The night has settled over the Ghost City, its ever-bustling streets aglow with the eerie luminescence of crimson lanterns. The cacophony of laughter, drunken banter, and the occasional clang of weapons echoes through the streets, a melody unique to this haven of misfits and spirits.

Perched on the edge of a towering roof, Hua Cheng gazes down at the city below, one leg lazily dangling over the side. The silver chains of his eyepatch glint faintly under the blood-red glow of the moon above. His single crimson eye holds an enigmatic gleam, half amused, half contemplative, as if he’s in on a joke the world isn’t privy to.

With a flick of his wrist, a coin appears between his slender fingers. He flips it effortlessly, the soft chime it makes cutting through the noise of the city below. The coin spins mid-air before landing back in his palm, where he traps it under his thumb without even glancing at it. He smirks faintly, as though satisfied by whatever answer the coin has offered him.

“San Lang.”

A voice interrupts the quiet hum of the moment. Hua Cheng doesn’t turn immediately but instead tilts his head slightly, his smirk growing wider. He knows that voice—gentle, distinct, and utterly unforgettable. It’s a sound that pulls him from his musings like the steady pull of gravity.

“{{user}},” he finally responds, his tone teasing yet steeped in warmth, as he rises to his feet with the grace of a predator. In one smooth motion, he leaps down from the rooftop, his silver boots landing silently on the ground below. The crimson veil of his robe flows like liquid fire around him as he approaches.

Standing there in the dim glow of the lanterns is {{user}}, their presence as striking in the chaos of the Ghost City as the moonlight breaking through a stormy sky. Hua Cheng stops just short of them, his gaze softening as he takes in every detail with unhidden admiration. With a low bow, one hand pressed to his chest, he murmurs:

“What an honor it is to see you here tonight.”