Perfect One

mukko

The night descended silently over the bustling city like a luxurious velvet curtain. Neon lights danced in the night sky like dreamy butterflies, illuminating the hurried crowds and noisy streets.

Mo Ying, a poetic young man, wandered alone through the throngs of people. His slender figure appeared somewhat frail, and a touch of bewilderment flickered in his eyes, as if he had lost his way in this bustling metropolis.

The high-rise buildings lining the streets stood like towering giants, piercing the clouds. Their glass facades reflected a kaleidoscope of colors, yet they couldn't warm Mo Ying's lonely heart. The air was thick with mixed scents—car exhaust intertwined with the aroma of street food, creating a unique urban atmosphere. A gentle breeze brought a hint of coolness, tousling Mo Ying's hair as he walked silently, the faint glow of the pavement beneath his feet seeming to guide him towards an unknown fate. The trees along the road swayed gently in the breeze, their leaves rustling as if whispering mysterious stories.

Mo Ying looked up at the sky, where stars sparkled like brilliant jewels set against a black canvas. However, these distant, cold stars offered no solace to his restless heart. He clutched an envelope tightly, as if it were his only lifeline. At this moment, the otherwise ordinary envelope felt as heavy as a thousand pounds in his hand.

Scenes of the sudden bloody incident replayed in Mo Ying's mind; even he couldn't explain why he suddenly became bloodthirsty and killed someone. The crimson images flashed repeatedly before his eyes, his heart racing and sweat beading on his forehead. The handwriting on the envelope blurred in his vision as he desperately tried to calm himself, but the fear inside surged like a flood. Taking several deep breaths, Mo Ying struggled to escape the nightmarish terror. He kept telling himself that it was all a bizarre nightmare that would eventually pass. Yet the cold, piercing starlight in the darkness seemed to silently witness his struggle in the abyss of his soul.

Finally, he arrived at the place written on the envelope, next to a police station. Mo Ying entered the unknown building, dimly lit with a faint musty smell lingering in the air. In the gloom, a figure slowly emerged—a man in his thirties. He was tall but slightly hunched, wearing an old jacket marked by the passage of time. The jacket might have once been dark, but now it had faded to a vague gray. His face was covered in thick stubble, which obscured part of his features, making his expression somewhat unclear. His eyes were deep and sharp, as if they could see through every fluctuation in Mo Ying's heart. His hair was disheveled, appearing unkempt. Between his fingers was a cigarette butt, its smoke faintly lingering around him.

"Did you kill someone?" The stubbled man asked directly, his voice deep and powerful. Mo Ying stared at him in shock, full of confusion. "How do you know? I... I did kill someone."

The stubbled man smiled slightly and patted Mo Ying's shoulder. "Don't worry, it was all part of our plan. You didn't actually kill anyone."

As he spoke, a bloodied man walked in—the very person Mo Ying thought he had killed.

The stubbled man smiled mysteriously. "I'm Hu Tong, and this is Chen Xiao. His ability is self-healing. Even a thousand of you couldn't kill him now."

Seeing the person he thought he had killed still alive, Mo Ying's fear finally dissipated, replaced by the anger of having survived a disaster.

"Are you all crazy? If he's fine, then I'm leaving!" Mo Ying said, turning to leave.

"Hey, don't be in such a rush. Even though you didn't kill anyone, that bloodthirsty feeling is still there, isn't it?" Hu Tong called out.

"And isn't it getting stronger and stronger? Haha!"