Someone was trying to pull off Fu Qi's pants.
In fact, the person had first attempted to remove his top. The surroundings were pitch black, and Fu Qi was wearing a specially designed combat uniform with a tightly fastened waist belt and functional straps. The intruder seemed unfamiliar with such attire, fumbling over his body several times without finding a way to undo it, before shifting their focus to his trousers.
In the darkness, Fu Qi could clearly feel the person's hands groping along his waist belt before forcing their way beneath it. After some effort, they managed to slip past the gap, pressing against his abdomen through the thin inner layer of his clothing.
The hand was small and somewhat soft—not like a child’s, but possibly belonging to a slender man or a woman. It moved clumsily against his stomach.
Despite such intimate intrusion, Fu Qi remained motionless.
First, because although the person had gone to great lengths to reach inside his clothes, he could tell their goal was his attire, not him—there was no malice toward his person.
Second, given their method, they could only squeeze their hand in; the clothes wouldn’t come off this way.
And third, there was the hand itself.
It was unnaturally cold. Even though Fu Qi had braced himself, the icy touch against his abdomen still sent a jolt through him.
In the oppressive darkness and silence, Fu Qi relaxed his body, allowing the cold hand to roam freely.
The intruder seemed impatient. After a few more touches, they turned around, positioning themselves astride Fu Qi’s legs—one hand braced against his chest for leverage while the other continued rummaging around his waist.
The distance was close. Fu Qi caught a whiff of a cool, musty scent, faintly laced with damp mildew, like aged grain or pottery long sealed away in a cellar.
The smell made sense—after all, he was currently underground.
The situation was straightforward: during a mission, a conflict had erupted, causing an explosion that shattered a stone wall and sent Fu Qi tumbling into a burial chamber.
His agility spared him serious injury upon landing, but his luck ran out when the collapsed entrance was completely blocked by debris. Trapped inside, he soon discovered the chamber was booby-trapped—a crossbow bolt shot out, grazing his neck.
The bolt was poisoned, its toxin potent. Fu Qi had used his emergency antidote, but it wasn’t enough—half his body went numb, leaving him paralyzed, forced to wait for the effects to wear off.
Thirteen hours passed. The only moving thing he encountered in that time was the figure now straddling him.
For now, he dubbed them the "clothes thief."
This was Fu Qi’s third encounter with them.
The first time was shortly after the explosion. The thief had rushed over with a faint light, only to scream and flee at the sight of Fu Qi.
The light had been too dim, and Fu Qi, paralyzed and unable to open his eyes, hadn’t gotten a clear look. The scream had been hoarse and raspy—human-like, but impossible to assign a gender to.
The second time, the thief came without a light, observing Fu Qi from a distance before cautiously skirting around him and heading toward the collapsed section of the chamber. An hour later, they returned, crouching in a corner to study Fu Qi for a long while.
By then, the paralysis had begun to fade. Fu Qi’s senses were returning, though his eyes still couldn’t see in the darkness. His heightened perception allowed him to detect the faint rustling sounds of the thief’s movements, and he remained still, locked in a silent standoff.
Eventually, Fu Qi tested his mobility, making a slight noise—prompting the thief to vanish again with a startled "whoosh."
This last time, the thief observed Fu Qi from afar for a long while before cautiously approaching. They poked him with a stick from a safe distance, and when he didn’t react, they finally reached out.
"Ugh!" The thief let out a frustrated grunt after struggling fruitlessly for a while.
Fu Qi sensed the faint disturbance of air from their voice and the stale scent clinging to them—but not a single trace of breath, as a living person would have.
The hand still roaming his abdomen remained icy, untouched by his body heat despite prolonged contact.
In fact, if the thief hadn’t moved or drawn attention with their gaze, Fu Qi wouldn’t have detected their presence at all—even if they were standing nose-to-nose with him, they’d have been indistinguishable from a rock.
The reason? They lacked the presence of a living person.
Yes, no trace of life.
Fu Qi had encountered enough similar beings to recognize the signs, but this one was different.
—It was the first time he’d met one more obsessed with his clothes than his flesh.
"That’s not how you take them off," Fu Qi spoke up.
His clear, masculine voice echoed faintly against the stone walls of the dark tomb.
The thief froze, then immediately scrambled off him and bolted deeper into the chamber. Fu Qi swiftly reached out, seizing their slender, ice-cold ankle and yanking them back. The thief kicked at him, and Fu Qi released his grip, dodging forward to put distance between them.
The thief fled without a backward glance.
Fu Qi was pleased.
As he’d expected, the thief was terrified of people—panicked enough to run in the wrong direction, straight toward the blocked entrance where Fu Qi had fallen. A dead end.
Fu Qi stood, straightening his disheveled clothes before flicking his wrist. A bright beam of white light shot from his watch, illuminating the chamber as brightly as daylight.
After a quick scan of the surroundings, he frowned, pausing for half a minute before advancing.
The passage was narrow, barely wide enough for four or five people to walk abreast. Fu Qi, tall and long-limbed, stood squarely in the center, blocking the escape route. Soon enough, the cornered thief was forced into the harsh light.
A woman, around 167 cm tall, slender, dressed bizarrely—her upper body wrapped in a faded striped cloth like a bandage, frayed threads dangling from its edges; her lower half clad in a short, ragged gray cloth haphazardly tied around her waist and hips. Her feet were bare.
The outfit was strange but oddly clean.
The high skin exposure also revealed her unnaturally pale, slightly bluish complexion.
More peculiar was the weapon she carried—the same poisoned crossbow bolt that had paralyzed Fu Qi. She held one in her hand, while another was deeply embedded in her left ribcage, dark, viscous fluid seeping from the wound like unnatural blood.
Under the bright light, she pressed her back against the wall, eyeing Fu Qi with wary defiance.
Fu Qi studied her just as intently.
After a long silence, his expression relaxed. "Quite the look," he remarked.
Then he asked, "Are you a fashion model?"
The thief’s pallid face twisted in confusion before settling into exasperation. She shot him a glare with those hollow, pitch-black eyes.
She understood?
"If it's not a modeling pose, then you must be injured." Fu Qi's tone was calm as he kindly reminded her, "The crossbow bolt is poisoned."
Upon hearing this, the clothes thief quickly glanced down, then yanked the bolt out and tossed it aside disdainfully. As if to prove she wasn't afraid, she even stepped on it with her bare foot and ground it forcefully under her heel.
The movement caused dark red blood to trickle from the wound, though not much—just enough to stain her exposed, flat abdomen. Yet she showed no sign of pain, her expression unchanged.
Fu Qi took it all in without batting an eye and asked again, "I’ve heard you make sounds before... Can you speak?"
The clothes thief stayed silent, only flicking her gaze briefly toward his wrist.
So Fu Qi raised his left hand to show her. "It’s a watch with a built-in light."
The dim glow in the tomb flickered slightly with his movement. He added, "Wait a moment."
Then he took a step back, pressed a few buttons at his waist, and with a series of clicks, his tactical belt and harness loosened. The dark green combat jacket came off easily.
Fu Qi held out the jacket to the clothes thief with a friendly smile.
Her expression had softened slightly, but his smile made her wary again—clearly remembering how he’d pretended to be dead earlier to lure her close and corner her.
"You don’t mean me harm. You just want my clothes to cover yourself, right?" Fu Qi kept his arm extended, speaking gently. "Put it on. It’s not proper for us to be alone like this, looking so... provocative."
The clothes thief’s face twisted into something like exasperation. After a hesitant pause, she crept forward cautiously, snatched the jacket, and darted back to her corner.
Fu Qi watched as she put it on and zipped it up, his eyes glinting. "No 'thank you'?"
"...Th-Thank you..." Her voice was halting, rough, like the creaking of an old machine unused for years.
"You’re welcome," Fu Qi said. "I’m Fu Qi. What’s your name?"
The oversized jacket covered the ragged cloth wrapped around her chest and the indecently short makeshift skirt, leaving only her slender legs exposed. The unnatural bluish tint of her skin was less noticeable against the dark fabric, making her look like an ordinary young girl drowning in an oversized coat.
Her expression relaxed now that she was decently covered, but she didn’t answer his question. Instead, she dug her hands into the pockets, then pointed at Fu Qi’s pants.
"I can’t give you my pants," Fu Qi said, glancing at her bare legs. "I have some dignity too."
The clothes thief stammered, "M-Man..."
"Yes, I’m a man, and you’re a woman," Fu Qi replied smoothly.
She fell silent, then struggled to speak again. "Men... roadside..."
Fu Qi didn’t quite follow, but piecing together "pants," "men," and "roadside," he guessed she meant that plenty of men relieved themselves openly by the road—where was their dignity? Might as well hand over the pants.
Fair point.
"I don’t understand," Fu Qi said earnestly. "Care to elaborate?"
The clothes thief went quiet again, gathering herself before shouting at him, "L-Liar!"
The accusation was vague—hard to tell which of his actions she was condemning. But he didn’t press, remaining gentle. "See? Speaking more helps. Those two words were clear, and your voice sounds brighter already."
She seemed annoyed, her dark eyes fixed on him. After a moment, she began circling him along the stone wall.
Fu Qi realized she was trying to escape.
There were still things he hadn’t figured out, and he knew nothing about the tomb’s layout. He needed time to assess, so he didn’t stop her. Instead, he stepped aside, clearing the path as she darted past him like a gust of wind.
Half a minute later, a series of dull thuds echoed nearby—the trap mechanism had activated again. From the sound of it, the jacket he’d just given her was now likely splattered with more blood and riddled with holes.
