Chapter 63: The Deeply Affectionate Little Mandarin Ducks

A gust of night wind swept through the pitch-black alley, carrying with it a chill so biting that it seemed to emanate from the corpse lying in a pool of blood. The cold pierced the bones of the few men in black who had just arrived, making them shudder involuntarily. As they followed the pungent scent of blood, an inexplicable fear welled up inside each of them.

“There’s a dead man over there!” Suddenly, the tall man at the front caught sight of the body of Cao Hai, his eyes widening as he pointed ahead and cried out. He hurried toward it, his face stiffening in terror as he stared at the corpse in the blood. Stepping back, he stammered, “It’s... it’s Brother Hai…”

The others who followed reacted much the same. Upon seeing Cao Hai’s body, each shivered, exchanging bewildered and fearful glances.

“Look! Someone’s over there!” One of them instinctively raised his crossbow, aiming it toward the darkness ahead, his caution betrayed by the trembling of his hands.

“Who are you? Show yourself!” The tall man at the front leveled his crossbow at his chest, aiming directly at Zhang Yurou, who was hidden in the shadows.

The gleam of blades flashed, blood arced through the air—two men in black fell almost simultaneously, their throats slit by a butcher’s knife. While their attention was fixed on Zhang Yurou, Ding Li, concealed against a nearby wall, sprang into action with ruthless precision, dispatching them without mercy.

A startled cry rang out. One of the tall man’s companions whirled around at the commotion behind him, only to be met by a cold glint—a swirl of blood mist erupted before his eyes, and through the dissipating haze, he caught a glimpse of an unusually stern face.

Almost at the same moment, the tall man spun around, his finger tightening on the trigger, but before the crossbow string could sound, the butcher’s knife struck his arm.

The sharp blade severed his arm in an instant, the hand still clutching the crossbow as it thudded to the ground, the bolt embedding itself in the dirt.

Ding Li stepped forward swiftly, reversing his grip to decapitate the tall man, then stooped without pause to pick up a crossbow and raced toward Zhang Yurou.

Seeing Zhang Yurou, her face pale and lips pressed tightly together, Ding Li felt a pang of guilt. She was, after all, a frail woman, and moments ago could have easily been killed by a stray bolt. Yet when Ding Li asked her to stay behind, she had agreed without hesitation, her resolve unwavering even as Ding Li reconsidered.

“Are you all right?” Ding Li hesitated, then crouched gently, concern etched on his face as he softly inquired after Zhang Yurou’s well-being.

“I’m fine…” Zhang Yurou’s voice was weak, her head faintly shaking as dizziness washed over her, her words trembling. The ordeal had been harrowing, especially when the man in black aimed the crossbow at her—her heart had leapt to her throat. Fortunately, Ding Li had not let her down.

Zhang Yurou’s gaze shifted to Ding Li’s wounded side. Though the wound had been hastily bandaged, fresh blood now soaked through. Relief replaced the pallor of her face, but her expression was full of concern as she spoke, her words brimming with care: “Your wound’s opened again. Let me re-bandage it.”

She struggled to rise, but the ordeal had drained her strength and she could not manage it. Ding Li quickly reached out, supporting her; his other arm swept under her legs, and as Zhang Yurou cooperated, her weak arms draped around his neck. Ding Li lifted her effortlessly.

“It’s nothing—a minor wound. We can’t stay here; let’s go.” Ding Li spoke quietly, avoiding even a glance at Zhang Yurou, perhaps embarrassed by their closeness.

The wound at his side was indeed severe, a piercing injury from a crossbow bolt, though it hadn’t struck bone. Yet Ding Li dared not linger, even after killing Cao Hai. He was certain that since Cao Hai had come, Cao You was not far behind.

As they fled, Ding Li’s breathing grew heavier, sweat beading across his brow in the moonlight, but his arms holding Zhang Yurou remained strong.

Despite Ding Li’s stoic endurance, Zhang Yurou, pressed close to his chest, could sense his inner strain. She looked up as a droplet of sweat slid from Ding Li’s chin onto her cheek, cold as ice.

Rather than feeling discomfort, Zhang Yurou became unusually gentle, using her sleeve to wipe his chin, her voice tender with concern: “Brother Li, are you all right…?”

“I’m fine!” Ding Li’s response was steadfast as ever. Years of military training had taught him to survive alone in dangerous, arduous conditions. Though he carried a ‘burden’ now, he regarded Zhang Yurou as his mission’s true charge. And with such a beautiful woman in his arms, Ding Li felt nothing but acceptance—compared to his usual solitary missions, this felt almost like a luxury.

He had no idea how far he’d run or how long, only that his legs moved mechanically, propelling him onward.

At last, faint voices reached his ears, and lights appeared ahead—not moonlight, but firelight, the glow of the city streets at night. Still, Ding Li didn’t know how much farther he had to run to escape this labyrinth.

Zhang Yurou had wiped Ding Li’s sweat from his brow countless times, the intervals growing shorter as his stamina waned. She wanted to ask him to put her down, but the words caught in her throat. Whether from her sprained ankle or a selfish wish to prolong their closeness, she let things be.

Finally, brighter firelight appeared ahead, the noise growing louder, but Ding Li stopped abruptly, wary eyes fixed ahead. At the corner, the glow intensified and disordered footsteps echoed.

Trouble! Ding Li realized he had not found an exit, but encountered adversaries. Glancing back at the endless darkness of the alley, he abandoned any thought of retreat. He gently set Zhang Yurou down by the wall, gripping his faithful butcher’s knife and staring grimly at the approaching firelight.

One torch, two, three…

Dozens of torches appeared, and nearly a hundred men—unlike the black-clad assassins before, these were bare-chested brutes. Their leader was built like a raging bull, towering nearly two meters, his chest covered in thick black hair, his face rough with a dense beard, and his forehead adorned with a ring of braids.

More striking was the tattoo—or totem—on his chest, illuminated by the firelight: a wild bear, mouth agape in a skyward roar, its fierce visage and sharp teeth seeming ready to tear apart anything in its way.

“Hey, kid! Who are you? Do you know where you are?” The tattooed brute glared at Ding Li, his gaze flickering to Zhang Yurou and instantly piercing her disguise. Surprise flashed in his eyes as he stepped forward, his voice booming like the bear on his chest: “You should know, on my turf—Lu Dachi’s territory—no one dares cause such trouble! Dozens dead and wounded! You’ve got guts!”

“It wasn’t me who started it!” Ding Li replied, steeling himself as he scrutinized the brute. He stepped forward, shielding Zhang Yurou behind him, and answered loudly: “We’re victims—someone tried to kill us, and I wasn’t about to wait around to die. If it were you, you’d have done the same!”

“Oh? Not bad, you’ve got some backbone!” Lu Dachi laughed, sizing up Ding Li anew, as if searching for something in him. Yet he found no flaw—Ding Li’s presence was impeccable, and Lu Dachi believed his story. He already knew the attackers were from the Cao Commerce Guild, but couldn’t fathom who would provoke them to such risk, committing murder in public.

Lu Dachi decided to probe the weaker link—Zhang Yurou behind Ding Li. Women disguised as men were not unheard of, but uncommon, and usually such women went places where men could venture freely, implying trouble and powerful backing.

Yet, no matter how hard he thought, Lu Dachi could not place Zhang Yurou’s face, nor did Ding Li seem familiar. Shaking his head in confusion, he fixed his gaze on Ding Li and demanded, “Regardless, I won’t tolerate such things on my turf! I’ll give you two choices: First, only one of you leaves—the other stays to face the consequences. You know who’s after you; I, Lu Dachi, won’t get involved!”

“If you keep your word, then I’ll stay.” Ding Li answered without hesitation, convinced that this was the best offer he’d get. The second option would surely be worse.

But Zhang Yurou would not accept it. She suddenly grabbed Ding Li, limping to his side, her chin raised as she shouted at Lu Dachi, “We go together! Tell us the second option!”

Ding Li frowned deeply, about to object, but Zhang Yurou pulled his arm firmly. Seeing her determined gaze, he held his tongue.

“Well, well! A pair of lovebirds!” Lu Dachi threw his head back in laughter. Zhang Yurou’s cheeks flushed crimson, even her ears turning red, as she lowered her bashful face.

Lu Dachi gradually ceased laughing, his expression growing serious as he addressed Ding Li: “Since your feelings are so deep, I can help you out. The second option is simple—give me a reason to let you both go.”