Spring Academy was a high-end residential community by the lake, shrouded in silence after nightfall.
Inside the room, the silence was so profound that a pin drop could be heard.
A shadow erged soundlessly from the entryway.
Black eyes calmly and vigilantly surveyed every inch of the surroundings.
A hand instinctively rested on the lower back, a habit honed over years to ensure quick access to a weapon if danger arose.
On the shoe rack beneath the entryway cabinet sat a pair of white Mary Jane shoes; the pearl accents on their straps glead softly under the light, evoking boundless imagination.
The entryway faced the dining room, where gentle light spilled downward. A plate of fruit adorned the table, and a landscape painting hung on the opposite wall.
The decor was simple yet cozy, exuding a strong familial warmth.
Turning away from the entryway and heading south to the dining room led directly to the living room.
At this mont, shadows leisurely spread across the floor of the dining room, and the spacious living room gradually revealed itself in the watchful black eyes.
The southern side of the living room featured a panoramic floor-to-ceiling window. In front of it was a row of flower stands brimming with greenery: thriving pothos, noble clivias bearing blue blossoms perched elegantly on their leaves, still-closed Christmas cacti, and bell-shaped begonia flowers bursting across their branches.
It was evident how ticulously the owner cared for these plants, ensuring color flourished even in the cold of winter.
Yet no flower could match the ethereal beauty standing before the flower stand.
The girl wore loose, casual attire, her braided hair revealing a smooth and elegant neck. The soft light from the balcony wrapped her in a tender glow.
She held a watering can, her head slightly bowed as she leisurely watered the plants.
The nearby washing machine emitted faint noises as clothes swirled within. Besides this, the world remained utterly silent.
She seed entirely oblivious to the shadow closing in behind her.
Danger lood near, yet she humd a song with relaxed ease. If you listened carefully, it was the ballad of the Gallows.
A haunting lody paired with eerie lyrics, its strange cadence heightening the palpable sense of terror.
The girl appeared unaffected, imrsed in her own world as she lovingly tended to each flower with water that breathed life.
Yet, her tenderness only underscored the unnerving nature of her song.
The man furrowed his brow, suppressing the unease stirring within him. He retrieved a thread-thin silver wire, pulling it taut between his hands.
The wire, thin yet resilient, glead chillingly under the light, transford in his hands into an unyielding and lethal weapon.
All it would take was looping the wire around the girl’s neck and a swift yank—the spark of life extinguished with such delicate finality.
With her death, the task assigned by the young mistress would be complete.
He had carried out countless missions like this over the years, and this one was no exception.
Yet, as he gazed upon the tender silhouette of the girl bathed in light, his heart—hardened and steeled through rigorous conditioning—betrayed him, unexpectedly softening.
This was wrong.
The girl had done nothing to deserve this fate; on the contrary, she was beautiful, intelligent, talented, kind, and gentle.
She deserved to live brightly, not to die silently and humiliated.
Of all the scenery in the world, she was the most exquisite. If she were to die here and now, the world itself would seem dimr and less vibrant.
The re thought startled him.
The first rule upon joining the Azure Dragon Army was absolute, unconditional loyalty.
Now, he found himself wavering in his devotion to the young mistress.
Reason briefly reasserted itself.
He could not defy the young mistress’s orders; such a betrayal was unthinkable.
In the Yu family, the consequences for traitors were unspeakably grueso.
His gaze hardened in an instant.
His fingers wound the silver wire tighter and tighter.
The girl’s song continued—gentle and ethereal—unconsciously pulling forth fragnts of long-buried mories.
In an instant of tenderness, his tension on the silver wire slackened.
His arm dropped helplessly to his side.
"When an assassin shows rcy, his death isn’t far behind."
A calm, gentle voice suddenly pierced the quiet.
The man snapped his head up, instinctively pulling the wire taut between his fingers, his sharp, alert gaze fixating on the composed and slender figure before him.
The girl set down the watering can, picked up a nearby towel, and ticulously wiped her hands, as though entirely unaware of the danger lurking behind her.
Her neck was long and delicate, its texture smooth as white jade under the lamp’s glow, naturally exposed, inviting the man to slip the wire around it effortlessly—a vibrant life reduced to lifeless flesh in an instant.
The silver wire twisted and coiled around his fingers, mirroring his conflicted and uncertain inner state.
At last, the girl raised her head. In the mirrored reflection of the floor-to-ceiling window, the man’s towering figure lood behind her.
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