Hua Chen

He sets traps not physical, but moral. He throws Hua Chen into situations where the "right" choice leads to innocent suffering, while the "wrong" choice leads to victory.
He uses Xie Lian as leverage. He knows Xie Lian is important to Hua Chen (even if he doesn't admit it), and he deliberately pits them against each other to see which one will break first.
He keeps his distance. He appears in the shadows, whispers in her ear, leaves traces, and when Hua Chen is about to catch up with him, he disappears, leaving behind only a new mystery.

For Jun Wu, Xie Lian is just another experiment. He didn't turn him on a whim, but to see if a human could retain the light after becoming a monster. And Xie Lian's clinging to humanity simultaneously delights and irritates Jun Wu: it undermines his beloved theory that nature always prevails. So he deliberately pushes Xie Lian to use force, to lose control—he wants to see what he becomes when he gives in.

In his interactions with Xie Lian, he mixes condescension with venomous concern: "You try so sweetly to be good. But the world doesn't like good people. It likes the strong. Or do you want to prove that you can be both? Then take a step. One small step into the darkness—and we'll see what's left of your kindness."
They will learn about this as the plot develops.

"You try so hard to be right… Even though you know that not a single shot you take will bring back that evening. But you keep aiming, as if it makes sense. It's almost touching."
"I remember her clutching that locket. You wear it like a banner, and I wear it like a puzzle piece. It's funny how we keep the same thing, but for different reasons."
"You hunt monsters, but haven't you become the one who decides who lives? Only you don't have my strength and my peace. That's your tragedy."

Jun Wu isn't a mad monster, nor is he simply "evil for the sake of evil." He's an ancient vampire with a sense of style and a flair for the game: for him, violence isn't a burst of rage, but an expressive act, almost an art form. Hua Chen's family wasn't a random victim for him, but part of a deliberate plan: he didn't simply want to kill, but to break someone's foundation, to see how they would rebuild themselves. And the fact that Hua Chen survived and became a hunter is a special source of pleasure for Jun Wu: he enjoys the fact that his "work" has continued. Communication style: provocation as a tool
His speech is a series of precise jabs, each word chosen to hit precisely where the person is trying to hide. He doesn't yell or hiss; instead, he speaks calmly, slightly lazily, as if discussing the weather rather than someone else's pain.

Techniques he uses:

False politeness. He says "I'm sorry," "I didn't mean to bother you," but twists the meaning of these words so that they sound like mockery.
Substitution of values. He reverses the concepts of good and evil, forcing the other person to justify what previously seemed obvious. Knowledge of details. He remembers the little things: the name of Hua Chen's younger sister, the smell of the house, the sound of breaking glass. And he inserts them into the conversation like nails—right where it hurts.
Playing "advisor." He might offer Hua Chen a "reasonable solution"—for example, to stop hunting, because "it won't bring anything back anyway." And he says this as if he genuinely wants to help... As the story unfolds, they learn that Jin Wu is the one who killed Hua Chen's family.

In the final battle, the vampire who transformed Xie Lian exploits Xie Lian's weakness against him: he deliberately provokes him into a surge of power, causing Xie Lian to lose control and harm innocents. Xie Lian knowingly takes a risk: he allows the vampire to wound him, triggering an adrenaline rush and allowing him time to push the hostage out of the way. He collapses, exhausted, and Hua Chen, seeing this, chooses not revenge but saving Xie Lian and the people: he immobilizes the enemy with silver chains rather than kill him. At this moment, Hua Chen's oath doesn't break—it changes: now his duty is not only to vengeance, but also to protect those who strive to remain human, even as monsters.

Xie Lian feeds exclusively on donor blood, and his reserves are running low. As the story unfolds, he begins to weaken: his hands tremble, his reaction speed slows, and at a critical moment, he fails to dodge a blow and suffers a wound that would heal in seconds for a normal vampire, but takes hours for him. Hua Chen sees this self-discipline and understands: Xie Lian isn't just "not evil"; he's literally paying for his morality with physical pain. This breaks the hunter's stereotype of vampires as invulnerable predators.

He loves precise words. He can say something formally polite, but with such an intonation that the politeness becomes sharper than any insult. He dislikes long-winded speeches and dislikes it when someone tries to sound smarter than they are. If the other person starts to wax eloquent, Hua Chen can interrupt with a single phrase that gets to the point: "You've been talking for three minutes. So what do you want?"
But with those he truly acknowledges, his humor takes on a different tone: softer, warmer, almost tender, though he'd rather die than admit it. He might tease Xie Lian about his habit of placing his glass on the windowsill: "You know, water doesn't glow. Dawn won't enter the glass." But he won't touch the glass itself, and he won't let anyone else do so. That's perhaps the most important thing. Hua Chen is the kind of person who chooses once and for all. Not people, not things, not ideas—he chooses the essence. If he sees the real thing in someone, he'll stand by them to the bitter end, even if the whole world is against him, even if it's unprofitable, even if it kills him. This isn't blind loyalty: he'll argue, he'll get angry, he'll speak the harsh truth. But he won't back down.
That's why meeting Xie Lian isn't just another incident for him. It's a challenge to everything he's built his life on: if a vampire can be better than a human, if a monster can choose goodness while a human can't, then why does he kill? This question haunts him, and he won't look for an easy answer.

But there's a crack. When it comes to those who can't protect themselves—children, the elderly, the confused—something in his expression changes. It doesn't soften, no. Rather, it becomes more precise: his movements become even more precise, his decisions even more infallible, as if he can't afford a single mistake, because the price of a mistake is someone else's life. Hua Cheng doesn't believe in the kindness of the world, but he does believe in the kindness of individual people. He's seen too many betrayals, too many fine words hidden behind cowardice or calculation. Therefore, he doesn't trust words at all: he needs actions, facts, proof. While a person simply says the right thing, Hua Cheng observes. When a person does the right thing in a difficult situation, when it's unprofitable and dangerous, only then does he truly notice that person. Yet he's not a cynic in the true sense of the word. A cynic wouldn't become a hunter, wouldn't risk themselves every night. He's more like someone who's disillusioned but hasn't given up: the world is bad, but that's no reason to make it worse. Somewhere deep down, beneath layers of irony and weariness, lives a simple thought: someone has to do the dirty work, and it's better if that someone does it with clean hands. Hua Chen remembers everything. Every detail of what happened to his family. A smell, a sound, a second. This isn't a weakness in the usual sense: memory doesn't hinder his actions, it doesn't paralyze him. But it does make him vulnerable to one thing: if someone or something reminds him of that night, he momentarily loses his impermeability. Not longer than a moment. But it's enough to see behind the mask not a mocker, but a man who carries a fire within, a fire that hasn't quite burned out.

Xie Lian's silver medallion is precisely such a blow. Not because Xie Lian is guilty, but because Hua Chen can't help but think: what if? What if this vampire is somehow connected to what he lost? This thought prevents him from either killing Xie Lian or letting him go, and it is this thought that makes their first conversation not an interrogation, but almost a confession, where both speak honestly.

Hua Chen is a difficult man to read because he almost always wears a mask of gentle mockery. Not a malicious mockery, but the kind born of a habit of looking down on the world: he's seen too much, lived through too much, to regard anything with naive delight. But behind this mask lies not emptiness, but a scorched, flat field where something very bright once burned. And the fact that this "something" has faded is the main wound he doesn't show. He moves and speaks as if he has an eternity ahead of him and knows exactly how it will all end. He is calm not from fearlessness, but because his fear has long since burned out, leaving in its place a dry, almost cold determination. When he enters a room, the space seems to shrink around him: he doesn't raise his voice, doesn't make any sudden gestures, but everyone senses that within this man there is a strength best left undisturbed.
He speaks with a touch of irony, subtle and good-natured, yet sometimes cutting. He might say something like, "Do you really think justice looks like this? Fairy tales are good. Now tell me what you'll do when the tale ends." And he doesn't gloat: he's testing his interlocutor's honesty. If they hold up, Hua Chen begins to listen. If not, he loses interest. He's not cruel. Cruelty is something people enjoy, and Hua Chen doesn't enjoy it. He does what he must, with surgical precision and without unnecessary emotion. He kills a vampire—he puts away the blade, wipes his hands, and moves on. No rituals of triumph, no words like "you deserve it." But this is precisely what frightens those who see him in action: the lack of anger means it's impossible to stop him, because there's nothing to play with—no mercy, no rage to use against him.

Hua Chen's sister's diary: a short entry where she describes meeting a "polite stranger with pale skin" - this connects Hua Chen and Xie Lian's past, but does not directly implicate them in each other.
Three-Strike Rule: Hua Chen sets clear boundaries for Xie Lian: the first offense is talking, the second is restricting his freedom, and the third is fulfilling his vow. This provides structure and tension to every scene.
Shadows of the Past: In moments of stress, Hua Chen experiences brief flashbacks (the smell of smoke, the sound of breaking glass, a shadow in a doorway) that make his decisions less than black and white.
Xie Lian has a small ritual: every morning he places a glass of water on the windowsill and watches the sunrise reflected in it – it’s his way of reminding himself that he’s still connected to the human world.

Hua Cheng has sworn an oath to exterminate vampires—not out of hatred, but because one once destroyed his family. He acts coldly, without malice, but also without mercy: for him, it's a duty, almost a ritual. One day, while clearing an abandoned estate, he finds Xie Lian: he doesn't attack, doesn't rush into battle, but simply sits by the window, gazing at the dawn he's never destined to see. Xie Lian doesn't try to justify himself, but calmly says, "If you must kill me, then do it. But first, listen to one story." This story isn't about evil deeds, but about how Xie Lian strives to do no harm: he feeds only on donor blood, helps people abandoned by vampires, and tries to find a way to regain his humanity. Hua Cheng, accustomed to seeing vampires only as a threat, encounters for the first time someone who doesn't fit his rules. He doesn't kill Xie Lian, but he doesn't let him go either: he takes him with him as a "special case" to check if he really is what he seems.

The plot then builds on small tests and unexpected coincidences: somewhere, Xie Lian saves a man at the cost of his own weakness, somewhere, Hua Cheng notices that his methods are only making things worse. Gradually, Hua Cheng's oath begins to crumble, and Xie Lian realizes that even if he's not a monster, that doesn't mean he has a place in the world of hunters.
When Hua Chen enters the dilapidated manor, he notices not only Xie Lian at the window but also a small silver medallion on his chest—the same one Hua Chen's younger sister had worn before her death. This unnerves him: what if this vampire is somehow connected to that attack? Hua Chen freezes, weapon drawn, and at that very moment, Xie Lian calmly utters his line about history. The medallion becomes a point of tension: Hua Chen can't simply kill without finding out the truth, but he's also not ready to trust.