The next few seconds felt as though time itself had frozen.
Neither side moved. Neither spoke.
A storm of complicated emotions flashed through Mo Ying’s eyes.

“That's rather…an unique way to greet someone,” Mo Ying said calmly, showing no fear at all despite the handgun pressed against the back of her head.

“It’s been four years,” the man shrugged. “I was worried you might’ve forgotten me, so I wanted to leave a strong impression. Is that not allowed?”

Mo Ying turned around. “Yan Yuhuai, you should know better. This can’t kill me.”

“I don’t want to kill you. I never have.”
There was the faintest trace of grievance in his voice.

Grievance? How rare. 

“You may not want to kill me, but I don’t share that trust.”

Bang.

The gun suddenly exploded in Yan Yuhuai’s hand, shattering into fragments. He sensed it just in time and threw it aside before it blew up completely—otherwise, his hand would have been severely injured.

Mo Ying looked at the wreckage with mild disappointment. “Too bad it didn’t blow you up.”

“Your way of saying hello is just as special,” Yan Yuhuai said, staring at the remains of the gun.

“So,” Mo Ying asked coldly, “what do you want? Don’t tell me you came here to beg me to take you back.”

They both knew it was impossible for their relationship to ever return to what it once was.
They also knew this meeting had nothing to do with their past.

“Is that really not an option?” Yan Yuhuai asked anyway.

Mo Ying didn’t answer. Instead, she stepped closer and looked straight into his red eyes, studying him with a seriousness that felt almost intimate—as if she were carefully examining how much he had changed in four years.
The sudden closeness made a flicker of panic flash through Yan Yuhuai’s eyes.

She reached out, gently brushing his cheek. Then she lifted his chin, turning his face from side to side, before sliding her fingers down to his throat.
Yan Yuhuai froze, stunned by the unexpected contact.

Click.

Something snapped shut around his neck, instantly destroying every trace of intimacy in the air.

A black collar.

Mo Ying stepped back and nodded in satisfaction. “It suits you.”

Yan Yuhuai touched it. It wouldn’t come off.

“An Artisan-made artifact?” he asked calmly, though his smile had faded. “What does it do?”

The Artisan Affinity allowed its users to imbue the items they created with extraordinary powers.

“Nothing special,” Mo Ying replied lightly. “I just have to think, and you die.”

“…Figures,” Yan Yuhuai muttered.

“You said you wanted to help me, but your credibility with me is already at negative infinity,” Mo Ying said as she walked past him. “I needed some insurance.”

After what you did, the fact that I didn’t cut you down the moment I saw you is already a mercy.

Her tone was cold, as though he were a stranger rather than someone she had once loved. The intimacy just now had clearly been nothing more than a pretext to put the collar on him.

“Where are you going?” Yan Yuhuai asked.

“To visit a friend,” Mo Ying replied without stopping as she left the cemetery.

Yan Yuhuai rubbed the collar around his neck as his phone rang.

“I’m at the cemetery,” he said after answering.

“You met her?” a woman’s voice asked. It was like a xylophone made of ice—clear, beautiful, and utterly devoid of warmth.

“I did. And she put a remote-controlled death device on my neck.”

The woman laughed softly, full of schadenfreude. “Serves you right, you accomplice. Still… I think you actually enjoy this, don’t you?”

Yan Yuhuai curled his lips into a smile. “Of course. Doesn’t it mean I belong to her now? Sounds wonderful.”

“Tch. Pervert.”

“But now I can finally work with you in peace, Yuhuai. Other things aside—and what you did to her aside—at least when it comes to hating those self-righteous old bastards, we’re on the same side.”

“Of course, YiNing,” Yan Yuhuai replied. “Plenty of people despise them.”

“Good. Get over here. In two hours, we have to attend a meeting hosted by those very people.”

“A meeting full of their nonsense… got it.”

After hanging up, Yan Yuhuai sighed. “I’m almost jealous of her. She doesn’t have to attend meetings.”

And with that, he left the cemetery.

In a dimly lit room, the only sources of light were a small lamp and a crystal ball glowing faintly.

A woman in her thirties sat elegantly at the table, her face hidden behind a veil that revealed only her gentle eyes and brows.

Tarot cards lay spread in an arc before her, all face down. She casually drew one.

“The World,” she murmured. “Just as I foresaw. How boring.”

She placed the card back and lifted her gaze toward the door.

“Five. Four. Three. Two. One.”

The door opened exactly as she finished counting.

“Lady Sibelyna,” said the black-haired, purple-eyed girl standing in the doorway.

Sylvina nodded. “Let me guess—Wei Zhiheng told you where I was.”

“Yes.”

Mo Ying walked over and sat on the sofa.

“So the Jokers attending the meeting on Poker’s behalf are the two of you?” she asked.

Poker was the most powerful assassin organization in the world.
Every member was an Affinity User. They only killed those they deemed worthy of death—no amount of money could change their minds.
They operated in the gray zone between black and white, feared by both sides.

Each member carried a playing card representing their rank: Clubs were the weakest, followed by Diamonds, then Hearts. Spades formed the upper echelon of the organization.
Above even them were the ten strongest members—the Jokers.

Sylvina, codenamed  Diviner, ranked second. A demigod.
Wei Zhiheng, codename Liar, ranked tenth.

Among Affinity Users, there was only one true dividing line between mortals and gods: demigodhood.
Once someone becomes a demigod, their power undergoes a qualitative transformation. In theory, one of them can take on hundreds of non-demigod Affinity Users.

In the four years since Mo Ying left, she had traveled the world, first meeting Wei Zhiheng and then, through him, the rest of Poker.

With the gods gone, demigods were now the most powerful beings in existence.

“Not just two,” Sylvina said. “Three.”

Or possibly four, according to the futures she had seen.

“The Scientist will be there too.”

Mo Ying’s expression turned slightly complicated at the mention of him. He had once tried to recruit her for experiments, offering all kinds of tempting conditions.
She refused. But he also couldn’t go after Poker’s number one—another demigod with the same Affinity—so he had been forced to keep searching for other candidates.

That kind of Affinity was among the rarest of the eighteen types, and even those who shared it did not necessarily possess the same abilities.

“I understand. I’m just here to say hello,” Mo Ying said.

“Not here to ask for our help?” Sylvina smiled.

“Dealing with the Yan family doesn’t require it. And as for the other matter, you’ll intervene anyway. You’ve already seen it, haven’t you?”

Sibelyna drew another card and sighed, placing it on the table.

“I have. Every force attending that meeting will be paying attention to this. Since you came by, I’ll give you a little gift.”

She pushed the face-down card toward Mo Ying.

“Some guidance regarding your fate.”

Mo Ying flipped it over.

A skeletal knight on horseback, holding a banner—Death.

“Death isn’t a bad card, if I remember correctly.”

“There are no truly bad cards in tarot,” Sibelyna said. “Death can mean the end… but it also carries the meaning of rebirth. From death comes new life.”

“Sounds impressive, but also vague,” Mo Ying said. “A failing college student passing the final exam and avoiding expulsion is also a kind of ‘rebirth from death.’”

“College… that’s a distant memory for me,” Sylvina replied. Decades distant. “But you should be used to this by now. I always give half-answers.”

She could see the future, but her perspective was never complete. Revealing too much could twist fate into something worse.

“…I see. Thank you.”

Mo Ying glanced at the tarot cards and the crystal ball.

“You don’t actually need these to use your power, do you?”

Sylvina smiled. “It’s about ritual. Makes me feel more like a diviner. Besides, tarot cards are still a kind of medium.”

Like the Death card she had just drawn?

“To thank you, I’ll bring you a fine spectacle,” Mo Ying said as she turned to leave.

Sylvina closed her eyes, then opened them again.

“I’ll be waiting. The future holds many possibilities… but you—can you truly create the one with the smallest chance of ever happening?”