Cold Blade, Warm Wine - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The sky hadn’t fully brightened when a wild pheasant in the mountains let out a crow, waking me up.

I felt utterly miserable and decided I’d have to find some time to slaughter every single chicken in these mountains so I could sleep in peace.

The room next door was empty. When I touched the bedding, it was still cold.

They say one should rise and dance at the first crow of the rooster, but this man could wake before the birds even stirred. Truly peerless.

I left the courtyard and headed into the mountains.

The mountain where I live is called Green Mountain. It is shrouded in mist year-round, looking like a celestial wonderland.

For fifty miles outside the mountain, there is nothing but barren desert where not a single blade of grass grows.

Consequently, rumors spread that this is a mountain of treasures, hiding rare and precious jewels.

I’ve guarded this mountain for over a decade, yet I’ve never found any treasure.

Unfortunately, the world refuses to believe me. Every year, countless people come trying to seize the treasure.

Luckily, this mountain is full of steep cliffs and precipices. Even if a few top-tier experts manage to force their way up, they eventually get lost in the Soul-Confusion Formation I set up and never find their way out.

Last night’s Assassin was the first exception.

I checked the formation; there were no signs of a forced entry. That man is indeed a divine talent.

I felt a flicker of excitement. In this life, a kindred spirit is hard to find, but a worthy rival is just as precious.

The second time the World’s Best Assassin came to kill me…

I was stewing chicken. Since it was freezing cold, I was eating right by the stove while it simmered.

The wild pheasants in the mountains are all experts at scaling walls and leaping over roofs; their meat is firm, tender, and smooth. Dipped in a bit of chili, it was so spicy my tears were streaming, yet it felt incredibly satisfying.

The Assassin arrived under the cover of night, looking travel-worn. His cold expression was tinged with exhaustion.

When he pushed open the door and saw the lively, steaming stove in the hall-mist swirling and fragrance filling the air-he visibly froze for a moment.

The difference between the outside and inside of that door was like a portal separating the underworld from the realm of the living.

He indifferently set down his sword, went to the cupboard to grab a bowl and chopsticks, and sat down by the stove.

The warmth of the fire melted the frost at the tips of his brows, lending a touch of gentleness to his features.

It pulled him-this Wuchang Ghost who wandered through the darkness stepping on ice-back into the warm world of mortals.

When he picked up a piece of chicken and put it in his mouth, his eyes narrowed slightly, revealing a faint, almost imperceptible sense of satisfaction.

Then, after a moment’s thought, he took a jar of wine from the table and poured himself a drink.

He acted as familiar as if he were in his own home.

I was truly shocked that someone could mooch a meal with such natural grace and style.

But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that losing half a pot of chicken and a jar of wine was better than losing my life.

And so, I seethed in silence, not daring to speak up.

Perhaps because my expression was too distorted as I gnawed on my chicken, the Assassin raised an eyebrow slightly and pulled something from his robe, placing it in front of me.

A shiny, snow-white ingot of silver.

I looked at him with greedy eyes.

He said, “For the wine.”

I quickly reached out, grabbed it, and gave it a squeeze. Once I confirmed it was genuine silver, I tucked it into my sleeve, beaming with joy.

For the sake of the silver, I very sycophantically scurried to the kitchen to fetch more ingredients to add to his meal.

Though his face showed a hint of mockery, he seemed to appreciate the gesture.