Jiang Zhongxue’s shadow swept through the dense forest like a pitch-black sparrowhawk, wings spread, swiftly and nimbly maneuvering through the trees.
The rustling sound of her clothes brushing against branches and thorns abruptly ceased. Qing Zhu knew she couldn’t escape, so she simply stood still, facing forward with a furrowed brow and a defensive posture, watching Jiang Zhongxue leap down from a tree ahead.
She was a Hawk-Eye, not an actual hawk, she couldn’t fly away. Apart from her exceptional eyes, she had no other outstanding qualities.
According to the rules of the trade, as a Hawk-Eye released by her employer, her only role was to serve as the eyes for others. Everything else was carried out according to her employer’s instructions. Others could do business with her or simply ignore her. She would not harm anyone, and no one was allowed to break the rules by harming her.
Each had their own needs and pursuits, this was the rule of the Hawk-Eyes. If anyone in the industry violated this unspoken agreement, they could no longer seek assistance from any Hawk-Eye.
So Qing Zhu stood her ground openly, her expression wary as she stared at Jiang Zhongxue ahead.
The moon had risen into the sky, its silver light bright and clear, spreading through the forest like a hazy mist. Jiang Zhongxue looked at her with a cold expression, neither angry nor relieved, and asked calmly, “What did you see?”
Qing Zhu thought to herself that if Jiang Zhongxue had asked what she was doing here, she would have insisted she was just wandering around and hadn’t seen anything. But Jiang Zhongxue’s confident tone suggested she already knew Qing Zhu had been tailing her for some time.
Qing Zhu hesitated, worried that the gloomy-faced Jiang Zhongxue might pose a threat. But then she reminded herself that she was a Hawk-Eye, even if Jiang Zhongxue knew she had been tracking her, she wouldn’t dare to silence her.
With this in mind, she faced Jiang Zhongxue boldly, reassured herself inwardly, and raised her head to say, “I didn’t see or hear anything.”
Jiang Zhongxue stared at her intently, as if stirred by memories, and her brow furrowed slightly. Suddenly, she took a step forward.
Qing Zhu’s heart raced, pounding in her chest like a frantic drumbeat, heavy and suffocating.
Under the moonlight, Jiang Zhongxue, her expression icy, stepped closer with each footfall seeming to land on Qing Zhu’s heart, weighing her down until she could barely speak.
Jiang Zhongxue’s furrowed brow relaxed slightly as she approached, stopping just a step away. She looked down at Qing Zhu, who was slightly shorter, and asked in a soft, low voice, “Do you have a mother who was also a Hawk-Eye?”
Qing Zhu looked up at Jiang Zhongxue, her mind clouded with confusion.
Jiang Zhongxue stood with her back to the moonlight, her face calm and composed, even serene.
Her mother?
Qing Zhu’s mother, much like Qing Zhu herself, had been a Hawk-Eye trained by the Chen family for many years. During a mission in the last century, after seeing something she shouldn’t have, she had gouged out her own eyes.
Qing Zhu’s mother was in her early twenties at that time, bright and sharp-witted. The Chen family had invested years in grooming her, never expecting she would one day deliberately blind herself. From then on, she lost her value to the Chen family and was cast aside, no longer permitted to set foot in their estate.
Nevertheless, her mother had saved a considerable sum of money. She later married and lived a comfortable life. After giving birth to Qing Zhu, the Chen family caught wind of the news and took the young child away, molding her into the successor, the new “Eagle Eye.”
Qing Zhu was quite satisfied with her current life. As the Chen family’s Eagle Eye, she enjoyed luxuries and riches beyond the reach of ordinary people.
To this day, Qing Zhu couldn’t understand her mother’s choices. Back then, her mother’s future had seemed brilliant, the life of an Eagle Eye was lavish and refined, with the Chen family sparing no expense on her. While serving the Chens, she could have enjoyed endless wealth and comfort. Yet not only did her mother blind herself and leave the family, she even urged Qing Zhu to do the same and break free from their control.
But in the end, her mother was no match for the Chen family. Qing Zhu severed ties with her, pledged allegiance to the Chen household, and was granted the family surname by its patriarch.
To bear the name Chen symbolized supreme glory and boundless wealth. Her codename was Qing Zhu, the same “Qing Zhu” as in the phrase “too numerous to record on all the bamboo slips.”
Yet her mother had renounced her role as Eagle Eye nearly thirty years ago. How could Jiang Zhongxue possibly know her?
Jiang Zhongxue stood before her. The moon had, at some point, hidden behind dark clouds. In the deepening gloom, her voice cut through like an icy wind, carrying shards of frozen threat: “Blind yourself, and I will spare you.”
***
Kunlun Mountains, 1987.
Snow fell thick and heavy.
Jiang Zhongxue stood silently before the woman lying eternally still on the ground.
Ahead, beneath the fissure of the canyon, corpses piled like mountains, bleached bones stark against the whiteness. Snowflakes swirled before her, and from the unfathomable abyss below came the mournful wail of a chilling wind.
She didn’t know how long she had been standing there.
Someone stood nearby, a woman holding a black umbrella. Her skin was dark, her features wild, and her eyes sharp as an eagle’s. Dressed in a padded coat, she watched Jiang Zhongxue, who wore only a thin shirt, standing silently in the cold.
Snowflakes danced around Jiang Zhongxue’s form. As the bitter wind swept past, she seemed utterly numb to the chill.
Time stretched, perhaps hours, perhaps a day, perhaps forever.
Or maybe only an instant.
Jiang Zhongxue knelt, lifting the woman who had become an ice sculpture. Cradled in her arms, the woman looked as though she were merely asleep, her long lashes casting soft shadows, a single tear frozen at the corner of her eye, a glistening pearl preserved by the Kunlun snowscape.
Her eyelids were still tinged pink, as if she had been weeping before death. The girl, now an ice statue, wore a sorrowful expression, her fingers slightly curled as though reaching for something.
She had been reaching for Jiang Zhongxue’s hand.
Jiang Zhongxue reached out, gently, tenderly enclosing those curled fingers, and whispered, “Changsheng, how I wish I could stay with you here, in these snowy peaks, and become one with the falling snow.”
But I cannot.
Death is a release that can never be; immortality is a salvation forever out of reach.
Jiang Zhongxue pressed her cheek against the other’s. So this is the temperature of a heart that has died.
Only when Changsheng died again did her own heart beat, each moment a piercing, unmistakable, and excruciating pain.
Jiang Zhongxue lifted her and walked step by step toward the abyss.
Below the abyss, howling gales roared like the agonized wails of vengeful spirits trapped in purgatory, crying out for salvation they would never receive.
Behind them, a woman holding a black umbrella stood silently in place.
Jiang Zhongxue gently pressed his cheek against hers. The slumbering girl seemed merely asleep, her face even carrying a faint trace of sorrow.
“I’ll go with you, Changsheng. We’ll never part.”
The woman behind them watched in silence as Jiang Zhongxue slowly approached the abyss, holding the deceased girl in his arms. He turned his head and whispered softly to her, “We’ll meet again in thirty years.”
***
How fate toys with mortals.
Qing Zhu stared at her, hearing those words, and instinctively responded in a low, furious voice, “Gouge out my own eyes? Hah, I can see you’re part of the underworld too. Don’t you know the rules of the Eagle’s Eye?”
Jiang Zhongxue looked at her calmly and said, “As you wish. If you don’t want to blind yourself, then you’ll have to pay another price.”
Qing Zhu’s heart tightened. The person before her seemed utterly unpredictable. What if she really intended to take action? What if she truly disregarded the Eagle’s Eye’s rules?
Qing Zhu grew increasingly agitated. Jiang Zhongxue merely watched her, showing no sign of making a move. Facing Qing Zhu, she spoke indifferently, as if pitying her: “Your life or your eyes. You can only choose one.”
At this, Qing Zhu was utterly terrified.
She stood frozen in place for a long moment, her legs nearly cramping. After all, she lived in modern society. Though she practiced traditions passed down for millennia, she was still an ordinary young woman who had never witnessed true brutality. The mere mention of losing her life left her completely stunned.
The Eagle’s Eye had always been a safe organization. Those in this circle rarely, if ever, risked their lives for information. Who would have thought someone would dare break the rules and target the Eagle’s Eye?
Not a single soul was in sight. Qing Zhu finally understood what it meant to cry out to heaven and earth with no one to answer. The moon emerged halfway from behind the clouds, its pure light spilling across the land.
Across from her, Jiang Zhongxue’s expression grew increasingly somber.
Gritting her teeth, Qing Zhu, tears welling in her eyes, nearly dropped to her knees. She stared at Jiang Zhongxue, pleading in utter despair, “I really didn’t see anything, I didn’t hear anything!”
Jiang Zhongxue looked at her, unmoved, her expression darkening further. “Your life, or your eyes?”