What remains in the alley once the attacker and the shadow depart is nothing but a body. A teenage boy, expensively dressed, with a bow still clutched in his hand and unused arrows splayed out beneath him. He may as well be dead.

But after some time passes, the body stirs and rises. It gathers up the arrows and adjusts the quiver on its shoulder. It checks its messages on the network. Nothing new, not yet. No one has even noticed that he is missing, or perhaps they do not care.

His sword is missing: an important belonging. A few minor gashes on his cheek and hand from when he was thrown to the ground. They do not heal as they should. When he focuses to try and heal them, he cannot. He cannot feel the golden core in his chest. If it is still there, something is wrong.

There are people who care for this body. People who will assist it. But the body knows that something is wrong, and the people who care for this body do not like things to be Wrong.

There is one who will accept him no matter what he becomes, and who will be able to provide practical aid no matter how wrong he may be.

Without bothering to send any message of announcement, the body makes its way to the residence of Meng Yao and knocks at the door.