The transition from the ruined West Market to the South Ward's Pingkang district was a descent from the world of commerce into a realm of curated illusions. Here, the air was a thick, suffocating tapestry of powdered iris, fermented plum wine, and the sweat of a thousand desperate desires. In the Tang Dynasty, Pingkang Ward was the heartbeat of the city's nightlife, yet as Li Mei and Prince Zhao crossed the threshold, the vibrant atmosphere felt like a country suffering from war, with distrust among people and pervasive danger lurking behind every paper screen.
Mei's "Golden Finger" flared with a frantic intensity that nearly made her knees buckle. Beneath the cloying perfumes of the courtesans, she caught the scent she had been tracking—the metallic bite of arsenic and the musky ozone of the beast—but it was now mingled with something new and far more "apocalyptic": the sweet, sickening odor of rotting flesh masked by high-grade incense. She moved with a "rationality and responsibility" that anchored her even as the "sensual" world of the pleasure houses threatened to overwhelm her senses.
Prince Zhao walked beside her, his wool cloak pulled low to hide the silver hair that still shimmered along his jawline from his partial transformation in the market. He was a "hero" struggling with his own "dark side," his presence a "looming crisis" that created a magnetic, high-tension "sexual tension" between them as they navigated the crowded corridors.
"The scent is strongest here," Mei whispered, stopping before the "Celestial Swallow" tea house. It was a place of "extraordinary beauty," but to Mei's apothecary perspective, it felt like a trap set by other humans due to leniency. "The lavender of the palace and the arsenic... it's radiating from the cellar."
Zhao's hand found the small of her back, a touch that was both a "protective highlight" and a spark of intense "emotional connection". "If we find what the Shadow Priest was hiding, we find the proof you need to clear your father's name," he rasped, his voice vibrating with a "responsibility" toward her that transcended his own survival.
They bypassed the main hall, where poets sang of moonlit love, and descended into the dark, damp belly of the building. The scent of "putrefaction" grew unbearable, a hallmark of "horror and suspense" where the familiar world crashes down into chaos. In the dim light of a flickering tallow candle, they found the "Lunar Warrior" experiment.
Chained to the stone walls were three men—or what had once been men. They were in various stages of a "rough, stiff, and unnatural" transformation. Their muscles were distended into grotesque, corded shapes, and their skin was a sickly, translucent silver. These were the "first victims" of a supernatural force taking over Earth, their eyes milky and devoid of "human nature," replaced by a mindless, predatory "lust" for blood.
"He's not just cursing individuals," Mei breathed, her fingers flying to her needle case as she "analyzed" the scene with an editorial eye for detail. "He's 'hoarding' the beast's power to create a 'military unit'—an army that cannot be killed by mortal steel".
One of the creatures lunged, the heavy iron chains snapping like dried twigs. Zhao stepped forward, his silver claws unsheathing as he prepared to meet the "infuriating" monster. This was the "inciting incident" for the broader war to come—a "dramatic opening" to the horror they would face together.
"Mei, find the antidote," Zhao growled, his obsidian eyes turning gold as he embraced his "invincible" form to protect her. "I'll handle the 'Lunar Warriors'."