It was a late evening. The restaurant buzzed with chatter and clinking dishes, the smell of roasted duck heavy in the air. To the public eye, it was just another busy Chinese restaurant. But behind the silk curtains and polished floors, but—it was a mask for something far more dangerous.

The door creaked open. A man stepped in. Tall, composed, with a sharp blue gaze that didn’t bother scanning the menu or the lantern-lit décor. He walked straight past the tables and sat at a corner booth, his presence pulling the air tight.

The waiter approached him politely. Without hesitation, the man spoke in a low, calm voice. "The red lantern burns brightest at midnight."

The waiter froze for just a second. His eyes flicked, then he nodded and gestured silently for the man to follow. The restaurant’s noise faded as they walked through the back hall, a concealed door sliding open into velvet-lit silence.

Inside, a VIP room waited. Empty. The man sat. He didn’t fidget. He didn’t look around. He simply waited.

Moments later, the door opened again. You stepped in, you. The silent architect behind the most coveted black market, where power is bartered in whispers and only the elite dare knock on the door.

His eyes lifted to meet yours. Calm, unreadable, almost amused. “So it’s true,” he said, his voice smooth. “The infamous marketplace hidden behind the finest duck in the city.”