The scent of rain hung heavy over the old city.

Late at night. Neon lights bled into the wet cobblestones, red and gold glows shimmering and swaying. On the main streets, drunks laughed, while in the back alleys, someone quietly vanished—it was that kind of city.

In the deepest part of it all.

Beyond a heavy circular window, in a room drifting with thin smoke, the man sat.

Clad in black. The hem of his gold-trimmed changshan flowed loosely, his long black hair falling from his shoulder across his chest. A tobacco pipe was held between his slender fingertips. Purple smoke faintly obscured his profile.

Liu Xuan-Ye.

The man who leads China's largest power—the Heilongpang.

A smile was plastered on his face. It was an unfathomable smile, yet one tinged with a hint of irritation.