The door to the apartment creaked open with a high-pitched, rusty whine. Lu Xingcheng stepped inside and immediately felt his world shrink. The space was so small it felt like a vertical coffin.
Laundry—mostly mismatched socks and faded floral scrubs—hung from a plastic line strung across the ceiling like low-hanging clouds.
A single, narrow bed was tucked into the corner, covered in a hand-stitched quilt that looked like it had survived a war.
Xingcheng stood in the center of the room, his broad shoulders nearly touching both walls. He looked like a Great White Shark trapped in a goldfish bowl.
"You… live here?" His voice was a low, horrified rumble. "This is the 'Palace'?"
"Home sweet home!" Joey tossed her damp jacket onto a plastic chair. "Watch your head, 'Pretty Boy.' The ceiling fan has a mind of its own and a personal vendetta against tall people."
Xingcheng took a cautious step forward. His five-thousand-dollar Italian leather shoes—now caked in drying sewer sludge—crunched against a stray Lego brick.
He winced, the pain in his foot nothing compared to the blow to his dignity.
"And where… exactly… am I supposed to sleep?" He stared at the solitary, flat pillow on her bed.
"On the floor, obviously!" Joey was already busy popping open a cabinet, revealing stacks of instant noodles. "I'm a lady, and you're just a 'struggling actor' who hitchhiked into my life.
Don't look at me like that."
She pulled a rolled-up, faded purple yoga mat from behind a dresser and kicked it across the floor. It unfurled with a sad *thwack*.
"Here. This pillow is forty percent feathers and sixty percent hope. It's a vintage. Don't drool on it."
Xingcheng, a man who owned three five-star hotels and a penthouse with heated marble floors, stared at the thin strip of rubber on the cold linoleum. He slowly sank down, his long legs folding awkwardly.
*CREAK.*
A spring from the floorboards poked directly into his hip through his ruined silk trousers. His jaw tightened so hard the bone beneath his skin pulsed. He looked up, watching Joey hum-singing a soft, upbeat melody while she bustled around a tiny induction stove.
"Eat up, 'Cheng.' It's 'Gourmet Beef' flavor." She handed him a steaming, cracked plastic bowl. "Well, the packet says beef. It's mostly salt and dreams."
Xingcheng stared at the orange broth as if it were poison. He hadn't eaten anything that cost less than a hundred dollars since his father's funeral.
"Beef… and dreams," he repeated tonelessly.
"Don't be a snob. Tomorrow, I'll help you find a real job. My cousin works at the Shiny Bucket Car Wash. You've got the arms for it. You look like you're good at scrubbing things."
Xingcheng felt a cold, dangerous light flicker in his eyes. "A car wash. You want the head of the—" He caught himself. "You want me to wash minivans."
"Exactly! Honest work for an honest 'Background Boy.' Now, hush. Give me that jacket."
Before he could protest, Joey snatched his shredded charcoal overcoat. She sat on the edge of the bed, pulling out a small sewing kit.
"The shoulder is totally blown out," she muttered, threading a needle. "But don't worry, I have just the thing to reinforce it."
Xingcheng watched, mesmerized, as her small fingers flew. When she handed it back, his heart nearly stopped. There, covering the jagged tear on his bespoke Milanese silk, was a bright, embroidered patch of Buttercup from the Powerpuff Girls, looking fierce and green.
"There," Joey beamed. "Now you look like you have some personality."
The light clicked off. The only illumination was the flickering blue light of a streetlamp outside, cutting through the laundry.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The door rattled on its hinges. A heavy, aggressive fist was pounding from the hallway, loud enough to make the mismatched socks on the line dance.
"JOEY! I know you're in there!" a raspy, nicotine-stained voice screamed from outside.
"It's the 5th! Where's my money? I don't run a charity for 'Save the Bee' hippies!"
Joey winced, her "Peppercorn" fire dimming for a split second as she looked at her empty pockets. Xingcheng's hand instinctively moved toward his waistband for a weapon that wasn't there. His eyes darkened.
Who dared to scream at someone under his presence?
"Mr. Landlord!" Joey shouted back, her voice regaining its sharp edge. "I told you, the hospital hasn't processed my overtime yet! I'll have it by Friday!"
"Friday is for losers! Pay up or the locks are changing tomorrow!" Another heavy kick thudded against the wood before the landlord's footsteps stomped away down the hall.
Silence returned, heavier than before. Joey let out a long, shaky breath and turned to Xingcheng.
"See? This is why you need that car wash job, 'Background Boy.' Rent waits for no one."
Xingcheng lay on the yoga mat, staring at the ceiling. The scent of her soap—cheap, sharp lavender—was starting to overwhelm the smell of the sludge.
*BZZZ.*
His smartphone vibrated. He pulled it out, the screen's harsh light illuminating the Powerpuff Girl on his shoulder.
**TEXT MESSAGE (ID: GHOST-01):**
*"THE BLACK DIAMOND IS SECURE. WE TRACKED THE GIRL'S ADDRESS. SHE IS THE ONLY WITNESS LEFT. SHOULD WE ELIMINATE HER NOW?"*
Xingcheng's pupils dilated. The Shadow Emperor returned. He looked over at Joey. She was fast asleep, one arm hanging off the bed, looking small and defenseless.
She looked like a girl who thought the biggest threat in the world was a missed bus.
His fingers moved with lethal precision across the screen.
**XINGCHENG (TEXT):**
*"THE DIAMOND REMAINS IN THE VAULT. AS FOR THE GIRL… TOUCH A SINGLE HAIR ON HER HEAD AND I WILL BURN THIS ENTIRE CITY TO ASH. SHE IS UNDER MY PROTECTION. PERMANENTLY."*
He stared at the message. He looked at the Powerpuff Girls patch on his ruined $5,000 suit. He realized he had just traded a ten-million-dollar diamond for a girl who thought he was a car-wash candidate.
You're a fool, Peppercorn, he thought, his voice a dark, silk-wrapped gravel in his mind. You brought a wolf into your palace. Now, I have to make sure the other wolves don't find the door.