They dropped the money, dropped the photo, name and the address of Wu Feng and then walked out of the alley even looking back. The job was done. No questions, no names, nothing to think about.
Laughing too loud, still drunk, Zhao Jun and his friends pushed and pulled each other into the car.
From outside, if anyone was watching, it would have looked like a street show. They bumped shoulders, stumbled over each other, arms swinging around like they were fighting ghosts that weren't there.
One guy fell halfway into the seat, his legs still hanging outside the door, before he dragged himself in with a grunt. The others burst out laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world.
Another banged his head on the roof with a hard thud, cursed, then laughed at himself, drink spilling down his chest, soaking his shirt.
Bottles rolled around under their feet, clinking together every time someone moved, sounding more like trash than music.
One friend tried to shut the door but smashed his fingers in it instead, shouting and shaking his hand, while the rest howled even louder.
Zhao Jun slumped into the driver's seat, his head wobbling side to side as he grabbed the wheel.
He slammed his foot on the pedal without even thinking, and the car jumped forward, tires screeching as it shot down the street.
Zhao Jun twisted the knob, turning the music louder and louder until the bass shook the glass of the doors and made the mirror rattle.
His friends lit cigarettes, the smoke slipping out through the half-open windows, drifting in the night air. Inside, the smell of smoke mixed with alcohol, and the boys laughed and shouted nonsense words, their voices broken and drunk.
The streetlights stretched in front of his eyes, long yellow lines melting together, twisting like the road itself was moving. His hands shook hard on the wheel, sweaty and loose.
Then he saw it. A man is right in front of the car. Standing still. Cold face. Sharp eyes. Wu Feng.
"YOU—!" Zhao Jun roared, his voice cracking.
He gripped the wheel and turned it hard, pressing the pedal all the way down. He wanted to smash right into him, crush him under the car.
The car went out of control, and Zhao Jun's hands shook on the wheel.
He tried to press the pedal to stop, but his foot slipped, and instead of the brake, it was the accelerator.
The car jumped faster, speed pushing it harder and harder. He pulled the wheel, but it didn't matter.
Boom! The car smashed into the tree. The front glass cracked from the heavy impact, spider lines spreading across it, pieces shaking loose. The whole front body of the car bent in.
It was not Wu Feng standing there. It was just a long tree, dark and tall, right in front of him. And that was the tree Zhao Jun smashed the car into.
Zhao Jun's head smashed against the steering wheel with a heavy crack. His whole body dropped forward, arms hanging loose, his chest pressed against the wheel.
Blood ran down from his forehead, sliding over his nose and dripping onto his clothes, leaving red spots on the fabric.
Behind him, his friends didn't even have time to scream. The crash lifted them off their seats and slammed them back down like broken dolls.
One hit the front seat so hard his head snapped back, and another bent sideways with his neck twisted the wrong way.
The sound of bones cracking filled the car for a moment Their bodies lay there, bent and still, not moving anymore.
Zhao Jun's eyelids moved weakly, barely opening and then shutting again.
Blood covered his whole face, sliding into his mouth, dripping down his chin. L
He let out one cough. After that, his head dropped forward, and everything went black.
Zhao Jun's eyes opened as he was lying on the bed. His eyes opened and closed again.
"Aaghh…"
His head was hurting. He opened his eyes slowly and put his hand on his forehead because it was hurting badly.
When he looked at the ceiling, he found himself in a totally different place.
The ceiling was not the same, it was neither the hospital ceiling nor his house ceiling.
Above him, there was a big chandelier shining bright. Its crystals caught the light and sparkled, sending little dots of light across the room.
The ceiling around it was painted white with golden lines.
He pushed himself up from the bed. The sheets were soft, too soft for him, like silk under his hands. When he turned his head, he saw the mirror, and then his face.
His head hurt more from what he saw. It was not his face. The face in the mirror was more handsome, with blonde short hair and red eyes.
He quickly stood up from the bed and rushed to the mirror. He touched his face, his teeth, running his hands over the shape of his jaw, trying to feel the structure of his new face.
All around him the room looked like something out of a palace. The tall walls were painted with patterns of gold and red, curtains heavy and long covered the windows, and even the carpet under his feet looked too rich for him to step on.
"Young Master…"
"Oh, Young Master, you woke up!"
A maid was standing near the room gate. A young maid with soft blue hair that reached her shoulders, big bright eyes that almost shone in the light.
She wore the black and white maid clothes, with a short skirt that reached her knees, and a white apron tied neatly at her waist. A small ribbon sat at her collar, making her look tidy and proper.
Her hands were shaking a little as she held the tray she was carrying. On the tray was a glass bottle filled with glowing red liquid — an elixir. Her face showed shock first, but then relief washed over her, her lips parting as her eyes grew wet.
The elixir was meant for the Young Master. A magic potion, a medicine the doctors had prepared, hoping it would help him wake up from the long coma.
"Young Master… you… You woke up from the coma…" she said, her voice trembling.
Meanwhile…
The assassin had already taken the job to kill Wu Feng. He had the photo of him, and the name. That was all he needed.
On the same night, the assassin sat in his old car and drove toward Wu Feng's apartment. He parked the car far away, on a street where no CCTV cameras were fixed. Then he stepped out, closed the door quietly, and walked the rest of the way.
When he reached under the building, he didn't take the lift. He went for the stairs instead, slow steps one by one. Most people avoided the stairs, but for him, it was safer, quieter.
At last, he reached the floor where Wu Feng lived. He pulled a black mask from his pocket and slid it over his face. His shoes made no sound on the floor.
He stopped in front of Room 404. He didn't press the bell. Instead, he bent down, pulled a small tool, and worked on the lock.
Click. A soft sound of metal opening.
Inside the room, it was dark. Quiet.
The assassin pulled out a gun from his jacket pocket. From the other pocket, he took a silencer. As he walked in, he twisted the silencer onto the gun, turning it slowly, the soft click of the thread rolling tight.
He walked quietly inside the dark room. His steps were slow, each one careful. He saw a door a little ahead.
He reached out, put his hand on the knob, and turned it little by little. The door gave a soft sound as it unlocked. Then he pushed it and the door swung open.
Inside, Wu Feng was lying on the bed. He was sleeping, his body calm, his hands crossed over his chest like he had no worry in the world.
The bullet cut through the air and hit Wu Feng straight in the head. There was only a soft pfft sound from the gun, quiet, almost nothing.
His body didn't move, didn't even twitch. One moment he was lying there breathing, the next moment he was gone. Dead before he could even know what happened.
Pfft.
"Agghh…! Where… am I?"
Wu Feng was lying on his side, one arm stuck under his body like a pillow. His chest leaned a little toward the ground, half on his stomach, half on his side.
His long black hair was messy around his face, and his sharp black eyes opened slowly. His clothes were black and torn, rough like the rags a slave would wear.
"What… what is this place…?" Wu Feng muttered. He tried to push himself up, but the moment he moved, a sharp pain stabbed into his skull. His vision shook, the world spinning and swimming in front of his eyes.