Chapter 81 — Repaying Kindness with Enmity? (Please Recommend, Please Bookmark...)

......................

Wei Zhao had not counted on the girl's gratitude, but it seemed the girl had no intention of letting him off.

Just as Wei Zhao was bent over the medicine, absorbed, never once turning back to bother with the girl, a wave of murderous intent came sweeping at him from behind, and the jade pendant on his body stirred as well, passing on a signal of danger.

Wei Zhao frowned. Yet at this crucial moment in the brewing of the medicine, he did not want to be distracted. "Stop messing around."

At that moment Yang Qiqi's heart was torn. On the way out of the pharmacy she had fainted from losing too much blood, but when Wei Zhao yanked off her trousers, the pull on her wound hurt her so badly that it dragged a little consciousness back into her, and her mind cleared a little too; only, her body was far too weak — she did not even have the strength to open her eyes — and she blacked out again.

Afterward, when Wei Zhao treated her wound and sprinkled medicine on it, Yang Qiqi was woken by the pain a second time, and immediately passed out again. So of what happened after that, she still had a rough impression.

It was this man in the room who had saved her, but at the same time, he had seen a great many things he should never have seen — her face, and her legs... That was something Yang Qiqi could never tolerate.

Though killing her own savior, burning the bridge the moment she had crossed it, left Yang Qiqi a little uneasy, her face in this life would bloom for one man alone, and the man in this room had already crossed her bottom line.

Decision made, Yang Qiqi felt for her dagger beside the bed and crept up behind Wei Zhao on tiptoe. Yet seeing him utterly absorbed in brewing the medicine, her movements plainly faltered.

He was brewing the medicine for her? Warmth spread through Yang Qiqi's heart, and she could not quite bring herself to strike.

Yang Qiqi admitted that her heart was not yet as cold as other assassins', not so ruthless and heartless. Whatever else he was, the man in this room was her savior.

Just as Yang Qiqi wavered, Wei Zhao, as though scolding a small child, told her to "stop messing around" — which left Yang Qiqi plainly stunned. She was about to kill him, and he told her to stop messing around?

Did he think she had climbed out of bed only to wander aimlessly about the room?

"Have you never heard the story of Mr. Dongguo since you were little?" Wei Zhao, still without turning his head, went on talking to himself. "I feel as if I'm the Mr. Dongguo in that story right now."

Yang Qiqi's expression changed. Of course she knew the story of Mr. Dongguo. She had grown up inside an assassins' organization, true, but she was markedly different from the other assassins: besides her assassin's training, she had received a proper, orthodox education as well.

The story of Mr. Dongguo was in fact a classic fable: a man named Dongguo saved a wolf, and the wolf turned on him and tried to eat him.

But Wei Zhao's words also reminded Yang Qiqi of something — his earlier "stop messing around" had not been said at random. Wei Zhao had already sensed that she meant to kill him.

The tale of Mr. Dongguo that he went on to tell proved exactly that. He was obliquely mocking her for repaying kindness with enmity.

Just who was this man? Yang Qiqi's heart jumped. With his back to her he could sense her ill intent, yet he made no reaction at all — was he fearless because he had something to fall back on, or...?

Then the purpose for which this man had treated her wound was open to doubt. A chill welled up in Yang Qiqi's heart, and it hardened her resolve; the dagger in her hand quickened, and without the slightest hesitation she struck at Wei Zhao's throat.

Wei Zhao had not expected this female assassin to be so unrelenting — did she think she could bully him while both his hands were occupied? Wei Zhao frowned, abruptly twisted his head aside to dodge Yang Qiqi's dagger, then simply opened his mouth and bit down on the blade — and on Yang Qiqi's fingers along with it, of course.

"Ah—" The pain in her hand sent the dagger flying from her grip. Her body had not recovered; that she could stand up and walk to a spot behind Wei Zhao at all was purely by force of will. The instant the dagger left her hand, Yang Qiqi, as if every bit of strength had drained out of her, dropped down onto the floor of the room, gasping for breath; the wound on her leg seemed to have been jolted as well, and cold sweat slid down her head.

Wei Zhao spat the dagger aside and went on brewing the medicine. "You really are an ungrateful wretch. Still, never mind — a real man does not fight a woman. Hurry up and leave, before I finish the medicine and can't stop myself from killing you."

By now Yang Qiqi understood as well: Wei Zhao was no ordinary man at all. Could an ordinary man have dodged her sneak attack just now? Could an ordinary man have bitten down on a dagger? And from Wei Zhao's words she also gathered that these herbs were not being brewed for her at all — she had been flattering herself.

"Hmph." Yang Qiqi's eyes brimmed with humiliation and unwillingness. She was no reckless sort; as an assassin she could not be one, for reckless assassins were killed by others first — they could not have lived to this day.

Since Wei Zhao, with both hands occupied, could still take her dagger from her so easily, Yang Qiqi gave up the notion of striking again. She was no match for Wei Zhao; even unwounded, she could not be sure of dealing with this man completely.

There was no killing intent about this man, not the faintest trace of it, yet what she felt from him was unfathomable — truly unfathomable. That feeling, inside the organization, she had known only when facing her own father.

Yang Qiqi silently picked her leather pants up off the floor. There was blood on them, but it had dried, and apart from being a little uncomfortable they did not look bad. The crucial problem was that there were no other clothes to change into in this room.

"Don't forget to shut the door when you leave," Wei Zhao said to Yang Qiqi, as though he had eyes in the back of his head.

"..." Yang Qiqi went out of the room and slammed the door shut behind her.

"One, I'm sorry. This man is my savior, and as I am now I am no match for him... But don't worry, I have remembered him, and one day I will kill him with my own hand, because I am your Little Seven, and yours alone..." Yang Qiqi swore a venomous oath in her heart. In truth, Yang Qiqi had not always been called Yang Qiqi; "Seven" had merely been a code name from the graduation trial group she had belonged to as an assassin. She was the youngest, so she was ranked seventh. The other members of the group were likewise named by number.

And the man still brewing medicine in the room had no idea that by doing a good deed out of the kindness of his heart, he had just been marked down in someone's memory.

"Achoo!" Wei Zhao sneezed, thinking to himself that it was not as if he had never smelled herbal medicine before, so why would he sneeze? That was the second sneeze today. Wei Zhao sniffed. Could he really be catching a cold?

His body — when had it become this poor? The moment he reached Songshan he caught a cold. Could it be because he had too much free time?

Fastest updates; for pop-up-free reading, please.