“Such a pity. Terminal stomach cancer, and he doesn’t even have anyone to look after him.”
“But he’s really handsome. Even movie stars can’t compare…”
“Hee-hee, has the little girl fallen in love?”
“Hahaha…”
The laughter of the nurses making their rounds gradually faded into the distance, and the ward once again sank into dead silence.
Chu Ci lay motionless on the bed with his eyes closed, as though he were already dead.
Most of his face was hidden beneath an oxygen mask. His cheeks had become so gaunt that they were hollowed in, and his complexion was so pale it was almost translucent. Yet traces of his refined and handsome features could still be seen between his brows and eyes.
He was simply waiting for time to run out.
The doctors had long ago declared that he would not survive more than three months. Yet he had stubbornly clung to life for half a year. Now his strength was nearly exhausted, like a lamp running out of oil. Perhaps tonight would be the end, or perhaps tomorrow night he would set out on the journey to another world. Death had long since raised its scythe over him, watching greedily for the moment to strike.
And yet he still clung to this last breath.
Who was he waiting for?
Could it be that, somewhere deep in his subconscious, there was still someone he had not yet had the chance to say goodbye to?
Chu Ci slowly opened his eyes. His beautiful pupils resembled a pool of stagnant water as he gazed quietly at the sky outside the window.
The rainy season was approaching. Thick black clouds blanketed the sky, making the air damp and oppressive.
The nurses chatting and laughing made their way down the corridor. Suddenly, a commotion erupted near the stairwell. Several men in camouflage uniforms, fully armed, charged up the stairs and headed straight toward the ward.
The nurses cried out in alarm. A few doctors tried futilely to stop them but failed. The man leading the group was exceptionally tall, his expression terrifyingly grim. He shoved the vice director aside and asked coldly:
“Where is Room 538?”
The vice director stammered nervously, “Y-you people… what unit are you from?”
The man merely sneered without answering.
The vice director was still panicking when a doctor hurried over and whispered something into his ear. Instantly, he shuddered. The way he looked at the man changed completely.
“Y-Young Master Han? R-really… We didn’t receive any notice from higher authorities, so for a moment… Room 538 is right here! Right here! I’ll take you there!”
As he spoke, he frantically signaled the doctors to take the nurses and leave.
In an instant, everyone unrelated cleared out of the corridor. Family members from nearby wards poked their heads out after hearing the disturbance, but one look at the imposing group told them trouble had arrived. Wisely, they withdrew and shut their doors tightly.
The vice director led Young Master Han to a tightly closed ward door, smiling nervously all the while.
“It’s right here.”
Han Yue stared at the door.
It was impossible to tell what expression was on his face.
Several seconds passed before he suddenly lifted his leg and kicked.
Bang!
The door slammed against the wall before rebounding. Han Yue planted his foot against it and kicked it open completely before strolling into the room.
The noise was loud enough to wake the dead.
On the hospital bed, Chu Ci slowly turned his head. He stared at the man without moving. After a long moment, a faint smile of indescribable meaning appeared on his lips.
“…Long time no see, Han Yue.”
He had become so weak that he was little more than skin and bones, almost unrecognizable from his former self.
And yet his voice was exactly the same as Han Yue remembered.
Not a trace of it had changed.
Han Yue stood beside the bed, looking down at him from above.
His gaze was so intense that it seemed he wanted to carve every detail of Chu Ci’s current wretched appearance into his memory.
“…Chu Ci, so you’ve finally come to this.”
The words were forced out one by one through Han Yue’s clenched teeth.
Only he himself knew that saying those few words had cost him every ounce of effort and nearly all his strength.
Chu Ci casually looked away.
“Everyone dies eventually. I’m merely taking one step ahead of you.”
“Everyone dies eventually…”
Han Yue repeated the words softly before letting out a cold laugh.
“Yes. That’s why I came specially to see you off.”
“Where’s the knife?”
One of his subordinates lowered his head and respectfully presented a military knife over twenty centimeters long with both hands.
Han Yue took it and tossed it onto Chu Ci’s bed.
“Look. I even brought your favorite knife. I’ve treated you pretty well, haven’t I?”
Chu Ci stared silently at the knife for a long time.
His gaze was gentle, almost like that of a young girl looking at her first love.
The knife was quite different from an ordinary bayonet. There was no handguard on the handle; instead, its surface was covered with rough textured granules to increase friction. The sheath likewise lacked straps or locking mechanisms. With a simple motion, the blade could be drawn instantly.
Chu Ci held the sheath in one hand and gripped the handle with the other.
He exerted nearly all the strength left in his body. The joints of his fingers turned bluish white from the effort.
Only when the handle pressed painfully into his palm did he slowly draw the blade from its sheath.
In that instant, a dazzling silver flash burst forth in the dim hospital room, illuminating it with a cold, snow-bright light.
The blade was slightly longer than a dagger, measuring about seventeen or eighteen centimeters. It was also much thicker, with the thickest part exceeding half a centimeter. The tip curved sharply, a design intended for high-speed close combat: the instant the knife was drawn, it could be used to slash and kill. Because the curve followed the natural direction of the wielder’s arm, its killing range was maximized.
Anyone knowledgeable about weapons would immediately recognize it as a combat knife forged by the master swordsmith Paul Chen for the U.S. Navy SEALs. Fewer than two hundred had ever been made, and only a handful had found their way into private hands. Owing to its extraordinary lethality, it had earned a title within the weapons industry:
“The Certain-Kill Blade.”
The knife was considered so blood-soaked and ill-omened that, once production was completed, the molds used to forge it were destroyed immediately. No new blades were ever made afterward. These remaining hundred-odd Certain-Kill Blades were priceless treasures among military knives.
Han Yue had personally witnessed the blade’s sharpness. A solid wooden board half an inch thick could be pierced with a casual thrust. A light sweep across a stack of paper could slice through dozens of sheets effortlessly.
Back when Chu Ci had killed people with it, he had once drawn the knife and slashed forward in a single motion, instantly shattering an adult man’s cervical vertebrae. The remaining force of the strike had then driven into another man’s chest, severed two ribs, and burst out through his spine.
The ruthlessness of that strike.
The brilliance and terrifying beauty of that strike.
Everyone who witnessed it had been so shocked that it felt as though they had seen a ghost in broad daylight.
“Chu Ci,” Han Yue said, “look. A public execution—one bullet in broad daylight—isn’t really a fitting end for you. After all, we spent a few years together. Whether it was real or fake, there was still something between us. So how about this? Today I’ll give you a chance to end things yourself. What do you think?”
Smiling faintly, Chu Ci braced one hand against the hospital bed and sat up with immense difficulty.
“It’s rare for you to decide to be a good person. How could I refuse your kindness?”
He took a deep breath and leaned back against the headboard.
He had become frighteningly thin. His face was so pale it made one’s heart ache, and even his lips were devoid of color. His hair seemed to have grown longer, the ends covering the tips of his ears, a few strands of fringe brushing his brow. Only his eyes remained unchanged from memory—cold and bright.
Han Yue stared at him coldly.
He had always thought that nothing remained in his heart but hatred. He had believed he wanted nothing more than to tear this man’s flesh from his bones, to chew him apart piece by piece and swallow him whole.
Yet now, seeing Chu Ci on the verge of death with his own eyes, Han Yue felt a pain that pierced through his heart and carved into his bones—a pain so unbearable that he almost wished to die alongside him.
“Han Yue,” Chu Ci asked with a smile, “I’m about to die. You should be happy. Why do you look like you’re about to cry?”
Han Yue closed his eyes.
When he opened them again, they were filled with mockery.
“If you die, plenty of people will be happy. How could anyone possibly shed a tear for you?”
“…That’s true.”
Chu Ci sighed and nodded.
“I wouldn’t want any of you to shed a tear for me either. It would only stain my road to reincarnation.”
In an instant, Han Yue clenched his fists so tightly that the veins on the backs of his hands bulged violently.
It was a terrifying sight.
Chu Ci gently stroked the blade.
His movements were extraordinarily tender, as if he were bidding farewell to an old friend of many years.
The faint warmth of his fingers fogged the steel with a thin layer of white mist before it vanished in an instant.
“Han Yue, do you remember the question you asked me when I left all those years ago?”
Han Yue stood there in silence.
Only after a long while did he nod.
“Yes. I asked whether, after all the bloodshed you’d caused in this life, there had ever been anyone you truly loved.”
Slowly, Chu Ci raised the knife and aimed the tip directly at his own heart.
Then he looked up at Han Yue and smiled.
“Now I can give you the answer.”
“My answer is—no.”
“Never.”
“In more than twenty years of living, I, Chu Ci, have never fallen in love with anyone.”
For a moment, Han Yue seemed to turn completely to stone.
He stared at Chu Ci without speaking.
Without moving.
Without the slightest reaction.
The smile on Chu Ci’s face deepened slightly.
It seemed to carry a trace of apology—something impossible to fully name or understand.
At that moment, he drew a quiet breath.
And then, with all the strength he had left—
He drove the knife toward his own heart.
Shhk!
Blood sprayed into the air.
That single instant seemed to stretch on forever.
The crimson red filling his vision was so vivid, so intensely bright, as though it carried a scorching heat capable of burning a person’s eyes.
The pain was unbearable.
So unbearable that it made one want to cry.
…
And yet not a single tear could fall.
Lhaozi’s Note: I want to read this a long time ago but theres no official or fan english translation, I waited and waited for someone to pick it up since 2022 but no one did it so I took the liberty to translate it and read and edit it while Im at it, Please only read this here in Shanghai Fantasy Website. Also a warning, this is really a Dog Blood novel, if you are okay with all the warning you’ve read in the summary go on continue reading and join me to read this story. Also pls buy the Official copy of the book WRITTEN IN MANDARIN CHINESE for there’s no Official english yet, buy the book if you can read chinese to support the Author. Thankyou!