* * *
Betrayal meant death.
It was a rule etched into her very bones—yet now, it struck her with new weight.
Perhaps because this time, the one being hunted by that rule… was Yeo Il herself.
“Yeo Il.”
And yet, somehow… betrayal had always felt like a destiny she was born into.
Especially at moments like this.
“Yeo Il… Yeo Il…”
The sharp scent of blood hung in the air.
It wasn’t far. Yeo Il looked down at her left arm, now in tatters from being pursued for so long.
I never expected escape to be easy.
And as expected, it was exhausting.
How could it not be? Her pursuers were from Salmak, assassins infamous for chasing names on their kill list to the ends of hell to see them erased.
And she had once been one of them.
What kind of place was Salmak, the group she had belonged to for so many years?
A ruthless assassination force that plunged the central plains into unprecedented chaos, earning the enmity of all martial sects.
A sect whose very name stank of blood and death. A path soaked in slaughter.
“I told you over and over, didn’t I?”
And Yeo Il—always, without exception—had stood at the forefront of that bloody road.
“Your big brother cherishes you deeply.”
Her nickname, her infamy, her crimes— they made countless people tremble, yet Yeo Il had never once felt guilty.
She had been trained that way. A killing doll. It was only natural.
“A child as valuable as you… is rare in this entire world.”
A faint violet gleam pierced the murky darkness, staring straight at Yeo Il.
The man facing her stood alone—but Yeo Il knew better.
She knew that if she lifted a finger, other Salmak assassins, who had given their lives to the sect just as she had, would rain down like blades from the sky.
The man spoke kindly with a gentle smile on his face, as if offering mercy.
“Come back now, and I’ll forgive your crimes.”
“…”
“You know me. I never go back on my word.”
“…”
“Everyone makes mistakes. Even Prince Zhaoyang of Qin forgave Yeyang. Why wouldn’t I forgive you for one small lapse?”
He held out his hand.
A hand even paler than his white robe extended into the moonlight. A smile, like something out of a dream, bloomed on his pale face.
“Take my hand, Yeo Il… Let’s go back together, as if nothing ever happened. No one will dare speak of your sins.”
To forgive a traitor—
It was a ludicrous claim, yet the man had the power to make it real.
But what did even matter?
Yeo Il spat in his hand.
“Go to hell.”
And without a second glance, she turned and fled, her lightness skill launching her into the night.
In the blink of an eye, she had put dozens of paces between them.
Behind her, the man let out a peal of delighted laughter.
“Yes… that’s the Yeo Il I know!”
Then the order fell.
“Take her alive.”
As she sensed the ghost-like figures beginning to close in behind her, Yeo Il found herself struck by an unexpected question.
Why am I running?
Wouldn’t it be easier to just die?
She had no attachment to life.
Truthfully, if anyone belonged in hell, it was her.
Her life had already been hell—what difference would it make to go on living in another?
And yet here she was, running for her life.
Probably because of that jade ring.
[Take this. It’s all I have to give.]
Years ago—
In that hell where over a hundred boys and girls had been kidnapped for reasons they never learned…
One child had entrusted her with a jade ring and disappeared.
[If you ever meet my parents, give them this ring. Tell them I lived peacefully… happily, with no pain.]
The memory was still vivid.
The strange adults who beat and tortured them.
The day they were first ordered to kill in order to survive.
The meals of venom-fed centipedes.
The mountain of corpses, growing by the day…
[So you’re the ones who survived. Welcome to Salmak.]
Before she even came of age, Yeo Il had lived as a tool of Salmak.
She followed the kill orders given from above, erasing name after name.
She had been obedient.
An excellent assassin. A useful tool.
Until she realized something inside her had gone terribly wrong.
“Hahaha… Even if your lightness skill is second to none, there are assassins spread through this region like a net. Do you really think you can escape?”
The man’s voice rang out in the distance.
And he was right. Before, the presence had only come from behind, but now, she could feel them closing in from all directions.
Yeo Il pushed harder, and for now, no one dared keep up.
But she knew—it wouldn’t last.
Should I just wipe them all out?
But strangely, she didn’t feel like drawing her sword.
So she ran.
And ran.
And ran.
How long had it been?
The sun rose.
Then set.
And rose again.
One day? Two? Four?
At last, her legs gave out. She could no longer move.
Soaked in sweat and even barely able to crawl, Yeo Il collapsed.
She couldn’t stop here.
They’ll find me soon…
But beyond that, there was no more thought.
She fumbled for the jade ring pressed to her chest, but even that was too much.
She really was dying.
She was dying.
Finally—it was over.
Yeo Il closed her eyes and accepted death.
Some time later—
A shadow fell across her collapsed body.
The figure approached without a trace.
A bent old man peered down at her with his face scrunched in displeasure.
“Tch. What kind of cursed rag is lying around out here?”
He clicked his tongue for a long while, then hoisted her limp body like a sack and began walking away.
“Tch, tch. So much karma. Guess I’ve picked up another stray I didn’t plan for…”
Karma, that’s all it is.
His grumbling voice faded into the silent mountains.
Strangely, where the old man had passed—there wasn’t a single footprint. Not even a speck of dust.
They lived together for four years.
As if rescuing Yeo Il weren’t enough, within a year, the old man had taken in the Seol siblings, and the year after that, a problem child.
In the ruined old house deep in Xinjiang, the five of them lived together.
If that time was long, it was also short.
After the old man passed—
Leaving behind what was practically a will in the form of an old scroll, Yeo Il and Seol Yeong descended the mountain together.
That was only six months ago.
Has it really been that long?
In the rattling carriage, Yeo Il unrolled the scroll with one end torn and tattered.
On the faded painting of a waterfall, bold black ink stood out sharply—rows of cluttered handwriting.
She skimmed the long list and picked a number.
Will #29.
If she remembered correctly, it was the most pointless of all the old man’s final wishes.
- You should try something sweet at least once. After much thought, I’ve decided it should be tanghulu. But it must be from Tianzhushan in Anhui Province.
To leave something like this in a will…
More than the content itself, Yeo Il clicked her tongue at the old man’s atrocious handwriting and rolled the scroll back up.
How many years has it been since I last came to Tianzhushan?
When she was being hunted by Salmak and every day could’ve been her last, she never imagined she’d travel all the way to Anhui…
Just for a stick of tanghulu.
