Chapter 4: Provocation

I stepped up beside Bu Sha and asked softly, "Do you know that madman?"

"'I do.' He replied expressionlessly, 'He is the son of Wang Shouyue, whom I killed a year ago.'"

"'You still remember someone from that long ago?' I asked in surprise, because Bu Sha never wastes a single brain cell storing information about people he isn't interested in."

He lowered his head, glanced at me lightly, and answered, "He was also one of my targets."

"'Then... will you, sir, be kind enough to let him go?'"

Bu Sha's eyes were already filling with impatient anger, yet I stubbornly stared at him with the eyes of a curious baby.

"'I have no interest in killing someone who's already gone mad,' he finally conceded, answering."

As I expected, a madman wouldn't know where Bu Sha is, nor would he happen to pop out and attack just when someone recognizes Bu Sha—this is clearly a trap set long ago.

Although, I have to say, it's a pretty lousy trap.

I nodded, wiped off my smile, and asked in a low voice, "What about that one down there? Do you know him?"

Bu Sha's eyes instantly clouded over, and he coldly replied, "I don't know him. But it doesn't matter much."

He flipped his body and leapt to the lobby downstairs, which was already half empty.

The remaining people all gripped their weapons and stared at Bu Sha in the center, their eyes filled with resentment.

Sigh, to think he could find so many enemies just in an inn—truly living up to his reputation as the number one assassin under heaven.

"'Bu Sha! Bu Sha!' the frantic youth shouted, panting, his eyes blood-red; anyone could hear the deep hatred in his voice. He glanced at each person, finally fixing his gaze on Bu Sha's blade, and roared, 'Finally I've found you, Bu Sha! Return my father's life…'"

Bu Sha gave a pitying cold smile, then lightly sidestepped as the youth lunged. The youth couldn't stop his momentum and crashed headfirst into a beam, blood pouring out instantly, staining his already patchy torn shirt an even deeper red.

I suddenly felt a little fear standing below that Bu Sha. His whole body overflowed with killing intent; unlike his usual cold, expressionless self, he now wore a hint of bloodthirsty smirk, sending a chill straight to my bones.

He just stared blankly at everything around him, as if, aside from himself, everything else were lifeless objects.

I feared such a Bu Sha, feared he would plunge into darkness without regard for anything, never to turn back—just like my older brother once did.

"'Bu—' Qi Ran's warm, pleasant voice rang out, instantly dispelling his chill and my anxiety: 'Be careful of Wang Qi—he's been poisoned; don't touch his fingers, his sword, or even his blood.'"

My heart jolted; I anxiously looked toward Qi Ran. His warm smile eased my unease. He ruffled my hair, pulled me into his embrace, and his voice, almost magical, gradually soothed me: 'Don't worry, Bu Sha will be fine. He's long since ceased to be the Bu Sha he once was.'

I blinked hard to hold back the misty tears, buried my face deep in Qi Ran's warm embrace, and clung to him tightly with my other hand.

My older brother and I are no longer who we used to be—I've always known that. So why did hearing Qi Ran's words make me feel such a relief, as if I'd been waiting for someone to tell me just that?

Bu Sha glanced up at us, smiled faintly—no trace of sarcasm or coldness—and without waiting for anyone in the inn to react, he moved.

At the moment I lifted my head, all I could see was a ghost‑like shadow flickering before my eyes, then vanishing.

When we came to our senses, Wang Qi lay on the ground like a corpse; only the rise and fall of his chest showed he was still alive.

Everyone present couldn't help but suck in a cold breath, realizing the strength gap between themselves and their opponent was not something that could be overcome by numbers or willpower alone.

Even that bearded man turned pale for a moment—quite a sight.

"'Speak!' Bu Sha pointed his sword tip at him and said coldly, 'Why are you scheming against me?'"

The bearded man stared, obviously startled that Bu Sha would so quickly turn his spear toward him. But after just a moment he regained composure, put on a mask of grief and indignation, and shouted to the crowd:

"'Folks, you've seen it too—this cold‑blooded killer murdered Young Hero Wang's father, drove him mad, and still won't let him go. Such a heinous person, I'm sure many of you here have suffered from his poison. I, Mengkuo, will stake my lowly life today to seek justice for all the heroes under heaven!'"

His words fired up the crowd in the hall, everyone looking ready to die generously. Sigh! The masses are indeed blind.

Bu Sha shrugged, smiled indifferently, and said coldly, 'Is that so? Then I might as well grant you your wish first!'

Having said that, he moved. The bearded man panicked at first, then quickly steadied himself, drew a broadsword and barely managed to block Bu Sha's blade. After a few exchanges, I could only see figures blurring before my eyes, unable to tell who had the upper hand.

My heart clenched; even holding Qi Ran's hand, I broke into a cold sweat. He turned, gave me a gentle smile, and said, 'Don't worry, he's no match for Bu Sha.'

Sure enough, moments later the two fighting figures separated—one stumbled back several steps, the other stood as steady as Mount Tai, as if he had never moved.

The bearded man spat out a few mouthfuls of blood, glared hatefully at Bu Sha, then suddenly realized something, his eyes darting as he told the crowd, 'We can't deal with him like this, everyone! Quickly go upstairs and seize his accomplices!'

No sooner had his voice fallen than those downstairs who called themselves heroes swarmed up from the stairwell.

Bu Sha's face hardened; he tried to rush forward, but was surrounded by dozens of people, spinning him in circles. Though they could subdue him in a moment, he couldn't afford to wait that long.

Bu Sha swept a cold gaze over the crowd surrounding him; the killing intent and lofty contempt in his eyes made everyone shudder. He lightly rested his hand on the black sword 'Blooddraw' and pressed down with his finger—

But Qi Ran's urgent, panicked voice rang out: 'Bu! Don't break the sword, we'll be fine!'

Bu Sha halted his gesture, the crowd already closing in on him; he sighed helplessly and had no choice but to rejoin the fight.

To be honest, I actually had the presence of mind to admire Bu Sha's fight over there—I can't help but be impressed with myself!

I've always found it odd that Bu Sha would worry about us. Although I've hardly seen Qi Ran use martial arts, after a month together I can roughly tell his skill is no less than Bu Sha's. Dealing with these blind followers shouldn't be that hard, right?

A few people had already rushed up to us; Qi Ran held me close and leapt lightly, his pose so graceful! Then he turned, his crystal‑clear, slender fingertips tapping—several people before us instantly froze like statues. Those looks of stunned disbelief on their faces really ought to be caught on phone camera.

An elderly man strode up to us, then stopped, gazed at us for a while, and said, 'Young master and miss, you're both so young—why would you associate with such Jianghu scum?'

Qi Ran's expression remained calm, and he said in an even tone, 'He's my friend.'

The old man's face changed, but he held his temper and offered kind advice: 'Look, young master, you're young and already have excellent martial arts; you're destined for great achievements. Why ruin your splendid future over a mistaken friendship with a bandit?'

Qi Ran remained silent; I knew he was just too good‑natured to want to argue.

The old man, thinking his advice had taken effect, grew even more fervent: 'Besides, young master, you should think not only of yourself but also of the young lady beside you—if people ever learn she's allied with Bu Sha, wouldn't that ruin her reputation forever?'

I fought the urge to roll my eyes, thinking, 'Just because I'm a quiet girl doesn't mean you can bully me.'

Seeing Qi Ran's worried look, I wondered if he'd really be swayed—good grief! A chronic people‑pleaser is just that, destined to spend his life always thinking of others.

I slipped slightly from his embrace, gave him a flirtatious smile, then turned to the old man with a coy, innocent look and said, 'Grandpa, you say following Bu Sha will ruin my purity? Why?'

The old man seemed to realize he actually had a chance to reform two lost lambs; his heart surged, he turned back to stop the crowd advancing and said, 'Everyone, these two still seem to have a kind heart—shouldn't we give them a chance?'

"'Fine! But let Elder Li decide!' The people below also seemed quite stirred."

In the melee below, Bu Sha lifted his head, gave them a cold, contemptuous glance, and showed a faint sneer.

Qi Ran, meanwhile, glanced at the old man with a hint of pity, still silent.

"'Little miss, do you know what an assassin does?'"

"'Kill people, of course.' I made a surprised face, 'Grandpa, you don't even know that?'"

Downstairs they burst into laughter; the old man's face flushed white then red, and after a while he managed to curb his anger, saying in what he thought was the gentlest tone, 'Grandpa certainly knows that. Little miss, don't you think killing is wrong?'

I nodded solemnly, saying: "That's very wrong."

The old man was delighted, about to play the reed instrument again, but I beat him to it, pointing at the crowd fighting downstairs and shouted sharply: "Grandfather, they're surrounding and killing one person— isn't that even more wrong?"

The people in the corridor were about to faint, the old man continued patiently explaining: "That's because Bu Sha killed many innocent good people; those people were eliminating harm for the populace, do you know? Only when he dies can other good people not be killed by him. Because he is a bad person who deserves to die!"

My hand clenched tightly into a fist, nails digging into flesh, yet I felt no pain. I really had to exert all my strength to keep from sneering.

Do they think assassins are born killers? Do they think assassins voluntarily go kill people? They're just a group desperately protecting themselves and loved ones, even willing to become others' tools— pitiful people!

"Really a bad person?" I widened my clear, bright eyes.

The old man nodded without hesitation.

I wore a sorrowful expression: "Grandfather, then do I and Qiran brother also count as bad people?"

"This..." The old man saw my hurt expression, feeling reluctant, blurted comfort: "Of course not, you are good people."

"Oh, that means even if I'm just stalling for time, you won't kill me, right?" I asked innocently, "Because Grandfather, you're not an assassin, you won't kill innocent good people!"

The old man's face changed, he faintly sensed something wrong, but couldn't grasp it.

I smiled, a sincere expression: "Grandfather, I still have something to tell you, okay?"

"What?" he asked nervously.

I smiled especially brightly: "Bu Sha is standing right behind you."

(End of chapter)