Chapter Forty: Crime
The agonizing roar from West Asia, tearing through the sky, was like a red-hot iron, searing deeply into Qianxu Wuyun's nearly numb soul.
Even after being forcibly dragged away from that cold, deathly warehouse by the organization members who arrived later, and even after being temporarily imprisoned in a small, windowless storage room used for temporary confinement, the voice still echoed repeatedly in her ears, mingling with Zhong Si's final calm face and cold touch, forming an eternal picture of hell.
She was left alone in the darkness.
The door was locked from the outside, but no one questioned her.
Perhaps it was because Xu Yue needed to deal with Zhong Si's funeral arrangements and comfort the completely devastated Xi Ya first, or perhaps it was because in the face of absolute tragedy, any interrogation seemed pale and powerless.
But this desolate, abandoned situation became the cruelest punishment.
The darkness, like thick ink, enveloped her and devoured her.
She huddled in the cold corner, hugging herself tightly, but felt no warmth at all.
His body trembled violently and uncontrollably, the sound of his teeth chattering clearly audible in the silence. But more chilling than the cold was the inextinguishable flame of "sin" deep within his soul.
She closed her eyes, and before her lay Zhong Si's figure curled up in the frost, so quiet, so pale, as if he were merely asleep. Yet she remembered the icy hardness that emanated from her fingertips, a hardness cold enough to freeze her blood.
She remembered the last look he gave her; there was no hatred, only a bottomless sadness and a kind of...heartbreaking understanding.
"I know."
His casual words now felt like the heaviest mountain, crushing her to pieces.
He knew…he always knew…he knew I was there to kill him…and he…chosen to accept it…
Why? Why didn't he fight back? Why didn't he expose her? Why did he look at her like that? Why did he say "It's okay" to her at the end?
The immense questions and the overwhelming guilt that followed nearly shattered her mind. She did contemplate death.
The moment Dream Snake gave the order, the instant she locked the wrench into the valve, she thought countless times about ending it all. But Dream Snake bound her with the lives of many more innocent people, depriving her even of the right to end her own life.
But now, the mission is complete. Zhong Si is dead. He died at her hands. Xi Ya is devastated. The Dream Serpent has achieved its goal.
And what about her? What reason does this executioner, stained with the blood of her beloved, have to live in this world?
Lingering on, awaiting the organization's judgment? She would tell everything—the Dream Serpent's threat, BXX's conspiracy. But could that bring Zhong Si back to life? Could that alleviate even a fraction of Xiya's suffering? Could that wash the blood from her hands?
No. Never.
Living on would only make him an indelible thorn within the Xuyue organization, a living reminder of this tragedy, and an ugly presence that would reopen the wounds of Xiya every time she saw him.
For her, living was nothing but an endless torment, more painful than death. Every breath carried the stench of Zhong Si's blood; every heartbeat questioned her very soul.
Death was no longer punishment, but the only relief, the humblest form of atonement she could think of.
Once the thought arose, it spread like wildfire in the darkness, quickly entangling all her thoughts. A strange calm, mixed with utter despair, slowly descended. The trembling stopped, replaced by a cold, almost rigid numbness.
She slowly raised her head, groping in the darkness. The storage room was filled with some discarded junk.
Her fingers touched a roll of rough, sturdy hemp rope, probably used to tie up boxes in the past. As her fingers brushed against the cold rope, a sense of fatal certainty gripped her.
This is it.
She moved with unusual calmness, her movements even carrying an almost ritualistic precision. She moved a discarded wooden crate and placed it in the center of the room beneath an exposed, seemingly sturdy, drainpipe.
She stood on the wooden crate, at just the right height. Then she tossed one end of the rope over the pipe, skillfully tied a knot, and made a suitable lasso with the other end.
As she did all this, her mind was exceptionally clear; there was no fear, no hesitation, only a weariness and relief at the approaching end. She even carefully adjusted the tightness of the knot to ensure everything was perfect.
As she put her head into the rough noose, the icy touch sent a chill down her spine. The knot tightened around her neck, causing a slight stinging pain. She took a deep, final breath of the stale, cold air in the cell.
Then, with all her might, she kicked the wooden crate away from her feet.
"Clang!" The sound of the wooden box falling to the ground echoed loudly in the small space.
Almost simultaneously, a tremendous, irresistible force instantly gripped her neck! Her breath was abruptly cut off! Her lungs felt like they were on fire, burning with pain!
Blood rushed to my head, my temples throbbed, and my vision was instantly filled with a blood-red hue and shimmering gold.
She tried to cough, a struggle driven by the instinct to survive, but her throat was tightly constricted, and she could only make a terrible, intermittent "gurgling" sound.
The pain of death was far more intense than she had imagined. Driven by the instinct to survive, her body began to convulse and writhe wildly, her legs kicking helplessly in the air, her hands reaching uncontrollably for the rope around her neck, her fingernails scratching deep bloodstains into the rough hemp rope and her own skin.
A strong feeling of suffocation washed over her remaining consciousness wave after wave.
Just as her consciousness was about to be completely swallowed by darkness, a series of illusions began to flash rapidly before her eyes—
It was the curiosity and shyness that flickered in her violet eyes when Zhong Si first met her in the alley behind the tavern...
It was the simple, genuine joy on his face when they secretly shared a cheap candy...
It was when he leaned against her, whispering about the hardships of training and his dependence on Xiya, that complete trust...
It was the calm yet sorrowful look in his eyes when he looked at her for the last time and said, "I know"...
And then there were the Dream Serpent's cold, emerald-green eyes, like those of a venomous snake, and his emotionless voice that delivered the final command...
I'm sorry... Zhong Si...
I'm sorry... to everyone who died because of me... and to everyone who suffered because of me...
This was her last vague thought before her consciousness faded, filled with endless regret and despair.
Her struggles gradually weakened and eventually ceased completely. Her body, like a puppet with its strings cut, hung suspended in the cold air, swaying slightly.
His pale face was an unnatural cyanosis from blood stasis and suffocation. His once bright yellow eyes were wide open, devoid of any luster, leaving only an empty, lifeless silence, as if still gazing at an invisible, unforgivable sin.
A single, murky tear, mixed with a drop of blood seeping from her neck, slowly slid down, dripping onto the dusty ground below, leaving a small, dark, damp stain.
When news of Qianxu Wuyun's body being discovered reached Xiya, he was locked inside the armory at the deepest part of the training ground.
He did not erupt again as others had expected. Instead, he silently and repeatedly wiped his modified pistol, which he always used and which had been stained with the blood of countless enemies. His movements were mechanical and precise, as if he wanted to smooth out every tiny scratch on the gun.
However, deep within those crimson eyes, as red as burning lava, lay a deathly stillness, a coldness and emptiness more terrifying than any rage. Zhong Si's death and Qian Xu Wuyun's suicide were like two blunt knives, repeatedly cutting into his already wounded soul.
The old wound from failing to protect his younger brother Yanni, combined with the bloody repetition of the same mistake before him, perfectly overlapped, forming an abyss of "incompetence" that he could never cross.
As night fell, the dark clouds that had been pressing down on London all day finally gave way, and a torrential downpour began. Large raindrops pounded wildly against the tin roof of the warehouse, creating a deafening roar, as if trying to wash the whole world clean.
Xiya didn't know how he left headquarters. He didn't have an umbrella or wear a raincoat; he simply walked step by step into the torrential rain.
The icy rain instantly soaked him through, his red hair clung to his forehead, and water streamed freely down his cheeks and neck, indistinguishable from rainwater or scalding liquid that had been suppressed for too long.
He wandered aimlessly, like a soulless shell. The streets were deserted, with only the streetlights casting blurry halos in the rain, like weeping eyes.
The flames of revenge burned within him, but even stronger was a profound weariness and a tendency toward self-destruction. He felt filthy, incompetent, unworthy of redemption, and unworthy to continue protecting Xuyue. He even wished for a bullet at that moment to end this endless torment.
When he came to his senses, he found himself standing at the entrance of that familiar alley again, with the "Forgotten Corner" bookstore in front of him, which looked particularly small in the storm but was miraculously lit with warm lights.
He was like a drowning man seeing the last piece of driftwood, or a filthy sinner seeing a sacred altar, yearning to approach yet feeling ashamed of his own inadequacy. He stood there frozen in the rain, letting the rain wash over him, motionless.
The door to the used bookstore creaked open.
Zhou stood in the doorway, without an umbrella. She wore a thin beige dress, and her hair, a blend of hazy blue and sunset hues, was softly edged by the warm light streaming in from inside.
She looked at the tall, disheveled figure in the rain, soaked to the bone, and her eyes held no surprise, only unfathomable pity and... a trace of knowing heartache.
The West Asia she saw was shrouded in an unprecedented, almost desperate, thick darkness, interspersed with deep blue representing immense sorrow, crimson representing violent anger, and a... chillingly clear, self-destructive, deathly gray. The colors were worse than ever before she had ever seen them.
She didn't say anything, but quickly walked into the rain, ignoring her clothes that were instantly soaked, and reached out to tightly grasp Xiya's cold, stiff, and slightly trembling wrist.
Her touch, like a faint electric current, instantly pierced through Xi Yanmu's nerves. He jolted, instinctively trying to break free, to escape this warmth that shouldn't belong to him.
“Come in with me.” Zhou’s voice wasn’t loud, but it was unusually firm, piercing through the deafening rain and carrying an undeniable force. Her hands were small and cold, but the strength with which she gripped his was surprisingly great.
Sia was almost powerless to resist as she was half-dragged, half-pulled into the warm, dry bookstore. The door closed behind her, instantly shutting out the cold, noisy world outside.
The bookstore still smelled of old paper, dried wood, and faint herbs, and the kerosene lamps cast a warm and steady glow. Compared to the apocalyptic downpour outside, it felt like a safe haven, forgotten by time.
Sia stood dripping wet on the doormat, leaving a small puddle. He kept his head down, avoiding Zhou's gaze, like a child who had done something wrong, or an intruder afraid of defiling the sacred ground. A profound sense of shame and post-collapse vulnerability overwhelmed him, making it almost impossible for him to stand.
Zhou didn't speak, but simply took a clean, thick blanket and silently draped it over his trembling shoulders.
Then, she pulled him to sit in the familiar old armchair by the fireplace. Although there was no fire in the fireplace, the pile of firewood and the familiar surroundings still brought a sense of warmth.
She squatted down in front of him, looking up at his face, which was a mess, washed by the rain and pain.
Xiya finally raised his eyes and met her gaze. Under the gaze of those clear, soul-reflecting grey-blue eyes, all his hardened pretense and suppressed emotions collapsed like a flood.
"I...I failed to protect her again..." His voice was broken and trembling violently, each word seeming to be forced out from the depths of his throat, "Yani...and then Zhong Si...I promised...I swore an oath...but I..."
Tears, mingling with the rain on his face, finally streamed down uncontrollably. This "Whale Shark," whose hands were stained with blood and who struck fear into the hearts of his enemies, now huddled in a chair, crying like a child who had lost the whole world.
He spoke haltingly and incoherently about Yanni's death, his own incompetence, his guilt towards Zhong Si, and the terrible fate that he could not escape and could not protect anyone important.
This was the deepest wound and fear he had never revealed to anyone, including Xu Yue.
Zhou didn't interrupt him, nor did she offer any words of comfort. She simply listened quietly, gazing at him with eyes that seemed to hold all sorrow, occasionally reaching out to gently wipe away the cold, damp streaks of tears and rain from his face. Her very presence was a silent acceptance and understanding.
After an unknown amount of time, Xi Ya's outpouring gradually turned into suppressed sobs, and finally into an exhausted silence. He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, as if he didn't even have the strength to lift a finger.
Just then, Zhou slowly stood up, and then did something that made Xiya freeze in place—she gently, yet with unwavering determination, embraced him.
Her embrace was light, carrying the fragrance of a young girl and the warmth of her body, yet it struck Xiya's heart like a bolt of lightning. He jolted awake, his body stiff as a stone. Xu Yue's face, the organization's discipline, the blood on her hands… all warnings screamed in his mind.
He should push her away. He had to push her away. A man as sinful as him didn't deserve such warmth and purity.
However, when he felt the slender body in his arms trembling slightly—perhaps from the cold, or perhaps from nervousness—and when he smelled the faint, reassuring scent in her hair, his hand, which had tried to push her away, simply couldn't muster any strength. Instead, a deeper, more primal desire overwhelmed all reason and fear.
He suddenly tightened his arms, holding Zhou tightly in his embrace with an almost predatory force, as if he wanted to meld her into his very bones.
He buried his face deep in the damp, soft hair at the nape of her neck, greedily inhaling the scent that allowed him to temporarily forget all his pain.
This is betrayal. A betrayal of his "sole loyalty" sworn to Xuyue. A betrayal of his self-imposed, ruthless "whale shark" identity. But at this moment, in this overwhelming pain and despair, this feeling of betrayal is mixed with a decadent, comforting warmth.
Zhou didn't struggle; she simply nestled obediently in his arms, gently patting his back like soothing a frightened child. She could feel his intense inner struggle and immense pain, the overwhelming negativity almost overwhelming her. But she didn't back down.
On this stormy night, in this secluded old bookstore, two lonely and tormented souls, in despair and mutual solace, crossed the final line.
No more words were spoken, only the warmth of their bodies, the rapid beating of their hearts, and the silent tears intertwined. This was not an outpouring of lust, but the only lifeline that two people struggling in the cold darkness could grasp.
As the intense emotions gradually subsided, leaving only a weary embrace, Xiya's heart was filled with complex torment.
On the one hand, he indulged in this moment of stolen warmth and tranquility, which made him feel like a human being, rather than a machine that only knew how to kill and seek revenge.
On the other hand, guilt towards Xu Yue gnawed at his heart like a venomous snake. He felt that he had defiled the purity of the universe and betrayed the absolute loyalty to Xu Yue that sustained him in life.
“I…I shouldn’t have…” he said hoarsely, trying to say something.
Zhou reached out a finger and gently pressed it against his lips.
Her eyes were clear yet sorrowful, as if she could see through all his contradictions. "Tonight, there's no 'whale shark,' no 'pure white witch,' only two people who need to keep each other warm."
Her voice was soft, yet carried a strange power: "Leave the guilt for tomorrow. You're too tired tonight."
Her words were like a pardon, temporarily relieving the huge weight on his heart. Xiya closed his eyes and hugged her even tighter, as if this were the last night before the end of the world.
Outside the window, the torrential rain continued to rage, as if trying to wash away all the filth and sorrow in the world.
Inside the window, two broken souls, in a brief moment of mutual embrace, stole a moment to catch their breath, even though they both knew that when dawn arrived, an even crueler reality and more difficult choices awaited them.
A few hours later, when a junior member responsible for delivering food opened the door, he was greeted by this horrifying scene.
The girl's body hung in the dim light, like a butterfly specimen with broken wings after being battered by wind and rain, or like a bee corpse that had been completely crushed and could no longer make honey.
The scene was quickly brought under control by Gongyang Yandaosi, who had rushed to the scene upon hearing the news. His face was ashen, and his silver-gray eyes held suppressed grief and anger, but even more so, a cold scrutiny.
He carefully examined the scene and found no signs of a struggle; all indications pointed to suicide.
However, while cleaning the body, a careful member noticed something unusual in Qianxu Wuyun's tightly clenched, already stiff hand—there were some extremely fine, dark green fabric fibers that did not belong to this storage room, left in the gaps between her fingernails.
In a very well-hidden inner lining pocket of her coat, a small, crumpled piece of paper with burn marks on the edges was found. On it were several illegible cursive letters that appeared to be initials of a name, written in a special invisible ink. After Mu Ye’s quick treatment, it could be vaguely identified as “MB”.
These clues were too faint and too vague to directly identify any specific object, but combined with all the previous events, they were like eerie green phosphorescence that quietly lit up in the darkness, pointing in a certain direction.
MB — Morse Black (The Dream Snake).
Qianxu Wuyun, this pawn whom the dream snake picked up from the mud, shaped into a weapon, and then ruthlessly discarded, completed her final, silent accusation and atonement in this resolute and tragic way at the end of her life.
With her own death, she finally turned that deadly thorn towards the manipulator who had pushed her into the abyss.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
