Book Synopsis
Book Tags
Donation Rankings
Comment
0 Comments
You May Also Like
墨書 Inktalez
The sound of rain outside is continuous, and the wound on my abdomen has actually healed long ago.
Yet, on rainy days, it still aches faintly.
Bai Qing is the all-around female protagonist in my comic; she knows medicine, can change her appearance, has excellent marksmanship, and can read others' micro-expressions. In the finale, her identity is even that of an undercover police officer.
After finishing my makeup, she finally used foundation to cover a very faint scar on my neck.
The scar on my neck was left from the first time I met Shen Jing.
That day, I was at home drawing comics when Shen Jing suddenly appeared behind me with a knife.
The small blade pressed against my neck, and I immediately felt a sharp pain.
The pain triggered a surge of survival instinct, allowing me to break free from his grip.
Shen Jing flexed his wrist and switched to another handgun.
The black-haired boy exuded an aura of hostility, his eyes revealing an unfathomable darkness.
He twirled a string of prayer beads with his left hand, standing tall and imposing, while the gun in his hand gradually slid down from my forehead.
Finally, the muzzle pressed against my heart.
He smiled wickedly and said, "Change the ending, or I'll kill you."
"Xiao Man, we are ready to support you outside at any time. If things go wrong, run immediately."
Bai Qing was still reminding me, her face full of worry.
I nodded.
I would definitely run, but before I did, I had to kill Shen Jing and Bai Man.
The next day.
In Myanmar, at the largest nightclub in Naypyidaw.
The place was filled with bright lights and loud music that pumped up the crowd.
I sat in the Human Resources office, nervously clutching the hem of my clothes, feeling a bit suffocated.
The HR manager, Danto, was about to lose his mind. He spoke in Burmese: "Damn it, I asked you to hire hostesses, and you bring me a cleaner? What we need are hostesses! Hostesses! Do you understand?"
It looked like the interview was about to fall through.
Someone rushed in.
"Brother Shen's office is a mess! Bro! Where's the cleaning lady from yesterday?! Damn it, her eyes are popping out..."
When that person saw me in the room, he stopped mid-sentence.
Another person was dead.
My opportunity had come.
I started gesturing in sign language, and Danto let out a sound.
"Are you mute?"
I pointed to my ear.
It meant I couldn't hear.
Danto laughed, "This is great, both deaf and mute, perfect for our Brother Shen."
After signing the contract,
Danto wrote on the paper: "Don't look at what you shouldn't, don't ask what you shouldn't, be careful or you'll lose your life."
Fortunately, I had mastered Burmese over the past year.
I wrote on the paper: "As long as the money is enough, I won't look at anything."
Danto squinted, a flash of murderous intent in his eyes.
But soon he laughed again and patted my shoulder: "Not bad, people who like money are always easy to control."
As I quickly followed a little brother out,
a loud gunshot suddenly rang out in the room.
The deafening gunfire seemed to explode right next to my ear.
I closed my eyes.
My heart raced and contracted rapidly.
I almost gave myself away; I nearly cried out.
But I held still, not moving an inch.
I knew that if I made even the slightest sound, I would face death once again.
So I pinched my palm to suppress it.
I even questioned the young man by tapping his shoulder and asking him with my eyes, "Why aren't we leaving?"
The young man nodded towards Danto.
Then he continued walking forward.
Phew, for now, I had managed to bluff my way through.
After passing through a corridor, he led me to the second floor and pointed at a dark red door.
The young man said ominously, "Go ahead, be quick about it."
I adjusted my breathing and pushed the door open—
A year later, I saw Shen Jing again.
I must kill him.
The room was crowded, with people sitting or standing in small groups.
On the floor lay a corpse with its head blown off, blood staining the carpet, which had lost its original color.
Someone whistled at me, "Hey, the new cleaner has a nice figure. Why not become a hostess? The pay here is really good."
A lackey chuckled awkwardly, "She's deaf and mute; she can't be a hostess."
"Besides, she's a bit too skinny."
Then that person reached out and pulled me closer, causing me to stumble into his arms.
Does he really find me attractive with my face painted yellow like this?
Just as I was about to struggle, someone walked out from the inner room.
His voice was deep and wolf-like:
"You can play with women, but don't fuck around in my room."
The man leisurely wiped the blood off his fingers, holding a handgun between his index and middle fingers.
The corpse on the floor was the work of Shen Jing.
He enjoyed the thrill of blowing off his prey's head at close range.
A gun or a short knife.
His strikes are always decisive and clean.
Shen Jing's voice is actually pleasant, with a raspy yet deep and magnetic quality.
If one only looked at his face, who could imagine that he is a young Underworld Boss who kills without shedding blood in my comic?
The corners of his crimson eyes are cold, with long lashes hanging low, and his dark eyes, tinged with a hint of red, have unnaturally dilated pupils that tremble slightly.
Killing brings him a sense of joy.
This is what he told me after his first kill in front of me.
At that time, I was infatuated and followed him into the comic's Northern Myanmar.
He took my manuscript, saying he disliked the feeling that I could leave anytime.
But as the days passed, I realized that my presence did not cause Shen Jing to hold back at all; his desire for killing remained as strong as ever.
Shen Jing strode over to the corpse and casually glanced at me.
He lifted his chin slightly in my direction, signaling me to come over: "Come here."
Comment 0 Comment Count