Chapter 79 — The Girl's Origins

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Earlier, when Wei Zhao had passed by, he had noticed a family-run inn at the roadside, though it had not looked particularly good, so he had not gone in, intending to scout around and see whether there were any other inns with better surroundings.

But now the situation was urgent, and Wei Zhao could not spare the time to look for another; one inn was good enough.

"One room," Wei Zhao said to the proprietress sitting inside the bar, the girl still on his back as he rushed into the inn.

The proprietress had been watching television out of sheer boredom. Suddenly a strapping young man burst in carrying a woman dressed in black, demanding a room the moment he entered; an ambiguous smile crept onto her face.

Her family inn was in fact of a very low grade. It had been opened for no other purpose than to give penniless young couples a place for a little intimacy. Most of these people did not care whether the place was upscale or not—so long as it was quiet and clean, that was enough.

The proprietress had seen plenty of young men and women come to take a room, but one as impatient as Wei Zhao—carrying a woman in and demanding a room the instant he stepped through the door—was rare indeed.

"Fifteen yuan an hour for a short-stay room, sixty yuan a day for a night's lodging," the proprietress told Wei Zhao.

"Oh, then I'll put down a hundred as a deposit first." Wei Zhao fished a hundred-yuan note from his pocket and handed it to the proprietress.

"Wait—show me your ID and register," the proprietress said. She was not one to be blinded by money, and she had not let down her guard.

Wei Zhao frowned. He did not know whether the girl on his back could hold out. But there was no help for it; registering for a room was only reasonable, so Wei Zhao had no choice but to take out his ID card and hand it to the proprietress for registration.

"Hers won't be necessary, will it?" Wei Zhao asked. By "hers" he naturally meant the girl on his back, and he trusted the proprietress would understand what he meant.

"No need. Registering one person is enough." The proprietress's registration of ID cards was carried out in accordance with the relevant regulations; she was not deliberately making things difficult for Wei Zhao. Besides, for one room, one person registered was enough. After scanning Wei Zhao's ID, the proprietress produced a room card: "Upstairs, room 209. Go on up yourself."

"Thank you." Wei Zhao took the room card and hurried upstairs with the girl on his back. The whole way, the girl lay motionless over Wei Zhao's shoulder; were it not for the softness against her chest through which he could feel her heartbeat, Wei Zhao might even have suspected she had already died.

"Hah." Wei Zhao tossed the girl onto the bed, then carefully shut the door, drew the curtains, and checked every corner of the room in detail. Only after making sure there were no wireless cameras or the like hidden about did he set his mind at ease.

To be honest, if Wei Zhao had not caught a sudden glimpse of the ring on the girl's little finger, he would never in a thousand words have bothered with such a nosy affair—inviting trouble for himself for no reason at all.

The emblem on that ring on the girl's hand represented an organization—a very famous international assassins' organization. Though Wei Zhao did not belong to this organization, its founder nevertheless had no small bond with Wei Zhao.

The master who had taught Wei Zhao his assassination techniques was precisely one of that organization's founders. Old Man Wei, formidable as his skills were, was proficient in solid, steady, down-to-earth martial ability, suited to facing an enemy head-on.

But in the actual execution of missions, situations calling for a head-on confrontation were exceedingly rare; assassination and surprise attack were the keys to victory. When Wei Zhao was six, Old Man Wei had sent him to the master for two years of intensive training, and the master had taught him every assassination and ambush technique a killer needed.

Though he did not know the master's specific identity—Old Man Wei had never mentioned it outright either—Wei Zhao could vaguely tell that the master was a truly formidable man.

It had been many years since he had last seen the master... All these years, Wei Zhao had missed this master deeply; he was, in the truest sense, Wei Zhao's master.

Old Man Wei had taught Wei Zhao a great many things as well, but that was more like the affection between grandfather and grandson rather than a master-and-disciple relationship; moreover, Old Man Wei had never expected to be Wei Zhao's master.

He himself had learned less than thirty percent of the master's techniques, and already he had time and again seized the initiative in carrying out missions—one could well imagine how formidable the master's strength must be. It was only that he had been too young at the time; even studying with all his heart, to have truly absorbed and retained thirty percent was already quite good.

It was precisely because Wei Zhao kept the master's kindness in his heart that when he saw the emblem of the organization the master had founded on the ring on the girl's hand, Wei Zhao changed his mind and decided to give this girl a helping hand.

Though the master had long since washed his hands of all the organization's affairs, be that as it may, this girl still counted as one of their own.

"I'll help you this once. Whether you live or die now depends on your own luck." Wei Zhao laid the girl flat on the bed, and the fisherman's hat on her head slid off to one side.

Her short black hair spilled loose, and through the scattered strands a delicate face, somewhat pale, was clearly visible—finely wrought features, long lashes, and two dark brows knitted tightly together. Even unconscious, she must have been in great pain.

Wei Zhao was slightly taken aback. He had not expected such a stunning face to be hidden beneath that fisherman's hat, and it caught him off guard. A girl this beautiful working as a killer?

Judging by her age, she was probably only eighteen or nineteen, about the same as himself. Wei Zhao shook his head—but that was her business, and he had no right to interfere.

From what he had observed earlier, the girl's wound should be somewhere on her lower body, but she wore leather trousers on the outside that did not let blood show through, so there was no telling from the outside just where she was hurt.

Wei Zhao could not be bothered to search for it either. He simply used some force and pulled the girl's leather trousers off. Once they were off, he felt a little unnatural, and his breathing grew rapid.

To be sure, Wei Zhao's original intentions had been most excellent and most pure—he was only doing it for his master's sake, extending a comradely hand to a dying female assassin.

That was why he had taken off her trousers to treat her wound. If this female assassin had looked like the male ones, Wei Zhao reckoned he would not have had any particular thoughts at all; but this female assassin just happened to be beautiful, with a fine figure to boot, so having stripped off her trousers, Wei Zhao could hardly avoid a few improper notions. Any normal man would have thoughts like that.

Yet what he saw next doused the fire in Wei Zhao's heart completely.

The inner side of the leather trousers had been dyed entirely red with fresh blood, and inside them the tights the girl wore were so thoroughly soaked with blood that their original color was impossible to make out.

Holy shit—Wei Zhao drew a sharp breath. In this state, she could still walk? Still run to a pharmacy? Never mind not finding a proper place to nurse her wound; if she had to go anywhere, she should have gone to a hospital! Did she really think that golden wound medicine of that Divine Doctor Kang could actually stop bleeding that fast?

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