Era of Mist

His smile was one he’d practiced, and it had captured the hearts of countless beautiful women. This even included so-called professionals in the pleasure industry, who were just as smitten by him. In the end, they’d lose everything they had and still think they had met their one true love, their destiny.

But that smile seemed to have no effect on Miss Red Skirt. She wasn’t even interested enough to glance at him, just going about her business gathering and racking the balls for a new game. She said casually, "If you want to hit on me, you’ll have to get in line."

"Get in line? Sure, no problem. I’ll call the numbers!" The playboy sidled up to her, unleashing his smoldering gaze. "I was just wondering, could I maybe cut~~ in line?"

’Tch! How shameless!’

Shi Tiexin had already sat down off to the side, watching with great interest to see how this would end for the guy.

"You can call numbers, but not just anyone is qualified. Cutting the line isn’t impossible either, but I doubt you have what it takes." Miss Red Skirt said, wiping the tip of her cue. Her eyes were fixed on the pool table, completely ignoring the playboy beside her.

"The moment I saw you, I knew we were destined to meet. I’ve been single for so long, just searching for the one. Now that I’ve met you, I feel like destiny is beckoning to me!" The playboy’s cheesy pickup lines rolled right off his tongue. Though most men would find them cringey, some women, for whatever reason, loved to hear them. "Don’t be so cold. Give me a chance, okay? I’m sincerely into you!"

Shi Tiexin didn’t know whether destiny was beckoning, but Miss Red Skirt certainly was. She gestured with her hand, and the bartender, understanding immediately, turned and retrieved something from under the bar.

The playboy was a bit confused, but then Miss Red Skirt spoke. "You want a chance? Fine."

Just as the playboy was about to burst with joy, he saw Miss Red Skirt take something from the bartender—a knife! A Butterfly Knife!

The playboy froze. "What are you..."

WHOOSH! A brilliant flash of steel suddenly blossomed in Miss Red Skirt’s hand. With a flick of her wrist, the Butterfly Knife seemed to come alive, spinning between her fingers to form a dazzling, dangerous wheel of light.

SWISH, SWISH, SWISH. The sound of it cutting the air was faint but menacing. With a sharp SNAP, the blade locked into place. Miss Red Skirt held the knife in her right hand, a reverse grip, and shot a sidelong glance at the playboy, her presence overwhelmingly powerful.

The playboy thought Miss Red Skirt was about to stab him and took a terrified step back.

The next moment, Miss Red Skirt placed her left hand on the pool table, her fingers slightly spread. With her right hand, she viciously stabbed down with the tip of the knife.

The people watching all shrieked, and some even jumped to their feet. But all they heard was a rapid THUD-THUD-THUD as the tip of the knife stabbed fiercely into the table in the gaps between her fingers. Each strike was powerful and lightning-fast. Each strike was ruthless, without a moment’s hesitation.

Her five fair fingers remained naturally spread as the gleaming blade continuously stabbed into the tabletop, grazing past her skin and making a sound like a woodpecker. The blade even struck perilously close to the base of her fingers, nearly hitting her palm, but Miss Red Skirt’s expression remained cold from start to finish. She barely even glanced at her left hand.

So casual. So nonchalant. And so confident.

Sixteen stabs, all in the blink of an eye. Her left hand was completely unscathed.

The entire room was left in awe.

Miss Red Skirt closed the knife and shot a sidelong glance at the playboy. "Don’t say I didn’t give you a chance. Do that, and you can get in line."

"I... uh..." The playboy stared at the knife in her hand and swallowed hard. How could a con man who preyed on women possibly have that kind of courage? But he wasn’t ready to give up. He forced his stiff face into a fawning smile and took a step forward, his wandering hands getting ready to move. "Come on, pretty lady~~, can’t you cut me some sla—What are you doing!"

As the playboy shrieked, Miss Red Skirt’s left hand shot out like lightning. SMACK! She seized his wandering hand by the wrist, pulled it forward, and slammed it onto the table. As if slaughtering a chicken or chopping a fish, she gave the Butterfly Knife in her right hand a little flourish, then brought it stabbing viciously down toward his hand.

"AHHHHHHH————!!!"

"Stop screaming. You’re not dead."

As Miss Red Skirt’s voice drifted into his ears, the playboy realized that the blade had landed squarely in the space between his middle and ring fingers. It had missed him by a hair’s breadth.

The playboy snatched his hand back in horror. Not daring to linger a second longer, he scrambled away in a panic, practically wetting himself as he fled.

"Y-You, you damn bitch! You just wait! Just you wait!"

A large foot suddenly stuck out, tripping the playboy and sending him sprawling. He tumbled away like a gourd rolling across the floor.

Miss Red Skirt was completely unfazed by his threats, her expression as calm as if nothing had happened. She simply picked up her cue again, bent over the table, and drew the stick back. Then, she uttered a single word.

"Weakling."

CRACK. She broke. The balls scattered, and one dropped into a pocket. Her skill was clearly top-notch; she wasn’t just for show.

The men around the room instantly fell silent.

This beauty was truly a dangerous rose, leaving them unsure of whether they should even try to approach her. They had the desire to hit on her, but not the courage to be the first to try. All they could do was scheme about what underhanded methods they might use later.

The bartender returned to his post.

He looked up to see a hulking man, taller and more muscular than himself, walking over.

Dusting off his pant legs, Shi Tiexin sat on a stool at the bar. Miss Red Skirt’s pool table wasn’t far, but he didn’t look her way. Instead, he waved the bartender over.

"A drink, sir? Or a cup of coffee?"

"No." Shi Tiexin’s reply puzzled the bartender. "Bring me a chopstick."

’A chopstick?’

The bartender couldn’t figure out what this guy was up to. ’Does he want to stir his coffee with it or something?’ But no matter what the customer wanted, the bartender got it. "Here you go."

Shi Tiexin took them. They were a pair of metal chopsticks. He checked their length and hefted them in his hand. ’Hm, perfect.’

Shi Tiexin then spread his fingers and placed his hand on the bar. Taking one of the chopsticks in his right hand, he aimed it for a moment. Then, as the bartender watched with a look of dawning amusement, he stabbed it downward.

THUNK.

’Oof... that actually hurt. I should use less force next time.’

After practicing a few more times, Shi Tiexin realized it was actually quite difficult. It required precise control and tremendous courage. To do it with a real knife, he thought, would be exceptionally hard.

And so, Shi Tiexin practiced with even greater focus.

Miss Red Skirt practiced pool on her side of the room, while Shi Tiexin practiced with his chopstick on his. In what felt like the blink of an eye, nearly an hour had passed, with both of them completely absorbed in their tasks.

An hour later, Shi Tiexin let out a breath and looked up.

He could now manage sixteen stabs in a row without hitting his hand. However, the speed, power, and precision needed to get the strikes extremely close to his skin were not things that could be mastered in a moment. As for her effortless grace and that casual air of not even needing to look? That was completely beyond him for now.

"That woman is incredible," Shi Tiexin muttered to himself, genuinely impressed by her skill.

"Hey." A low, captivating voice called out. "You, the big guy."

Shi Tiexin froze for a moment before turning his head. He saw that Miss Red Skirt had put down her cue and was now looking right at him. Her enchanting eyes still held that superior air, yet strangely, it didn’t feel arrogant. It simply gave one the impression that she was born extraordinary.

Miss Red Skirt looked his way. "You want to hit on me, too?"

Shi Tiexin didn’t shake his head, nor did he nod. He simply asked in a serious tone, "Can I call a number?"

"You’re not bad." Miss Red Skirt leaned over the table again, the curve of her body flawless in profile. "Get in line."

CRACK. She broke, scattering the balls perfectly.