Schneider paused. Even someone as firm as him found it difficult to state this arrangement outright, needing to carefully choose his words: “For this mission, the specialist is S-grade Lu Mingfei. Your job is to assist him and follow his instructions.”
Chu Zihang was momentarily baffled. What did this mean? It was like the emperor calling on the general and saying, “I want you to go to the north with Chief Eunuch Lu to fight the barbarians.” The general, of course, knew that Chief Eunuch Lu was there to supervise and keep an eye on him—he would handle the fighting while the eunuch claimed the credit, but he still had to accept the imperial order gratefully. That was normal. The abnormal part was when the emperor said, “I’m giving Chief Eunuch Lu armor, a sword, and a fine steed so he can charge at the front, while you provide support from the rear.” Was the emperor planning to get rid of the eunuch?
“Understood,” Chu Zihang said calmly. He was not one to argue.
After hanging up the phone, he turned and opened his wardrobe, revealing a long black tennis bag lying in the corner. He unzipped it; the black sharkskin-wrapped hilt was nestled tightly against the tennis racket. He gripped the hilt, drew the sword an inch from its sheath, and a cold, dark bluish light flashed, with the chilling aura rapidly climbing up his arm.
The sword was Murasame—an enchanted sword said to naturally shed spring rain to wash away blood after killing. Someone had forged this nonexistent sword using regenerated metal and enshrined it in a shrine for ten years to cultivate its malevolence.
“Did you manage to get that platinum crocodile leather bag? I’ve been on the waiting list for two years now. Do you think they only sell it to VIPs?”
“I got it! When I was in Europe, I bought some small items worth a few thousand at Hermès, and the clerk quietly told me they had one in stock. I didn’t even think about it and took it. But it’s made of shallow-water crocodile skin, and the texture isn’t very distinct.”
“Show-off! Just getting it is good enough. Let me borrow it sometime!”
“Little darling, give me a kiss, and I’ll let you use it.”
“Get lost, get lost!” A woman curled up on the sofa, trying to kick the other woman with her bare foot, but was grabbed by her.
Four women, all in their auntie years, giggled. They were disheveled, with makeup smeared all over their faces. They wore silk nightgowns and were rolling around on the sofa, sipping black tea to sober up.
Last night’s three bottles of cognac had been intense, knocking them all out, and they ended up sleeping messily at Chu Zihang’s house until the sun was well up.
“It’s almost noon; what should we eat?” one of them said, feeling hungry.
The door opened silently, and a tall, slender young man walked in. He glanced at the cans scattered all over the floor and the four women—once famously beautiful throughout the city in their youth. He frowned slightly. “This is too much. Why not ask Aunt Tong to help you clean up?”
“Oh, Zihang is so handsome! Come, sit with Auntie for a while,” Auntie Shan said joyfully.
Chu Zihang was dressed in washed-blue jeans and a plain white T-shirt, with a black tennis bag slung over his shoulder. The scent of freshly washed sandalwood lingered in his hair.
He was no longer a child—a real “man” now. But the beautiful aunties felt no need to avoid his presence. They continued to drape their jade-like legs as they pleased and twist their slender waists unabashedly. They had watched Chu Zihang grow up, and among their group, his mother was the first to have a child—it was like a toy that had fallen from the sky, and they adored it. Chu Zihang’s childhood memories were traumatic; he vaguely remembered being enveloped by strong perfumes and makeup, surrounded by bright red lips. The aunties fought over who would hold him, their slender hands pinching his little butt…
“No need to sit. I ordered food for you—two eel rice bowls and two teriyaki beef bowls,” Chu Zihang said. “It’ll be delivered soon.”
“Aunties, you really have no resistance to Zihang’s gentlemanly and composed manner!” Aunt Shan said with stars in her eyes. Chu Zihang always remembered exactly what each of them liked to eat.
Taking a look at his mother, who was wrapped in a light blanket and curled up on the sofa, Chu Zihang shook his head. “The air conditioning is too cold, it’s already down to twenty degrees in here.” He picked up the remote control from the floor and started adjusting it. “It’s dry in an air-conditioned room, make sure to drink plenty of water.”
He then walked to the window and drew the curtains closed. “This side faces the public walkway outside, and you’re all dressed like this—you’re giving everyone outside a free show.”
The sisters in their nightgowns felt a bit embarrassed and nodded, tugging their skirts to cover their thighs as a sign of acknowledgment.
“Going out to play tennis?” his mother asked.
“Yeah, I might come back late. Meeting some high school classmates,” Chu Zihang said. “I brewed your herbal medicine; it’s in the fridge. Don’t skip any doses, or you’ll get little bumps on your face again.”
“Alright, alright! I remember, my sweet boy. You’re getting more naggy these days.” His beautiful thirty-nine-year-old mother jumped up, tousling his hair with both hands before planting a big kiss on his face.
Naggy, huh? Probably inherited from that man, Chu Zihang thought.
“As long as you remember,” he said, turning to leave.
Later, he understood why that man always fussed over little things like “drinking milk.” It was probably because he knew that something lost couldn’t be regained, nor did he dare ask for it back. He just wanted to do something to show that the past wasn’t entirely illusory—that he still had some connection to it.
It was like a long thread leading back to the past. As long as it wasn’t severed, there was still hope, still a reason not to give up completely.
“I have no resistance to this serious yet charismatic vibe your son has! My dog eyes are blinded with envy!” Aunt Shan announced loudly.
“Can’t help but fangirl! Your son is just so cute, so cute! If I were twenty years younger, I’d have kidnapped him from your home!” Aunt Annie said, clutching her chest.
“You think so? I haven’t even made my move yet! Yanyan, let me take Zihang as my godson!” Aunt Diana shrieked.
“In your dreams! How could I let my son be taken away by you old women?” His mother said smugly, then burst into laughter. “Alright, alright, stop tickling! I was joking, just kidding. Shan, from today on, you can be his godmother, okay? Alright, alright, I shouldn’t have told you where I’m ticklish…”
Chu Zihang closed the door behind him, shutting out the women’s chatter.
In the garage, parked beside the Mercedes S500, there was a new car—dark blue, sleek and low, like a panther at rest.
A Porsche Panamera—his “dad’s” new toy. His dad had generously told Chu Zihang that he could use the car whenever he needed to. First, Chu Zihang was a good driver, so he almost certainly wouldn’t damage it, and second, his dad was more than happy for his stepson to display the family’s wealth and taste to his classmates.
Chu Zihang sat in the driver’s seat and pulled down the sun visor, staring at his reflection in the vanity mirror. His face had sharp lines, a broad forehead, a straight nose, strong brows, and gentle black eyes. He looked like an ideal student.
He was born with that kind of face—so much so that if it were posted on a wanted poster, people would mistake it for a model student certificate.
He lowered his head and removed two soft, black lenses from his eyes. Daily disposable colored contact lenses, the popular “Butterfly Black” that all trendy girls loved. Chu Zihang closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and slowly opened them again. His eyes shone as if a torch had been thrown into an ancient well.
He adjusted his hair and slowly, forcefully moved his facial muscles. The reflection in the vanity mirror had already become someone else entirely—his face now as cold as a glacier, with flickering golden light deep in his pupils that resembled ghostly fire. No one would want to meet his gaze now; an unspoken, spear-like sharpness radiated outward. Looking into Chu Zihang’s eyes was like staring at a loaded gun pointed between one’s brows.
Sometimes, Chu Zihang himself wasn’t sure which version of him was the real one.
He put on black sunglasses and started the engine.
The V8 roared, the dual-clutch gears meshed smoothly, delivering power evenly to all four wheels. The wide tires gripped the ground like a beast curling its claws before a pounce.
The garage door rolled up, sunlight poured onto the windshield like a waterfall, and Chu Zihang released the brake and floored the gas. The engine roared with delight as the Panamera shot forward, piercing through the grand curtain of light like a freshly whetted sword.