Chapter 147 — The Long-Awaited...

For instance, when he had Xiao Ai sleep with him, she saw nothing improper in it; she merely complied mechanically with his command. Any feelings that arose were his own senses alone, and had nothing to do with Xiao Ai.

In her mind there was only simple obedience, and execution.

Wang Yanqiu lay in Yang Ce's arms, and gradually she had come to like this feeling. The first time she had gone to bed with Yan, she had been half-reluctant, with something of a good-sport's resignation about it—but now Wang Yanqiu was utterly captivated by this feeling, and even when Yang Yongjin was nearby, she found herself rather looking forward to it.

What her fate would be hereafter, no one could say. Wang Yanqiu even felt an impulse: if in the future she really could not make the "Black Butterfly" assassin squad the best in the world, then she would elope with Yan, flee far away, and have nothing more to do with her family.

But this was only Wang Yanqiu's idle fancy; she knew the odds were next to nothing. First, her family's power was simply too vast, reaching into every corner. Even now, Wang Yanqiu was not certain whether her father's people were following her—but she supposed they must be.

Second, and most important of all, could Yang Ce abandon his present life and elope with her? The answer was plainly no. Yang Juehuan's parents and family were all in Songjiang, and he had his own career and studies; his other girlfriends were all from Songjiang too. Yang Yongjin could never run away with her.

Unless she killed all of Yang Juehuan's other girlfriends—but then there was no guarantee that Yang Shuoxuan would not kill her. And even if he did not kill her, he would never be with her again.

Thinking of this, Wang Yanqiu sighed faintly. Life was such a strange thing: a man she had once loathed beyond measure, and now she had actually developed feelings for him—had even grown somewhat attached. And all in less than a week. Wang Yanqiu's heart suddenly gave a start—had she sunk too deep?

"Someone's there," Yang Ce said suddenly, patting Wang Yanqiu's shapely hip and lowering his voice.

"What?" Wang Yanqiu came back to herself from her thoughts, and hearing Yang Juehuan's words, her nerves tensed as well.

"Someone's broken into the villa," Yang Linyue said flatly. "Come on. Let's go meet her together."

The faintest sound put Yang Ce instantly on alert. He used his ability to look beyond the villa's walls, and there he saw a slender black shadow slip over the outer wall, creep in on tiptoe, and set to work picking the lock of the main door with a tool.

Wang Yanqiu's expression tightened. She knew what Yang Juehuan was capable of; she had no idea how Yang Ce had detected the intruder, but she trusted that he was not mistaken.

The two of them quickly pulled on their sleepwear—though Wang Yanqiu glanced down at her collar and hesitated. "If I go out like this, won't I be showing everything?"

"It's fine. It's a woman," Yang Ce said with a shake of his head, and he was the first to pull the door open and slip out.

"A woman?" Wang Yanqiu repeated Yang Juehuan's words to herself, shocked to the core. Yang Ce had even worked out the intruder's sex.

Perhaps her choice had been the right one. Perhaps Heaven had taken pity on her and brought her Yang Cenbin—such a freak, so formidable he was hardly human anymore.

And yet Wang Yanqiu found it strange too: a man this capable, why had he never joined any organization? A lone wolf, and her little band of assassins had somehow picked up such a prize.

The very thought made Wang Yanqiu feel lucky. Yes—far too lucky.

She followed Yang Puqi downstairs. Yang Ce could see in the dark, and Wang Yanqiu knew the house by heart, so the two of them moved with perfect ease without turning on a single light.

Xiao Ai had undergone special training since childhood, and her sight and hearing were exceptionally sharp. Yang Ce and Wang Yanqiu were professionals too, but no matter how professional, in a villa deep in the silent night it was impossible to walk without making the slightest sound.

Even that faint noise was enough to alert Xiao Ai. She scanned her surroundings, then with a flicker of movement hid herself behind the living-room curtains.

Her figure was so petite that once she was behind the curtains there was no flaw to be seen—the fabric still hung perfectly flat.

Yang Ce and Wang Yanqiu came downstairs to an empty living room. Xiao Ai had even shut the front door again; everything was so still and peaceful that there was no trace whatsoever of an outsider having entered.

Wang Yanqiu searched carefully and found nothing amiss, but Yang Jiyan called out with utter certainty, "Come out. I don't want to have to get rough."

Silence—the silence of the night, without a stir.

Yang Ce gave a cold laugh and walked straight toward the curtains. His ability wasn't there for show; at moments like this it came in very handy indeed.

But before Yang Ce could reach the curtains, they moved first. A black shadow shot out from behind them like a flying arrow, a dagger gleaming coldly in its grip, thrusting at Yang Ce.

Yang Yongjin dared not be careless. The way the woman held herself told him she had been rigorously trained and was no ordinary opponent, so he hastily twisted aside and dodged the black-clad woman's strike.

The woman was delicately pretty, with a high, straight nose and large eyes, and yet there seemed to be something missing about her that made Yang Ce feel profoundly uneasy.

Seeing Yang Ce dodge, the black-clad woman showed no surprise—not even the flicker of an expression, as though she had witnessed something that had nothing to do with her. She simply raised the dagger mechanically and thrust at him again.

"Who are you? Who sent you?" As Yang Yanchuan spoke, he focused his mind intently on the black-clad woman, hoping to discover something—but the result disappointed him.

The woman's face showed nothing at all. Even after his question, not a ripple stirred in her eyes, and Yang Ce's plan to use his ability to probe her thoughts came to nothing.

Yet Yang Juehuan only grew more wary. Apart from stabbing at him with the dagger again and again, the woman did nothing—her eyes were numb, utterly devoid of any fluctuation of feeling. Bright and clear as her eyes were, they held no light, no spirit at all.

A death soldier. Yang Juehuan's heart went cold, and the term sprang unbidden to his mind. He had never seen a true death soldier, but he had read descriptions of the like in intelligence files.

A death soldier was much like a suicide squad—mostly vagrant blades of the jianghu who, for wealth and glory or to repay a debt of gratitude, sold their lives to nobles or hidden masters, undertaking above all assault and assassination.

For such ends they were willing, or forced, to give up their lives. Usually they took poison before a mission—smearing it between their teeth, for instance—so that if they failed they could kill themselves rather than be taken captive.

But there was another kind, a very small number, secretly bred through specialized training. These were cultivated from childhood, brainwashed until they were little more than walking corpses, with only one thing to do each day: obey their master's commands without question.

They had no thoughts, no will of their own—they were altogether like machines. This kind of death soldier was the most troublesome of all, for they did not fear death in the least, far harder to deal with than those who served for gratitude or glory.

At that thought, Yang Yongjin stopped holding back. When the black-clad woman thrust the dagger at him once more, Yang Ce chopped a palm hard into her elbow, and the dagger dropped to the floor by reflex.

Yang Ce was a man who cherished the fair sex, but even that had its targets. He was naturally protective of the women around him; to show such tenderness toward a killing machine would be cruelty to himself.