The room was pitch black. The person sitting inside was completely shrouded in a black cloak, blending into the darkness. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was slightly rapid. Perhaps it was the scent of the woman's boudoir that made him feel comfortable, so after hesitating for a moment, he got up, walked to the bedside, lay down, buried his head deeply in the soft blankets, and took a deep sniff.
This feeling was strange. Having never been to a woman's room before, he felt a little guilty, but mostly curious. A ruthless killer was actually feeling uneasy about entering a woman's boudoir; he found it somewhat ridiculous. So he smiled, revealing his white teeth.
In sunlight, his smile would surely be beautiful.
He had two rows of very neat, white teeth, and the curve of his mouth when he smiled was very gentle. If he had been willing to wash his face carefully, he might even be a man who wasn't too bad-looking. Whether out of laziness or on purpose, his face was filthy. The bloody smell of the grime had dissipated, but it was still repulsive. In fact, it was a very strange face. His eyes were young, but his skin was aged, marked with age spots.
He wanted to pull the blanket over himself, to enjoy the comfort of the bed and the blanket. But his outstretched hand froze in mid-air; he couldn't bring himself to do it.
Finally, he sighed softly. He got up and straightened the messy blanket, even picking up a single hair that had fallen onto it. He could easily see a single hair in the dark; anyone who saw this would be astonished. Men of the Sui Dynasty also grew their hair, but this man's hair was very short.
His face was disgustingly dirty; someone seeing such a face while eating might feel nauseous. But his hands were surprisingly clean; not even a speck of dirt could be found under his fingernails. His hands were slightly thick and short, not long and beautiful. The old folks often said that hands like this couldn't play beautiful music, because broken and thick fingers would inevitably lack dexterity.
His clothes were also strange. The cloak that appeared black was actually a gray robe torn and altered, turned black because it was so dirty. The thread used to sew the cloak was thick, and the craftsmanship even more so. If a daughter-in-law's needlework were this ugly, she might be shamed to death by her in-laws.
He got up from the bed and sat back down in the chair, staring blankly at the cloak he was wearing.
"So ugly."
After a while, he suddenly muttered to himself in a very low voice. It was unclear whether he was referring to his cloak or something else. But those two words were filled with disgust, a genuine and utter disgust.
When he looked up, he saw a large rag doll hanging in the window. It was simply made by wrapping scraps of cloth in a handkerchief and tying them together. The white handkerchief had drawn curved eyebrows, round eyes, and a mouth with a large upturned curve. It had to be said that this was a doll that wasn't particularly beautiful, but it was still quite adorable. It was probably made by the woman of the house herself, hung by the window, perhaps so she could often see the happy smile on the doll's face.
Because the window was closed, he hadn't noticed the doll at first. He got up and went over, taking the doll down from the window and examining it closely. It seemed to like it very much, even rubbing its face against his skin a few times. Then he carefully and meticulously tied the doll to his belt.
As he finished tying the doll, something suddenly occurred to him, and a conflicted look appeared between his brows.
Kill?
Don't kill?
He murmured to himself.
Looking at the doll swaying at his waist, he finally sighed and prepared to leave. He knew his decision was childish and foolish; taking a doll and letting the woman live—if his mentor knew of this, he would surely berate him.
The image of that person flashed in his mind, and a sudden glint of hatred flashed in his eyes. Behind the hatred lay intense fear.
Why should I obey you in everything?
Why should I?
You taught me how to kill, so I have to follow your will in everything? No, no, no, you didn't teach me how to kill; I learned it myself from elsewhere. Don't try to control me anymore. I've left. I want to live my own life! I want a life of my own!
Get out of my way!
He suddenly clutched his head and squatted on the ground, his face contorted in pain.
You can't make me go back to who I was. Now that I'm back, I won't go back with you! I am me, not you! Yes, I killed people, but I killed them for myself, not for you! Don't say anything more… What's mine is mine, and you can forget about taking it back.
I'm not crazy!
You're the crazy one!
The man squatting on the ground suddenly raised his head, his eyes filled with murderous intent. It was unclear what he had just experienced, but his already strange expression became even more ferocious. His resentful gaze swept across the room, then landed on the bronze mirror. He stood up and ran over, pointing a finger at his reflection in the mirror: "Do you believe I'll kill you?"
His voice was soft and hoarse, with a hint of weariness.
The man in the mirror looked at his reflection with unbearable contempt. His reflection growled, "What right do you have to look down on me? I'm very, very powerful now. If you dare look at me like that again, I'll kill you! I'll definitely kill you!"
Then he raised his hands and gripped his own neck tightly.
"Heh heh, scared now!"
He smiled smugly, his voice high-pitched from difficulty breathing.
"From now on, you go your way, I'll go mine!"
He said to his reflection, "I don't want to kill anyone today, and I won't!"
Then he turned to leave, just as the old steward of the Guide General's Mansion called out from the courtyard, "Miss is back... And who is this young master?"
He ran to the window and opened it a crack to look outside. He saw the female student standing at the door, seemingly talking to the guy named Fang Jie. She was probably thanking him for escorting her home; he could see the shy, bashful expression on her face.
After a few words, Fang Jie took his leave. He saw a very beautiful woman standing behind him. He could sense her power, which was why he had given up halfway. Just like the night he first encountered Fang Jie in Chang'an, he had suppressed the urge to kill. That guy was the hardest to kill, so he had to save him for last.
He pursed his lips, thinking to himself, "Since it's your own bad luck, don't blame me. Why didn't you come back a little later? Why? If you had come back even a little later, I would have left, and you would have been safe… at least, safe tonight."
She was an ordinary-looking but very cute girl; it would be a pity if she died.
…
…
The tiny crack in the window closed, and the man, completely wrapped in a cloak, walked back to the chair and sat down. He faced the door, his hand emerging from his cloak. The moment Marilyn pushed open the door and entered, she would surely be surprised by the dark figure in the room.
And in a moment of panic, a person will naturally make many mistakes, and then she would be doomed. Even killing a woman whose cultivation wasn't particularly high, he had calculated it all. This was another perfect murder case; the constables of Chang'an Prefecture wouldn't find a single clue.
He closed his eyes, counting in his mind. He had calculated that the distance from the door to the room would be no more than fifty steps, and even if the woman's steps were slightly smaller, it wouldn't exceed fifty-three. Just as the woman reached the door and raised her hand to push it open, he opened his eyes a fraction of a second earlier.
The door was pushed open from the outside, and the darkness outside seemed much lighter than inside. So, after the door opened, the person outside needed a moment to adjust to the light. At that moment, the cloaked man stood up, waiting for the woman to enter the room. He was going to kill, and he wanted it to be perfect. After silently murdering the woman in the house, he would wait until everyone in the General of Guide's mansion was sound asleep again before leaving. Then he would head to his next destination. During the day, he had followed another student to his residence, but he didn't act rashly.
Nighttime was the devil's time.
These were the words of that man, the only statement he believed was true.
The woman standing at the door paused only briefly before stepping inside. She turned and closed the door, then reached for a tinderbox on the table near the entrance.
Just as the flame was about to ignite, he struck suddenly.
He had already planned his next move: kill her, then catch the tinderbox. Light the candle, and then he would control the woman's corpse to walk back to the bedside. No one outside would notice his presence. He would then cover the woman with the blanket, the blanket he had just deeply inhaled.
His fingers were sharp as knives, but he didn't want to disfigure the woman's face. He had seen her from afar during the day; she wasn't beautiful, but she was captivating. He decided to channel his finger force into the back of her head, crushing her brains. Without a visible wound, she would die peacefully.
Just as his fingers were about to touch the woman's head, he suddenly flipped backward. With a soft hiss, a piece of his cloak fell from mid-air. As the fragment drifted down, the woman lit a tinderbox, turned around, and smiled.
The man inside the cloak's eyes narrowed, filled with surprise.
This woman wasn't Marilyn.
It was the stunningly beautiful woman beside Fang Jie. She stood in the doorway, holding a tinderbox, her other hand free, but he clearly sensed that her free hand held a sharp longsword. Undoubtedly, if he had reacted even slightly slower, the sword's energy would have pierced his body. Shen Qingshan, without a sword, seemed even more terrifying.
"Surprised?"
Shen Qingshan said calmly, "You shouldn't have opened the window a crack to look out, because you didn't know there was someone outside with exceptionally sharp eyes... His name is Fang Jie. Do you want to kill him?"
Before the man could answer, Shen Qingshan continued, "You do. You wanted to kill him the night Fang Jie went to Hongxiuzhao. So... you can die now."
She didn't move, but the man wrapped in the cloak immediately retreated. He kept waving his arms to block, as if an invisible longsword was constantly thrusting and slashing in the air.
Not just one.
Shen Qingshan, holding a tinderbox, slowly stepped forward, while the man in the cloak retreated step by step. On the ground between them, on the table beside them, on the wall, on the window, narrow sword marks kept appearing. One after another, densely packed. With a crack, the table shattered. With a nail, the bronze mirror broke in the middle. With a crash, the bed collapsed.
Countless crackling marks were slashed across the hard ground and walls, appearing almost instantly in the blink of an eye.
The man shrouded in the cloak suddenly whirled around and crashed out the window, where he saw the smiling man named Fang Jie.
A punch came hurtling towards him!