Darkness didn't mean safety.
It meant listening.
Chen Ye pressed his back against the damp brick, breath shallow, blood still warm on his cheek. Rain drummed the alley roof. Distant sirens wailed like wounded animals. And beneath it all—the scrape of boots on gravel. Close. Too close.
They're sweeping.
His right eye throbbed, the fracture a raw seam of light in the black. He dared a glance. The alley hadn't changed. Wet asphalt. Rusted fire escape. Lucky Noodle sign flickering like a dying heartbeat.
But his vision—his fractured sight—showed the truth.
→ Three agents fanned out, EM-pulse rifles raised.
→ Sniper still on the roof, barrel tracking the dumpster.
→ A fourth figure, smaller, slipping through the rain toward the alley's mouth—camera in hand.
Su Li.
His stomach dropped. No. Run. Get out.
But she was already there, standing in the weak halo of a streetlamp, rain plastering her dark hair to her skull. She didn't look at the agents. Didn't flinch at the rifles. Her eyes—behind rain-speckled glasses—fixed on the space behind the dumpster. On him.
"Subject 000 is contained!" the lead agent barked. "Move in!"
Su Li raised the camera. Not to flee. To record.
The lead agent spun, rifle swinging toward her. "You! Drop it!"
Chen Ye moved.
Not out of bravery. Not out of strategy.
Out of pure, animal need.
He exploded from the shadows, not at the agent, but past him—shoulder slamming into the man's ribs, driving him off-balance. The rifle discharged harmlessly into the sky. Chen Ye didn't stop. He lunged for Su Li, grabbing her wrist, yanking her behind the dumpster just as three shots punched the brick where she'd stood.
"Are you insane?" he hissed, shoving her down beside him. Rainwater streamed down her face. Her hand trembled in his grip—but her eyes, behind the lenses, were steady. Fierce.
"You needed a distraction," she said, voice raw but calm. She didn't pull away. "And I needed to see if you were still breathing."
A boot crunched gravel inches away. Chen Ye tensed, muscles coiled. But Su Li—still crouched, still holding his wrist—reached into her coat. Not for a weapon. For a small, amber vial.
"Pupillium," she whispered, pressing it into his palm. "Black market. Costs more than my camera. Drink."
He stared at the vial. Thick, golden liquid inside. The street name for Ocular Stabilizer. Rumored to seal the fracture. For a while. At a price.
"Why?" The word scraped his throat. "You don't even know me."
Su Li finally looked away—from his face, down to his right eye. The blue light pulsed weakly, like a fading star. A bead of blood, fresh and bright, traced the crack.
She didn't flinch. Didn't look away.
"I know your eyes," she said softly. "They're not monsters. They're just… tired."
A pause. Rain filled the silence. Then, quieter:
"Mine too."
She tapped her temple. "My father was Eyed. ETA called it 'instability.' Took him three years ago. I haven't seen his face since." Her voice didn't break. It hardened, like steel forged in grief. "But I saw yours, Chen Ye. In the rain. When you cracked open. You weren't looking for prey."
She leaned closer, her breath warm against his ear.
"You were looking for a reason to stop running."
His throat closed. The vial felt heavy. Real.
"Found them!"
The shout ripped the moment apart. Boots pounded toward the dumpster.
Su Li didn't hesitate. She shoved him toward the fire escape ladder, rusted but intact. "Go! I'll hold them."
"You'll get shot!"
"No," she said, already turning, raising the camera like a shield. Her smile was thin, sharp as glass. "They want the film. They'll keep me alive long enough to get it." Her eyes locked on his—steady, unflinching. "Now go. And if you're still breathing tomorrow… meet me at 47 Wutong Street."
She didn't say please.
She didn't say be careful.
She said: "Trust that I see you."
Then she stepped into the light.
Chen Ye didn't wait. He grabbed the ladder, hauled himself up, the metal biting into his palms. Below, Su Li's voice rose, clear and cold:
"You want the film? Come and take it!"
He didn't look back. Couldn't.
He climbed.
The roof was slick, wind whipping rain into his face. He ran, lungs burning, the vial clenched in his fist. He didn't stop until he reached the edge—overlooking the old city, the river, the distant glow of the district where 47 Wutong Street waited.
He stopped. Leaned against a ventilation unit, gasping.
The alley was silent now. No shots. No shouts. Just rain.
He looked down at the vial. Golden liquid catching the city's glow. Pupillium. A temporary fix. A borrowed hour of clarity.
He twisted the cap.
The smell hit him first—bitter herbs, burnt sugar, something metallic underneath. Like old blood, he thought.
He raised it to his lips.
A voice stopped him. Not spoken. Remembered.
→ Rain. Alley. Her glasses fogged.
→ "Your eyes are the only ones left that see people."
His hand trembled.
He lowered the vial.
Slowly, deliberately, he uncapped Su Li's water bottle—half-empty, warm from her pocket—and poured the golden liquid inside. Swirled it. Watched it cloud the water.
Then he drank.
It tasted like rain. Like hope. Like a promise he wasn't sure he deserved.
Warmth spread through his chest. Not magic. Not a cure. Just… steadiness. The frantic hammering of his heart eased. The white-hot pain behind his right eye dulled to a low throb.
He touched his cheek. The blood was drying. Crusted. Real.
Below, a single light flicked on in a window on Wutong Street.
47.
He took a breath. Deep. Steady.
For the first time in three years, he didn't feel like prey.
He felt like a man with a destination.
Author's Note
Thank you for walking deeper into Chen Ye's world. This isn't just translation—it's reconstruction. Every sentence is weighed for rhythm, every image honed for emotional truth. I write not to tell you a story, but to make you feel the rain on your skin, the crack in his eye, the weight of her trust.
If Su Li's line—"Trust that I see you"—hit you in the chest…
If the taste of Pupillium felt real on your tongue…
Tell me.
Your words aren't just feedback.
They're the compass guiding Chen Ye's next step.
This journey is ours now.
What moment left you breathless?
What truth cut deepest?
I read every comment. Truly.
— KHChing