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墨書 Inktalez
After kicking the Wolf-Eyed Shadow Man away, I instinctively performed a carp leap. For some reason, my condition was unusually poor today; I couldn't execute any movements properly. Either I was using too much force or not enough. A simple carp leap that I usually mastered ended with me landing flat on my backside. I spat in frustration; if Fatty saw this, he would never let me live it down. Fortunately, the awkward position allowed me to quickly get back on my feet and rejoin the fight. Just then, a shadow leaped up from the table and swooped toward me like an eagle. In the dim light, all I could see were those cold, glinting eyes.
I grabbed a chair beside me and let out a beast-like roar as I charged at him. He was unfortunate; being in midair, he couldn't dodge and could only raise his arm to block. I swung with all my might, and despite his attempts to defend himself, he had no leverage to counter my blow. The wooden chair crashed solidly against his head with a loud thud. The shadow was knocked back by my strike, and the chair broke into several pieces, leaving me with just one leg of the chair.
I figured the Wolf-Eyed Shadow Man must be seriously injured and was preparing to leap over and subdue him when the shadow across the tea table sprang up like a character from a shadow play. The tea table wasn't large; my single-person table resembled a small computer desk. I faced off against this shadow across the tea table, neither of us speaking. I couldn't make out his features; his clothing seemed black, and apart from those shining eyes and an occasional glint from a short knife, he blended into the environment like a ninja.
However, now I saw more than just blackness and the gleam of his eyes and knife. There was blood—streaming from his forehead or eye corner like a brook, staining half of his face red. At that moment, a dream I'd once had flashed through my mind: Song Guilong bursting through a glass house, blood pouring as he ran away. The two scenes were eerily similar. I stared at this bloodied figure before me, unsure of what to do; more accurately, I was paralyzed by the juxtaposition of these two images in my mind.
Suddenly, as I stood there dumbfounded, the shadow across from me hurled his short knife at me. I hurriedly dodged to the side and turned back only to find that he had vanished. This corner was tight against the wall, with several empty tables in front of me—likely unoccupied due to their distance from the stage and lack of view of the performance. Moving forward would lead me around to the entrance.
I didn't believe this shadow would run toward where there were more people nor that he could simply disappear into thin air. I kicked over the tea table blocking my way and sprinted toward the door. As I neared it, I was met with deafening applause coming from the stage area. The entrance was already in chaos; the lights here were bright enough for me to see clear bloodstains on the floor.
I pointed at a waiter by the bar and shouted, "Which way did he go?"
Everyone suddenly stepped aside, leaving me alone in the middle of the hall. I saw terror and despair reflected in their eyes. It was then that I realized I was holding that broken chair leg in my raised hand, with blood dripping down it in steady drops. My light-colored shirt was completely soaked in blood.
I dropped the chair leg and rushed out the door, glancing down at the blood trail leading right outside while my hotel was to the left. There was no time to waste; I needed to save myself first before thinking clearly. With this bleeding situation, if I didn't stop it soon, I'd be finished.
When I burst into my hotel room, Fatty was sprawled on the sofa watching TV. Upon seeing my appearance, he jumped up with a start and immediately opened the first aid kit, pulling out Hemostatic Tape to bandage my chin wound. Back then, there was no Hemostatic Gel; Hemostatic Tape was the quickest way to stop bleeding.
I tore open my shirt while Fatty held my head still so I couldn't see my chest injury. "Let me see if I've been hurt near my heart," I shouted.
I felt Fatty's hand tremble slightly as he cursed under his breath before finally saying after a moment: "You're damn lucky; it hit bone but didn't pierce through."
Soon, Fatty had finished bandaging me up.
"Who did this? Where?" Fatty asked as he pulled a handgun from the top of the cabinet and tucked it into his waistband.
I was already feeling a bit dazed, but I knew I had to explain the situation clearly while I was still conscious. This was too unbelievable, and I needed Fatty to investigate. I told him the location of the tea house and the direction in which the man in black had fled. I specifically instructed him, "He’s not as badly hurt as I am, but he bled quite a bit. Just follow the blood trail, and you’ll find him. Make sure to catch him alive; I need to know why he tried to kill me."
I saw Fatty's eyes redden, and I worried he might lose control and do something irreversible. He snorted and rushed out of the room without looking back.
Seeing this scene reminded me of our school days; if anyone bullied me, as soon as Fatty found out, he would rush over to confront them. I felt that many of the fights he got into back then were for my sake.
My consciousness wavered between clarity and confusion. I shakily got up and poured myself a glass of saltwater, which made me feel a bit better. My mind remained muddled, unable to focus on anything. Strange images began to appear before my eyes—my parents, my first love in high school, Underground Passage—various memories surged uncontrollably until I drifted off into a deep sleep.
In my slumber, I heard a loud bang at the door. Groggily opening my eyes, I saw Fatty had returned. Struggling to sit up, I asked him, "Did you find that guy?"
"No," he replied. "The blood trail disappeared after two intersections. Something feels off; those two stabs were clearly meant to kill you, and I can’t leave you alone here."
"Oh," I mumbled, my consciousness starting to fade again as Fatty ’s figure and the room around me blurred together.
When I opened my eyes again, I found myself lying in a hospital room—a private one. It was the stern voice of a nurse that woke me up.
Fatty was extinguishing his cigarette while grinning at the nurse. "I’m used to it; couldn’t help myself. Nurse, your sense of responsibility is really reassuring. Once my buddy is discharged, I'll write you a commendation letter. By the way, do you have a boyfriend?"
Hearing this made me laugh so hard that I almost couldn't lie still.
However, the Nurse was not buying his act. She bluntly said to him, "I've never seen someone like you. Are you here to take care of patients or to harm them? If I catch you doing anything suspicious again, you're out of here. Stop with the smirking."
With a loud bang, the Nurse slammed the door behind her as she left. Fatty made a lewd gesture at her retreating figure and turned to me, saying, "Your constitution is really poor. You nearly kicked the bucket from just a little blood loss."
I shot him a glare; it wasn't just a little blood—my shirt was soaked through. But then I immediately thought about that assassin in black who had attacked me. Was it possible he was lying in a hospital bed as well?
Merry Christmas!
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