Chapter Seventy-Seven: The Assassination

I had only just climbed up when I saw Fatty Xu laboriously hauling himself up the rope behind me, looking for all the world like a bloated silkworm dangling from a thread, gasping for breath, and only managing to crawl up after a long struggle.

Not long after, Lord Dragon came up with the Kaleidoscope strapped to his back, and Old Fifth trailing behind, struggling to push the rear of the contraption. Both were so exhausted they were panting heavily, nearly fainting from the effort. The Kaleidoscope finally jumped down sluggishly from his back, allowing Lord Dragon to straighten up with palpable relief, rubbing his waist and letting out a long breath, as if he’d just surmounted three great mountains. Yet, when he looked at the Kaleidoscope beside him, it was hard to imagine what had tired him so much—he was sitting on the makeshift bridge, panting even harder than Lord Dragon.

Zhang the Grim, casting a sidelong glance at the Kaleidoscope and Lord Dragon, let out a cold snort, stubbed out his cigarette, and muttered icily, “Useless.” He examined the bridge again, then lit a fresh cigarette and clamped it between his lips. “Stop dawdling. We're crossing now.”

I looked at the temporary bridge ahead of me—it resembled a plank road. Segments of rebar crisscrossed between the stalactites, their arrangement reminiscent of the “Bird’s Nest” Olympic stadium. Though the support points were few, the bridge was fairly dense and the steel pipes relatively flat. As long as we were careful, there shouldn’t be a problem.

Without another word, Zhang the Grim led the way, stepping onto the steel pipes. Despite his leather boots, he moved with remarkable agility, nothing clumsy about him at all. His feet seemed to skim the pipes like a dragonfly touching water—barely landing before moving on, so light he almost appeared to float across the gap, as if his feet never touched the ground. His footwork was like the “Sweeping Sword” move from the Nine Swords of Dugu in The Smiling, Proud Wanderer. In less than half a minute, he had already reached the other side.

Seeing no issues, the rest of us relaxed and stepped onto the bridge, with me bringing up the rear.

I tested the steel pipe beneath my foot and found it sturdy. Steeling my nerves, I placed the center of my foot on the pipe and carefully walked forward, balancing step by step. Halfway across, my nerves eased completely—this wasn’t nearly as difficult as I’d feared.

The Man in the Black Cloak was ahead of me, nearly as fast as Zhang the Grim, the first to set foot on the opposite side. Soon, Mengya, Iron Crutch Liu, Lord Dragon, and the others all reached the far platform safely, leaving only me on the bridge.

Creak… creak…

Just as I let my guard down, danger began to creep toward me.

I walked on as if nothing was amiss. Beneath my feet, the muddy current was where the “Mud Eel Dragon” lurked. I glanced down at the massive creature, but it paid me no heed, continuing its aimless play in the water. I wished silently, Let’s not say goodbye—let’s just never meet again.

Crack!

Lost in thought, I was jolted by something completely unexpected. Somehow, the steel pipe behind me snapped, triggering a domino effect—pipe after pipe breaking in succession, rapidly approaching my position.

Glancing back, I was so startled I nearly fell. Damn it, why was I so unlucky? Everyone else crossed without incident, but now a chain reaction was coming right for me. I had no time to think—just bolted for the opposite bank. In my haste, I slipped, pitching forward and sprawling across the steel pipe. It dug hard into my chest, the pain nearly making me cough up blood.

Ignoring the pain, I scrambled to my feet and rushed forward. The far end was only three or four meters away now—I could see the hope of safety in the darkness.

Whoosh!

A cold gust came from nowhere. As I ran, pain suddenly lanced through my arm. I cried out, slipped again, and fell onto the bridge. Clutching my arm, I saw a small knife buried in my forearm. Stunned, I lost precious seconds—meanwhile, the steel pipes had snapped right up to my side. I had no strength left to escape. Closing my eyes, I thought, So this is how I die.

Swish!

Just as I was about to plunge into the water, the Man in the Black Cloak leapt to my side, caught me in his arms, pushed off the squishy body of the giant mud eel, and somersaulted us both back to safety.

“You all right?” The Man in the Black Cloak looked at me with concern, and Mengya hurried over.

I pointed to the dagger in my left forearm, sweat pouring down my brow as I gritted my teeth, unable to speak.

The Man in the Black Cloak sucked in a breath, glancing at Zhang the Grim standing behind. Zhang the Grim frowned deeply. “Looks like it’s one of our enemies, or maybe a rival.”

“Why would they target Qiu Tong specifically?”

Zhang the Grim snorted, taking a drag on his cigarette. “You think anyone else would have fallen for it?”

Though I was in agony, my mind was clear enough to think, Am I really that useless? If they’d ambushed Fatty Xu or the Kaleidoscope, wouldn’t they have ended up the same? I cut him off, “Quit joking—I'm in agony, and you all have time to make fun of me?”

The Man in the Black Cloak chuckled, then checked my wound. “Third Master, do you have bandages and antiseptic?”

Zhang the Grim nodded and signaled Old Fifth to fetch them from the equipment box and hand them over.

“Brace yourself,” the Man in the Black Cloak murmured, then gripped the hilt of the dagger, wrapped in bandages, and yanked it free. I nearly blacked out from the pain as blood gushed out.

The Man in the Black Cloak gave a small laugh. “And you call yourself a man? You’re worse than a woman.” With that, he poured the antiseptic straight onto my wound. The searing pain shot through my body, beads of sweat breaking out on my brow—I nearly fainted again. It hurt even more than having the dagger pulled out.

Without another word, the Man in the Black Cloak wrapped my wound tightly with a bandage, clearly trying to lessen the pain through pressure. It worked—within a few minutes, my arm was numb and the pain had dulled.

“Tied it this tight—are you trying to cripple my arm?”

He smiled. “It’s not the pressure, it’s Third Master Zhang’s antiseptic that did the trick.”

Realization dawned. I quickly thanked Zhang the Grim, but he hardly acknowledged me, puffing on his cigarette and not even glancing my way. Suddenly, his eyes landed on the dagger in the Man in the Black Cloak’s hand. He snatched it, staring intently at the gleaming blade.

I stood up and moved closer to examine it. The steel was razor-sharp, the hilt carved from redwood and wrapped in a layer of stingray leather for grip. Clearly a custom-made piece, not something off the shelf.

Looking from Zhang the Grim to the Man in the Black Cloak, I noticed both their faces had darkened. Zhang the Grim stared at the dagger in shock, while the Man in the Black Cloak, his features hidden by his hood, watched Zhang the Grim rather than the blade.

After a long silence, the Man in the Black Cloak sneered, “What’s wrong, Third Master?”

Zhang the Grim, snapped out of his reverie by the question, looked flustered. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, tucking the dagger into his boot.

Confused by Zhang the Grim’s odd reaction, I grew suspicious. He clearly knew who had ambushed me, but refused to tell the truth and even hid the dagger away, obviously not wanting us to see it. Could he actually be the traitor among us?