"She's back."
The words echoed through the smoke-filled basement like gunshots.
Dozens of eyes turned toward the tunnel entrance—men in suits, women with cigarettes dangling from glossy lips, fighters bruised and bloodied under flickering lights. The smell of sweat, money, and danger clung to the cracked concrete walls of the Red Orchid Arena, the most illegal underground martial arts ring in all of Jiangcheng.
And tonight, the legend had returned.
The Ghost Widow.
Draped in loose black, veiled from forehead to chin, no one had ever seen her face. Only the trail of bodies she left behind—clean, efficient, merciless.
Only a few knew her true name.
Yanli Wen.
Above the ring, behind bulletproof glass, Liang Zhen sipped his scotch in silence.
"You didn't tell me this was a woman," he said.
The arena owner, Old Kuan, chuckled. "That's the thing. No one believes it until they watch her fight."
Zhen's eyes narrowed as he leaned forward, analyzing every movement of the cloaked figure now entering the ring.
The way she moved—balanced, deliberate, without a hint of wasted energy. Her arms hung loose but ready. Her footsteps silent.
He knew that walk.
He'd seen it from a kitchen window two nights ago.
No. It couldn't be.
Yanli stood still as her opponent entered—a 6'3" monster of a man named Iron Fang, a former mercenary with arms like tree trunks.
The crowd jeered, roared, shouted bets.
He cracked his knuckles, grinned with rotten teeth, and spat on the mat.
"Ready to cry, sweetheart?" he snarled.
Yanli said nothing.
She never did.
The bell rang.
He charged.
And she moved—
Not backward. Not to dodge.
Straight in.
A blur. A twist. One strike.
He froze mid-swing.
Then fell.
Face-first.
The crowd gasped.
Not one sound came from her.
She turned, cloak rippling like shadow, and began to leave.
Upstairs, Zhen stood slowly, stunned. His fingers clenched the glass tightly enough to crack it.
"You know her name?" he asked the owner.
Old Kuan hesitated. "We just call her Ghost Widow. Never gives a name. She doesn't fight for money. She fights when she's angry."
Zhen didn't blink.
"Track her. Follow her. I want to know everything by morning."
Beneath the City
Yanli peeled off her gloves in the alley behind the arena. Blood speckled her fingers, but none of it was hers.
She crouched beside a rusted bike rack, reached into a crack in the wall, and pulled out a small cloth pouch.
Inside: three silver hairpins, an ancient jade ring, and a worn photo of her mother smiling in white robes.
She whispered, "I'm still hiding, Mama. But I'm getting closer."
Midnight — Liang Zhen's Penthouse
His aide returned, face pale.
"Sir..."
Zhen looked up. "Well?"
"We followed her... to the Wen estate."
Zhen stood slowly, every muscle tense.
"No."
The aide nodded, swallowing hard. "She's their maid."