Cold Blade, Warm Wine - Chapter 7

Chapter 7

As the saying goes, strike while the iron is hot-or in this case, strike while your enemy is down.

The Assassin’s heavy injuries hadn’t even healed yet when his rivals from the Assassin Hall took the opportunity to creep out of the woodwork.

I was intercepted by a group of assassins halfway back from gathering herbs. I managed to take down a few with poison, but to my dismay, someone ended up pressing a blade against my throat.

I hadn’t expected a one-eyed assassin to be lurking in the shadows. What a sneaky, hiding son of a bitch.

The Assassin appeared, and the situation turned into a standoff.

“What? You’re actually not dead yet?” One-Eye was shocked. But seeing the Assassin’s pale face and sensing his severe injuries, he grew arrogant again.

In a moment of smugness, he pressed his hand down. The blade cut into my neck, and I winced from the pain. The Assassin’s gaze sharpened instantly.

“You certainly are delicate and fair-skinned. No wonder Ye Wuchang hasn’t finished this mission yet,” One-Eye sneered, eyeing me with a look that made my skin crawl.

“Ye Wuchang, you’ve lost. He’s my prey now.”

“Yours?” The Assassin mouthed the word, his killing intent overflowing.

“One-Eye, you could have at least left this world with an intact corpse.”

The Assassin let out a sigh of mock pity, and then he moved.

I couldn’t even see how he did it. In an instant, he was right in front of us. A flash of silver light followed, and the arm One-Eye had held against my neck was severed clean off.

The Assassin pulled me into his embrace, pressing my head against his chest. My vision was shrouded in darkness; I couldn’t see a thing, but I could hear scream after agonizing scream.

Judging by the sounds, One-Eye died a very gruesome death.

I hadn’t realized the Assassin could be so tyrannical when he turned cold.

I set about bandaging his wounds, which had burst open again because he’d forced his internal energy to make that move.

These injuries were truly cursed.

The Assassin, however, didn’t seem to care. He simply traced the cut on my neck with the pad of his thumb.

His gaze darkened. Tilting my chin up, he leaned down and left a soft, lingering kiss on the wound.

I froze.

He let out a low sigh, as if reaching a sudden realization. “So, this is what it means to ‘want’?”

“Huh?” I stammered.

The Assassin said, “I want you to be *my* prey, and mine alone!”

I thought: *You’re insane!!*

One day, I spotted the Assassin lying on a tree branch, intently reading a book.

I was confused. *Where did that book come from?*

After catching a glimpse of the title, I stood frozen to the spot like a stone statue filled with mud.

That book was from my personal collection of romance novels. They weren’t just about flowery words and moonlight; they were about “flowery nights.”

More importantly, the protagonists were two peerlessly handsome young masters.

I covered my face. *Someone just knock me out, please.*

The Assassin gave me a look of sudden enlightenment.

His eyes were practically screaming: *So you like this sort of thing. It’s a bit difficult for me, but it’s not like I can’t cooperate.*

Fine. Just bury me where I stand. My final wish is to wipe this memory from the Assassin’s mind.