Nanxi crouched outside the window, his back against the cold earthen wall, breathing suppressed to the extreme.
The night wind blew in from the dilapidated alley entrance, stirring the stray hairs on his forehead, the tips brushing his cheek, itchy, but he didn’t dare move.
Inside the room, someone was speaking.
The voices came through the broken window frame, not clear, like separated by a layer of water, but with careful listening, he could make out the gist.
“…Just this much?”
It was probably the flower thief’s voice, rough and hoarse, with obvious dissatisfaction.
“Didn’t we agree on two hundred taels last time? This is how much?”
“The job was botched; I can only give this much.”
Another voice replied, a woman’s, but strange, the tone very odd.
Each word was bitten off flatly, without rises or falls, without emotion, like measured with a ruler.
That was a black-clothed person.
Nanxi held his breath, his eyes peering close to the gap in the rags.
The room was very dim, only moonlight leaking from the hole in the roof, barely outlining two figures.
The flower thief stood in the center of the room, still in yesterday’s blue cloth clothes, loosely draped on her body, hair messily tied, face expressionless, only her eyes gleaming turbidly in the darkness.
The black-clothed person stood in the inner shadows, entirely wrapped in a wide black robe, even head and face covered, only exposing a pair of eyes.
The mask was iron, with just two holes, moonlight shining on the iron mask, reflecting cold light.
“Botched?”
The flower thief sneered, her voice full of disdain.
“Isn’t that little young master dead? Dead through and through; even the coroner couldn’t find other injuries, could only say sudden death. That doesn’t count as done?”
“The person is dead, but the commotion was too big.”
The black-clothed person’s voice remained calm, calm in a creepy way.
“The prefect offered a five hundred tael reward, the whole city is searching, the officials’ eyes are all on this matter. This is completely different from the agreed ‘quiet and traceless.'”
“Can you blame me?”
The flower thief spread her hands.
“That little young master looked delicate, but his temperament was fierce. I couldn’t really knock him out before acting; that would leave bruises, the coroner would see it at a glance. Could only use drugs, but the dosage wasn’t controlled well, and he…”
She didn’t finish, but the meaning was clear.
Nanxi listened outside the window, his heart sinking bit by bit.
So that’s how it was.
Those previous cases, those young men robbed of wealth and virtue, those rumors stirring the whole city—all were smokescreens.
The real target was only one: the prefect’s little young master.
The rape and murder was the goal; the other cases were just to cover, making people think this was just an ordinary, deranged flower thief, not a premeditated murder targeting a specific person.
“You overdosed the drug.”
The black-clothed person interrupted her excuse, her voice finally showing a ripple—cold, like a blade scraping over ice.
“Now the whole city knows the prefect’s son died suspiciously. Even if they say sudden death outwardly, can those old foxes in officialdom believe it? Can His Majesty’s secret agents believe it?”
“So what?” The flower thief didn’t care.
“They can’t trace it to me. The previous cases were clean, no survivors, no evidence. For that little young master, the drug was my special make; it dissipates in three hours, even silver needles can’t detect it. Even if they suspect homicide, they can’t find out who did it.”
The black-clothed person fell silent.
The moonlight shifted a bit from the roof hole, just illuminating the eye holes of her iron mask.
Those eyes gleamed coldly in the darkness, like two deep wells, bottomless.
“You’re too arrogant.”
After a long while, she spoke, her voice colder than before.
“How do you explain last night?”
“Last night was an accident!” The flower thief’s voice rose a bit, with irritation.
“I had my eye on that little beauty in the pink dress, about to succeed, who knew a female constable would suddenly appear? If I hadn’t run fast, I’d be in the yamen prison now!”
“Are you sure it was an accident?” The black-clothed person asked, her voice carrying obvious doubt.
“That female constable appeared too coincidentally. You just targeted the mark, and she jumps out right after. And she’s not an ordinary patrol; she’s from the prefecture yamen’s criminal division, specializing in major cases.”
The flower thief stopped talking.
The room quieted down, only the suppressed sobbing from the bound female constable in the corner.
She was struggling, the ropes rubbing against the ground, making rustling sounds.
“So now you have two problems.” The black-clothed person said slowly, her voice returning to its previous calm.
“First, last night’s incident made the officials watch even closer. Second, this female constable can’t be left alive.”
She pointed to the corner.
“Kill her, handle it cleanly.”
The black-clothed person said, her tone flat.
“She saw your face, even if just a glimpse, enough to draw a portrait. As long as she’s alive, you risk exposure.”
The flower thief turned her head to the corner, her gaze lingering on the female constable for a moment, then she grinned.
The smile was ugly, teeth yellow and black interspersed, looking especially hideous in the moonlight.
“Killing her would be a waste; selling her to a broker isn’t bad either.”
“Enough.”
The black-clothed person interrupted her, her voice suddenly turning cold.
That cold wasn’t feigned; it was real, chilling from the bones, even Nanxi outside the window felt a shiver down his spine.
“We’re talking business, not your filthy thoughts.” The black-clothed person’s voice was very low, but each word like an ice pick, stabbing into the air. “Remember your status, remember what you’re paid for. Some things, think them and that’s enough; saying them out only disgusts people.”
The flower thief’s expression changed.
Not fear, but displeasure at being offended.
She stared at the black-clothed person, eyes sinister, like she might pounce the next second. But in the end, she just spat a mouthful of saliva and said nothing.
The black-clothed person no longer looked at her, pulling a money pouch from her bosom and tossing it to the ground.
The pouch landed with a heavy sound; inside was silver, quite a bit.
“This is one hundred taels.”
The black-clothed person said. “Half the final payment. The job turned out like this; can only give this much.”
“One hundred taels?”
The flower thief’s voice rose.
“We agreed on two hundred taels final payment; now it’s one hundred? You’re too ruthless!”
“The matter was exposed; the money reduced.” The black-clothed person’s reply was concise and ruthless.
“Do it neatly next time, and the final payment can be made up. Do it poorly, and even this one hundred taels is gone.”
The flower thief stared at the pouch on the ground, her chest heaving, obviously furious.
But she didn’t pick it up, just gritted her teeth and asked, “Next time? There’s a next time?”
“Maybe yes, maybe no.”
The black-clothed person turned, seeming to prepare to leave. “Wait for word. When you’re needed, we’ll find you naturally.”
She walked to the door, then stopped, not turning back, just tilting her face slightly.
“This woman,” she said, her voice drifting over, “kill her. If you want to rape then kill, that’s not impossible, anyway—don’t leave her alive.”
With that, she pushed the door and went out.
The footsteps soon vanished into the night.
In the room, only the flower thief and the bound female constable remained.
Quiet for a few breaths.
Then the flower thief bent down to pick up the pouch, weighed it in her hand, her face showing disgust. “One hundred taels… like dismissing a beggar.”
She muttered, stuffing the pouch into her bosom.
Then she turned, looking at the female constable in the corner.
The moonlight just illuminated that face. Disheveled black hair, angry red eyes, mouth stuffed with cloth, and skin slightly reddened from struggling.
Indeed a beauty, and the kind with heroism, hard to tame.
The flower thief stared at her for a while, her eyes growing more turbid, more uncomfortable.
But in the end, she just shook her head.
“Forget it.” She muttered to herself, voice not loud, but Nanxi outside the window heard it clearly. “I’m a proper woman; how could I do a woman. Spread out, how embarrassing.”
As she spoke, she drew a short knife from her waist.
The blade was narrow, the edge gleaming coldly in the moonlight. She gripped the knife and walked step by step toward the female constable.
The female constable desperately shrank back, but behind was the wall, no retreat. Her eyes were wide, full of anger.
The flower thief reached her, squatted down, and raised the short knife.
The tip aimed at the heart.
Nanxi watched from outside the window, his fingers unconsciously tightening.
He was ready to act, but still had a trace of hesitation.
Nanxi had heard things he shouldn’t have.
The prefect’s son was murdered, the previous cases were all smokescreens, and behind it was an existence like the black-clothed person.
This was no longer a simple flower thief case; it was a deeper, darker conspiracy.
If he saved this female constable, it meant getting involved in this conspiracy.
Not saving, and he could stay out, but the five hundred taels would truly be hopeless.
In that short instant, countless thoughts flashed through Nanxi’s mind.
And in the room, the flower thief’s knife had already risen to its highest point.
Then came a whooshing sound.
Sharp, urgent, like a venomous snake flicking its tongue.
Not from inside the room, but from behind Nanxi.
He turned sharply, seeing a silver light streak through the night, straight at his face!
It was a dart!
Nanxi wanted to dodge, but it was too close, too fast; he only instinctively tilted his head, the dart grazing his cheek, bringing a burning pain, then with a thud, it nailed into the window frame before him.
Embedded three inches deep, the tail still buzzing and trembling.
Inside and outside the room, everything went still at the same time.
Then Nanxi heard a short exclamation from inside, the flower thief’s voice.
And the black-clothed person’s cold voice, coming from the distant darkness, carrying undisguised killing intent.
“Someone outside the window.”