Take a good look—this man is called Xiaoshuai, an employee at a fish shop.
Rain, carried on the wind, poured through a window that wouldn’t shut all the way, drenching the desk in the room.
The March wind was still as cold as a winter’s day.
In this state, Xiaoshuai on the bed couldn’t get any peaceful sleep.
He opened his bloodshot eyes and sat up, then, braving the rain at the window, used tape to barely seal it shut.
“Only difference between this and sleeping on the street is a roof and a bed.
That damn old geezer.”
But the “damn old geezer” he spoke of—the owner of this fish shop—had shown enormous generosity just by being willing to set him up with his own room to sleep in.
What little hole-in-the-wall shop keeps a dedicated staff dormitory?
The wind seeped in through the gaps in the tape over the window, making a noise that raised the hairs on your neck.
With that ghost-wail of a sound, there was no way he’d sleep well, and the tape in his hands had already run out.
“I sell fish for you every single day.
Sure, I don’t sell it well, sure, I steal money all the time, sure, I accidentally smashed your TV, sure, I accidentally mixed the big fish and the little fish in the same tank—but you stick me in a dump like this?”
Before working here, he’d been an outlaw.
Not the kind that spent all day getting into fights, smashing things up, and robbing people, or endlessly matching wits with the cops—but he was no saint either.
He was a man from a kidnapping syndicate.
And of course not some tiny little kidnapping gang.
Their syndicate even had branch offices all over the world; their operations were extremely polished.
Though the habitable parts of the world had shrunk drastically by now, that “worldwide” designation still proved a company’s remarkable standing.
Many of the hostages they’d serviced with a kidnapping gave five-star reviews, because during the abduction they’d be treated to service fit for a god—not only staffed with professional chefs to see to their meals, but even attended by top-tier masseurs to work out the stress of being kidnapped.
If a hostage was a student still in school, they’d even hire a professional substitute teacher to supervise them in completing their studies during the abduction.
Many hostages, upon being rescued, would even go out of their way to sign up for a membership card, so that the next time a friend or relative got kidnapped, they could present the card to knock the ransom down to half price—very cost-effective indeed.
Of course, for those hostages who flatly refused to cooperate… he’d carried out a few ransom-killings by his own hand.
Walk the underworld long enough, and how could you never slip up?
He’d considered that he might get caught by the cops—had even considered that he might be gunned down on the spot while on the run from his crimes.
But what he’d never imagined was that the big celebrity he’d casually snatched up would turn out to be his own boss’s mistress.
Seeing such a gorgeous celebrity, he hadn’t been able to resist wicked thoughts… and had nearly gone through with killing the hostage.
Who knew you people played it so wild, running some secret underground romance.
Luckily, after doing this so long, he wasn’t one to be trifled with.
Before fleeing, he’d actually blundered his way into stealing a record of one of the branch office’s crimes.
Not only did he not hand it to the police, he made a bold decision—to blackmail his own boss.
And of course, after the blackmail he’d dump the crime record at the police station’s front door and run.
After all, given his identity, he couldn’t exactly meet with the police directly.
Why not just dump it at the station and skip town straightaway?
Because he needed the money.
For a man like him without a shred of skill or education, yet who wanted to strike it rich—what could he do after leaving the kidnapping company?
Honestly hide his name and identity and go live in some remote mountain village?
Or become an internet celebrity: “Hey everyone, I’m Xiaoshuai the kidnapper, and I’ve just joined Bilibili”?
Safe, sure, but if a man wants to get somewhere, he’s got to take a few risks.
The money he could touch right now wasn’t even enough for a plastic surgery job, because he’d spent most of it buying property—quite a lot of it.
Without cosmetic surgery to change his identity, in this world with its unreasonable espers, even if he stayed safe for a stretch the ending was still most likely death.
Barring surprises, the syndicate had by now already hired espers to track him down.
Living off rent while lying flat was his lifelong ideal, yet now all he could do was hole up in this crummy little room and endure the torment of wind and rain.
Tomorrow he’d relocate.
He reached under the bed and fished out a liquor bottle, meaning to warm himself up a little.
He was freezing to death right now, in no state to worry about whether the boss would chew him out tomorrow for reeking of alcohol.
But he found the bottle had long since gone empty, even though he only ever took the tiniest sip each time.
Looking out the window, he could see the supermarket downstairs still had its lights on—it was a twenty-four-hour store, after all.
He threw on a coat, put up an umbrella, and walked through the dim streets.
No cameras.
The night roads in a place like this were terribly unsafe—but for a desperado like him, what was there to be unsafe about?
It was precisely because of this that neither the police nor that crew from the kidnapping company could find him for the time being.
The streetlamps flickered on and off, looking terribly eerie.
The south side of Fanzui City was terribly run-down, and that was terrible.
The south side of Fanzui City was terribly run-down, and that was terrific.
At this hour, and in rain this heavy, there ought to have been no one on the road.
Yet as he passed a streetlamp, he saw a girl in a black trench coat, leaning back against the lamppost.
Though she held an umbrella, you could still make out several beads of water dripping down through her hair—a pitiful sight.
Even with her hair wet and plastered to her skin, it didn’t dock a single point from her fine looks.
Such a pretty little girl.
In the old days he wouldn’t have minded in the least clapping an ether-soaked towel over her mouth and carrying her off.
Even if her family had no money, she herself would still be a commodity of no small value.
Even now, fallen as low as he was, the moment he saw the girl he couldn’t help but have that same thought.
He paused before her for a while, torn over whether to just grab her—in a downpour with thunder rolling, no one would notice.
A runaway child?
There seemed to be plenty of those, in this world where anyone might become a mutant and then suffer the cold shoulder.
Surely this girl, who looked like a middle schooler, couldn’t be the one the company had sent to hunt him down?
If she were a mutant, though, it wasn’t impossible…
His train of thought only got this far.
His halted feet never managed to start forward again.
His mouth fell slightly open, and the umbrella slipped unconsciously from his hand.
He was like a fish about to drown, or a heart patient who’d forgotten to take his dichlorvos, his throat rasping out a hoarse “hgh, hgh.”
With fingernails clipped perfectly clean he clawed frantically at his chest, tearing several gashes even into the cotton-padded coat, and did not stop even as his nails bent back and oozed blood.
He toppled backward, his eyes rolling up, blood spilling from his mouth and nose, his mouth opening and closing as he turned in despair and terror to look at the stunningly beautiful girl.
The blood mixed into the pooled water, staining the already filthy mire beneath him a deeper shade, flowing without pause toward the storm drain not far off.
Right up to the last second his gaze still held focus, he never did figure out just what method this girl had used to kill him, or why it hurt so unbearably…
From beginning to end, Mi Xiaoliu had stayed leaning against the lamppost, never once laying a finger on him.
By her ear it was as though she heard Sasha’s sorrowful sigh—whether for the dead man on the ground, or for her, once again playing the executioner, she couldn’t say.
She turned and left the primary crime scene.
Lacking even a full set of common knowledge, she naturally couldn’t grasp how deeply the act of killing violated morality for an ordinary person.