Chapter Twenty-Four: Honey, It Tastes Terrible

The night was as dark as ink, soaking into the dilapidated eaves of London's East End.

In the tiny storage room in the attic of the "Rye Tavern," barely big enough to fit anyone, Qianxu Wuyun curled up on the cold bed. The moonlight from outside the window cast a meager, pale glow, illuminating the crisscrossing tear tracks on her face, but unable to penetrate the muddy swamp in her heart.

By day, she is the "little bee" Qianxu Wuyu, whose smile is brighter than the sun and whose voice is sweeter than honey. She shuttles between the tavern and the periphery of the Xuyue organization, carefully maintaining that warm and harmless illusion with meticulous care and just the right amount of innocence.

Only in the dead of night, when no one can see them, will that hard, sweet sugar shell be completely peeled away, revealing the venomous core inside, known as the "man-eating wasp."

“Valuable clues… about ‘Whale Shark’ Xiya’s combat habits and operational patterns, or… any special intelligence analysis skills of that boy named Zhong Si.”

The serpent's cold voice, like a leech, echoed repeatedly in her mind.

A few days ago, a new instruction was delivered in an extremely secretive manner. There was no urging, no threat, but the impatience conveyed between the lines was like a tightening noose, suffocating her.

What should she do?

Take Zhong Si’s complex emotions toward Xiya, which he occasionally revealed when he was tired, and compile them into a cold “psychological weakness analysis” report.

Should we label the glimmer of insight in the boy's eyes when he shared his unique intuition about the fragments of information—a glimmer that even he himself might not have fully understood—as a "potential talent threat"? Or... should we exploit his growing, almost unreserved trust in us to extract any clues that might be detrimental to West Asia or the Xuyue Organization?

Every thought was like a red-hot branding iron, searing her soul.

She recalled how, just a few hours earlier, in that corner of the abandoned courtyard filled with clutter, Zhong Si excitedly shared with her how, under Mu Ye's extreme stress test, he had a flash of inspiration and managed to capture a crucial signal from a pile of seemingly unrelated noise.

His eyes lit up as he spoke, gesturing wildly like a child who had finally solved a difficult problem and was eager to show it off to his only audience.

At that moment, the golden rays of the setting sun fell on his long eyelashes, casting fine shadows on his pale cheeks. The pure joy, shining from his intellectual breakthrough, almost burned her eyes.

How did she do it? She forced herself to exclaim in amazement, put on an admiring smile, and said in her sweetest voice, "Little Butterfly, you're amazing! Miss Mu Ye will definitely look at you with new respect!"

But deep inside, a voice screamed: "Record it! His thought process! His breakthrough point! This is exactly what Lord Dream Serpent wants!"

Another voice, weaker yet filled with heart-wrenching anguish: "No...no...he'll die...Xia will kill him...or...Lord Dream Serpent will use this to destroy him..."

"Delay." A desperate thought arose. Like a drowning person grasping at a last straw. "Wait a little longer...maybe there's some trivial information I can handle...maybe Lord Dream Serpent will temporarily forget this order...maybe...there will be a turning point..."

As a result, the information she passed on to the Dream Serpent began to become vague, filled with ambiguous words such as "it seems," "possibly," and "according to observation."

She described Zhong Si's dependence on Xiya as "common loyalty between superiors and subordinates within the organization"; and downplayed his analytical talent as "slightly more perceptive than the average person".

Like a prisoner walking a tightrope, she teetered precariously between the murderous intent of the Dream Serpent and the instinct to protect Zhong Si.

This delay brought her no peace of mind; instead, it tore her heart apart even more.

Each meeting with Zhong Si, the increasingly real warmth and dependence felt like salt being rubbed into the wounds of her conscience. And each time she received a cold, emotionless "read" reply from Meng She, behind that brief respite lay a deeper fear—she didn't know how long this perfunctory response could last, or when that sword of Damocles would finally fall.

What pained her even more was that she vaguely sensed that Zhong Si was not entirely ignorant.

On one occasion, when she was trying to subtly steer the conversation toward West Asia, Zhong Si suddenly fell silent. His violet eyes looked at her quietly, without question or wariness, but rather with a kind of... almost compassionate understanding.

He gently took her slightly trembling hand and said, "Qianxu, don't worry. Xiya... although he looks fierce, he will protect us all very well." Those words were not so much a comforting remark, but more like a silent promise and... a kind of confrontation.

What did he know? Or was it merely a keen intuition? Qianxu Wuyun dared not delve into the question. The feeling of being seen through yet not exposed was more humiliating than a direct interrogation.

This made her even more disgusted with her own deception, yet like an addict, she couldn't break free from this stolen warmth.

This twisted balance was shattered on a cold, gloomy afternoon.

As agreed, she received the new instructions from a messenger disguised as a vagrant in a secluded spot in the alley behind the tavern. This instruction was unusually brief, just one line, yet it was like an icy dagger, piercing straight to the heart:

"Patience is limited. Next time we contact you, we need to see tangible results. Otherwise, clearing out the 'butterfly' could also severely damage the 'shark'."

The word "eliminate" exploded in her mind like a thunderclap. Dream Serpent lost his patience. No longer content with slow infiltration, he issued an ultimatum: either hand over valuable intelligence, or… he would directly target Zhong Si. And either outcome would be an abyss she could not bear!

A wave of overwhelming fear gripped her, almost causing her to collapse to the ground. She leaned against the cold, damp brick wall, her nails digging deep into her palms, barely managing to keep herself upright. Cold sweat soaked through her inner clothes, bringing a chilling sensation in the biting wind.

What to do? What to do?!

Handing over the intelligence would be tantamount to personally pushing Zhong Si into an abyss of no return. Xiya would never let any threat go unpunished, and Meng She would use this to deliver a fatal blow to the Xuyue organization.

If he doesn't hand over the intelligence, Zhong Si will die immediately! Die right in front of her! That boy with clear purple eyes, who blushes at her praise and clumsily tries to protect her, will die because of her!

Despair, like a black tide, completely engulfed her. She crouched in the dirty corner, burying her face in her knees, suppressed sobs breaking from her throat, her shoulders trembling violently.

She had never hated her origins as much as she did now, hated her family of origin that treated her as a sacrifice, hated the manipulation of the Dream Serpent, and hated even more... the weak and incompetent self who had fallen in love with her assassination target.

After an unknown amount of time, the crying gradually subsided. Qianxu Wuyun slowly raised her head, her face now cold and lifeless.

In her bright yellow eyes, all the struggle, pain, and fear seemed to have been emptied, leaving only an almost ethereal, chilling calm. With her fingers, she wiped away the tear stains and dirt from her face, her movements mechanical and precise.

She stood up, straightened the slightly wrinkled hem of her clothes, and even tried to force a smile, practicing that familiar, sunny smile, in front of the blurry reflection in a puddle in the corner. Even though that smile now looked like an exquisite mask worn on a skull, eerie and sorrowful.

She made a decision.

A desperate, all-or-nothing decision.

She couldn't hand over the core intelligence; that would ruin Zhong Si and destroy the brief but real feeling of "home" she had stolen from the Xuyue organization.

She couldn't just stand by and watch Meng She harm Zhong Si.

So, only one path remains—before the deadline given by Meng She, find a way to... deliver a carefully altered and misleading "intelligence" that will temporarily gain his trust without truly harming Zhong Si and Xi Ya. This is tantamount to playing with fire or dancing on a knife's edge; the chances of success are slim, and if she is exposed, her fate will be worse than death.

But this was the only way she could think of to buy herself and Zhong Si a pitiful amount of time. Even if that time only delayed the execution of the death penalty.

She took a deep breath of the cold, musty air, crumpled the deadly command into a ball, stuffed it into her mouth, and swallowed it with difficulty. It was as if she were swallowing her predetermined tragic fate.

Then, she straightened her back, her flawless "little bee" smile returning to her face, and with seemingly light steps, walked out of the dark back alley, re-embracing the sunlight woven from lies and conspiracies.

She was going to see Zhong Si. Before the final judgment, it would be good to see him one more time, hear him say one more word, and feel one more moment of that false yet sweet warmth.