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Chapter 3: Home

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“Little Feishang, show me a sword dance.”

The unlucky employer made lots of strange requests every day. The assassin didn’t bother to open his eyes, “I’m an assassin, not a street performer, and don’t call me Little Feishuang, just where am I little?”

 

 

That’s right, the assassin actually had a name. His name is Zhao Feishuang, it was conveniently given by the assassin’s mentor in the past, his surname too.

After the unlucky employer knew his name, he kept throwing it around, yelling “little Feishuang, little Feishuang.” He and little had nothing to do with each other, alright! 

As an assassin, he was slender. But since he practiced martial art, his body was covered in thin layers of well-proportion and smooth muscles, beautiful just like the sharp knife in his hand.

 

His face was quite slim. If Zhao Huai could make one comment on this, he would definitely say something like…

“Ten taels.” Zhao Huai ate their pear assassin pelt and spoke in a lazy voice.

The assassin stretched his hand out cautiously. After all, it wasn’t like this unlucky employer hadn’t turned around and taken back his words in a blink of an eye before. Only when he felt the weight of silvers and stuffed them into his sleeves, they would be safe.

 

We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.

The assassin actually didn’t know any sword dance. He was an assassin. What he learned were skills to kill people, simple, clean, and deathly, one stroke one life.

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The unlucky employer was satisfied.

 

The assassin performed another two moves then put his knife away, “My martial skill wasn’t meant to show to outsiders, but now I have shown it to you, don’t you have any rewards?” 

“No.” Zhao Huai coldly rejected, conveniently picked up an apple and handed it over, “Here’s your reward.”

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“Cheapskate.” The assassin mumbled as he took the apple and started nibbling it.

“Just swinging your arms and legs around for a bit already net you ten taels, and you still dared call me a cheapskate?” Zhao Huai threw another apple at him and curiously asked, “What are you saving so much money for?”

“To get married,” the assassin answered with pieces of apple in his mouth, “I heard that getting married is expensive.” 

Just don’t know until when he would save enough to get a wife, the assassin thought sadly.

Zhao Huai quietly took back the money pouch he just got out, and sourly said, “Your next month’s salary is cut.”

“Why?” The assassin’s eyes widened, almost choked on an apple.

“Employer assigned mission, you didn’t seriously complete it and even asked for rewards.” Zhao Huai hmphed coldly. 

“Don’t.” The assassin threw the apple core away, “How about I show you one more time?”

“I don’t want to see it anymore.” The unlucky employer was so hard to please.

 

But for the next month’s salary, the assassin decided to throw away his dignity, “How about I give a massage?”

The unlucky employer seemed to waver and replied vaguely, “Then, let’s see your performance.” 

The assassin could only come over and massage his shoulder, he felt that he was very much like a hard-working old horse, diligently suffering in silence.

“Marrying a wife is a hassle.” Zhao Huai spoke aimlessly, “You must have a house, jewels, silk, and brocade, then you have to coax and spoil the person, can never wrong them one bit.”

Of course, many good women still existed in this world. The little assassin was so good, so beautiful. If he wanted to marry a wife, even without a house, no fame, no name, no jewels, and no brocade, many girls would still be willing to marry him. However, Zhao Huai didn’t intend to say this part.

“I know, that’s why I’m trying to save up.” The assassin said without hesitation. 

Truthfully, he didn’t know even what kind of girl he liked. All he wanted was a home.

He started receiving training at a young age. If he didn’t practice day and night, he wouldn’t be allowed to eat. When he got sick and injured, he wasn’t given any word of comfort or care, only a bowl of black bitter medicine was stuffed in his hand, and even that wasn’t available sometimes.

If he had a home, when he got sick or injured, even if he still had to drink a bowl of black bitter medicine, he might get a piece of sweet dried fruit or a gentle kiss after. Thinking up to this point, the assassin’s eyes unconsciously revealed a little longing.

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