Chapter 4: The Next Victim (Revised)

Poor Dog Master was still dreaming of a bright future when, without even a scream, he departed this world for good.

The moment Dog Master's heart stopped, Ling Chi suddenly sensed a searing heat flare up within himself. His spirit was jolted awake, and he felt as though all the strength in his body had grown by a third.

“Is this... a golden finger?” Ling Chi was deeply shaken, unable to make sense of it for now, but dared not linger at the scene.

He swiftly cleaned up the aftermath, searching Dog Master from head to toe—even the dagger hidden in his boot was not spared. When he was done, Ling Chi left at once without a backward glance, abandoning the corpse in the street. Whoever discovered it first tomorrow might be traumatized for life.

Ling Chi wound his way through alleys, doubling back and taking detours, until he returned to Dog Master's den. Though Huan Huan claimed only she and her husband lived there, Ling Chi was not one to trust easily; caution was his creed.

The little courtyard had no walls, just a fence made of woven branches. For a twelve-year-old like Ling Chi, this sort of fence was a nuisance—too tall to climb over quietly, and any attempt would make a racket. Left with no choice, Ling Chi resorted to the simplest method: dismantling it.

With the dagger he’d taken from Dog Master, he cut through the cords tying the fence together. In just a dozen breaths, he had created a gap wide enough for a single person to slip through. Ling Chi turned sideways and slid in with ease.

He had taken note as he passed by that afternoon—there was no dog trough, nor had he heard barking. Otherwise, he would never have dared enter so brazenly.

The courtyard held only three rooms. The thief's wife stayed in the innermost one—no need to ask how he knew; her snoring could be heard from the street. No wonder Dog Master was hardly ever home.

Moving without a sound was a basic skill for any assassin; walking silently was the merest trick. Ling Chi crept to the bedside. The thief's wife did not wake. Even as he brushed aside the bed curtains, she slept on. When the dagger sliced her throat, she finally awoke—but only a hoarse, gurgling noise escaped her lips. Deep purple blood quickly stained the sheets, and after a few spasms, she lay still.

“I don't know how many lives you have taken, but just for abducting children with your husband, that's reason enough to send you off. In your next life, don't sleep so deeply—and stop snoring.”

Ling Chi waited a moment, but the fiery sensation did not return. He let it go.

He ransacked the room, gathering a considerable amount of valuables and books, which he wrapped hastily in a cloth bundle and slung over his shoulder.

He knocked over the candlestick, and, watching the curtains catch fire, backed out of the courtyard. Before leaving, he wrecked the fence thoroughly, making sure no one would guess the opening was only large enough for a child to slip through.

Ling Chi dared not return to the inn, nor even show his face in public. He could only spend the night at Huan Huan’s shack.

Inside the hovel, Huan Huan was too frightened to close her eyes. She wondered if the young-sounding brother would return, if he would succeed, and if she, knowing his secret, would be silenced for it.

A few months ago, Huan Huan was still a carefree little girl. Now, after struggling to survive for months, she had learned to think ahead. They say poor children grow up early, but no one ever asked if they wanted to.

Lost in anxious thoughts, she heard footsteps outside—the sound paused right in front of the shack.

Her heart leapt into her throat. She wanted to open the door, but was afraid. She wanted to save her brother, but feared she would get him killed.

“I can hear you breathing. I’m coming in myself.”

Ling Chi pried away the wooden plank at the entrance and slipped inside, meeting a pair of red, swollen but clear eyes.

“The thief and his wife are both dead. If you want your brother to live, you’d best keep this secret forever. Tell no one—not even your brother. If he ever lets it slip, we’re all finished.”

Ling Chi sat cross-legged on the straw, letting out a long breath. His own young body was barely suited to such tasks, but luck had been with him.

“Tomorrow morning, take your brother to see a doctor. Tell them you’re my cousins, and that my name is Ling Chi—we’re refugees from the north. Understand?”

“I remember,” Huan Huan replied. She knew the cousin was a lie, but as she held her brother, hope for survival returned.

“Don’t just hold him—he’s burning up. Use cold water to cool his forehead until dawn. Here’s something to eat. Take it—I heard your stomach growling. I’m going to get some sleep. Don’t wake me unless it’s urgent.”

He pulled a steamed bun from his bundle and tossed it to her. Huan Huan didn’t refuse, afraid the sound of her hunger would disturb this intimidating youth.

Ling Chi leaned against the straw, arms crossed, and in the narrow hovel, only the sound of breathing remained.

He drifted into a light sleep—still wary of Huan Huan. Human nature was not to be tested. He was troubled by what to do about these witnesses; logic dictated he should eliminate them, but he couldn’t bring himself to kill two orphans.

Yet leaving them be might bring future trouble—he feared Dog Master’s backers would extract the truth from Huan Huan.

For now, he would keep them close and find a way to settle them later, perhaps sending them away.

At dawn, Ling Chi used water Huan Huan had fetched from who knows where to wash away the dirt from his face and body, regaining his handsome, youthful appearance.

He hadn’t had time to check the loot the night before; that would have to wait until they found a place to stay.

After a quick tidy-up, he set out with the siblings.

Little Akun, after a day and night of fever, lay in a daze, dreaming who knows what. Ling Chi carried him along, the child’s shoulders twitching as if he were exercising in his sleep.

They arrived too early; the apothecary was not yet open, so Ling Chi took the pair to a nearby breakfast stall for some rice porridge.

Perhaps from hunger, Akun squinted drowsily as his sister fed him spoonful after spoonful. Afterward, he looked much better, gazing curiously at Ling Chi.

“Sis, who is this brother?”

“I’m your father!” Ling Chi said, watching Akun’s blank face.

“Huh? This is Brother Ling Chi—our cousin. You had a fever and forgot everything. Cousin, please don’t tease him—he can barely speak,” Huan Huan quickly explained.

“Sis, now that we have a cousin, does that mean we don’t have to beg anymore? We won’t go hungry?”

“Of course—I’ll beg to keep you fed,” Ling Chi teased.

“Cousin, we can survive by begging. With that man gone, things will be much easier,” Huan Huan murmured.

Ling Chi laughed. “I’m just teasing him. Once he’s seen the doctor, I’ll find a place for you to live. Make a good life for yourselves.”

“That’s settled. We’ll look for a place after the doctor,” Ling Chi declared firmly.