. He did not bow. He did not nod. He simply moved, measured, deliberate, as though the entire hall existed solely for his assessment.
Zhu Zhuqing perched on the far balcony, hidden in shadow. Her tail curled lightly, claws retracted, eyes narrowing.
He had not looked her way. Not yet. But she could sense it — the recognition in the air, as if a predator could smell another predator's heartbeat across a room.
Patience, she reminded herself. Observation first. Understanding later.
The Master, seated at the head of the largest table, inclined his masked head.
"Welcome, Gu Kuangren," he said. "And our little shadow joins us tonight as well. Observe, or intervene. The choice is yours — for now."
A ripple ran through the hall. Guests shifted uneasily, some casting curious glances toward the balcony where Zhu Zhuqing remained.
Her tail flicked again. Observation.
Kuangren's lips twitched faintly. Not a smile, not a snarl — an acknowledgment of the Master's games.
He stepped closer to the table, stopping only a pace from the nearest chair. He did not sit. His eyes swept over the assembled elite.
They are all pieces, he thought. All predictable. All weak.
Yet he remained still, letting them come to him in expectation.
Whispers grew louder. A noble with a jagged scar leaned to another, voice sharp: "The Madman… they say he prays to his blade. Washes it in blood. Cleanses his soul. All while laughing at death."
"And the cat," another replied, voice low, "follows him. Silent. Watching. Waiting."
Kuangren's crimson eyes flicked toward the balcony, faint recognition in the corner of his vision. He did not speak. He did not move.
Interesting, he thought. A witness. A student. Perhaps more.
The Master's voice cut through the whispers like a blade.
"Let the games begin."
At once, the tension shifted. The room was no longer a hall, but a battlefield of glances and subtle movements. Every noble, every enforcer, every gambler positioned themselves. Small gestures — a hand brushing a dagger, a flick of a coin, the tilt of a head — became weapons in the invisible war.
Kuangren observed. Calm. Collected.
Zhu Zhuqing's ears twitched. She flexed her claws lightly, preparing. Her eyes remained fixed on him. He is the storm,she thought. And I… am the shadow at its edge.
A man in a black hood approached the table, bearing a small caged beast. It was a test, everyone knew — a symbol of control, a trap.
The Master gestured toward Kuangren. "See how he handles restraint. See how he handles observation. The room will judge, the pieces will move."
Kuangren's lips curved faintly. He did not reach for his sword. He did not react. His posture alone commanded the air.
The hooded man opened the cage. The beast snarled, fangs glinting. It lunged at the nearest guest. The crowd recoiled.
Kuangren moved. Slow. Precise. One step, and the creature's charge ended against the flat of his hand. Another, and it was pinned without blood. Another, and it lay subdued, eyes wide, chest heaving — but alive.
The hall exhaled collectively. Even the Master leaned forward, mask gleaming faintly.
Zhu Zhuqing's claws twitched again. Control, she thought. Unmatched.
The test escalated. A second, third, then a fourth minor disruption — all met with the same calm, deliberate restraint.
Kuangren did not speak. He did not smile. He merely moved, precise, terrifyingly controlled, his aura of menace wrapping the room in a tangible tension.
The Master whispered to a lieutenant: "He is beyond simple measure. Observe the cat, see what she learns. The storm is patient… but it will act."
Zhu Zhuqing's pulse raced. She had never seen such power tempered by such patience. Every nerve in her body screamed to move, to test, to strike — and yet she remained frozen in her shadow perch.
Kuangren's eyes flicked toward her again. A silent acknowledgment. Not command. Not invitation. Recognition.
The predator senses the other predator.
A subtle game had begun, one played not with steel, but with gaze, posture, and perception.
No one in the room dared challenge Kuangren directly. And Zhu Zhuqing, the cat, realized she did not yet know whether she wanted to.
The Master's chuckle echoed softly across the hall, low and dangerous. "The pieces are in motion. Watch closely, all of you. The storm and the cat… they will decide more than any of us."
The night stretched on.
And through it all, Kuangren stood, silent, untouchable, and entirely aware.
Zhu Zhuqing's eyes never left him. The silent tension between them was more lethal than any blade in the room.
In the shadow of the Master's games, two predators circled, each testing the other, each learning, each waiting.
The storm and the cat.
The hall had yet to understand that this was the true danger.