“Zhou Ming, you’re slacking off again!” A playful voice snapped me out of my thoughts. Wang Yiyi, in a crisp white shirt and a neat ponytail, looked at me with a hint of annoyance in her eyes.
“I’m not! I’m just checking if these books are in order,” I replied with a cheeky grin.
“Yeah, right. You’re a guy—how can you always leave the cleaning to me?”
“Because you’re cute.”
“Just wait till the boss gets back—I’ll have him dock your pay.” Yiyi huffed and ran down the stairs.
I forgot to mention—this is my second identity. The mentor who brought me into this line of work always told me: being a hitman is just a job, like being a street cleaner. The work is dirtier, the pay is higher, but never let killing become your whole life. No matter how tough you are, everyone has limits. Kill nonstop, and you’ll end up a sociopath. It’s best to have another job you enjoy to balance out the stress.
So I work at a little shop called “Time’s Echo.” It’s only forty square meters, with fewer than ten customers a day.
The boss is a laid-back guy who disappears for months at a time. When he’s around, he just naps in a rattan chair.
Yiyi is the lovely, spirited clerk. We bicker all the time, but she never truly gets mad. She’s as pure as a white dress untouched by dust, adding a bit of charm to the slow days.
It’s like a CD: one side is blood-red, the other is sky-blue.
Left hand, Cupid; right hand, the Reaper. That’s my life.
“Zhou, my drain’s clogged again. Could you help me take a look?” Mrs. Liu from across the street called, leaning on her cane.
“Sure, I’ll be right there,” I replied with a smile.
“Zhou, my cat food delivery arrived—could you help me carry it upstairs?” The pregnant lady next door asked shyly.
“No problem.”
All morning, I ran errands for the neighbors. Finally, I collapsed into the boss’s favorite chair, panting. Yiyi brought me a glass of water, worry in her eyes as she nodded toward the stairs.
“They’re back again.”
A group of punks with wild haircuts were hanging out on the second floor, smoking and leering at Yiyi.
I forced a nervous look. “What should we do?”
“Call the boss? Or… the police?” Yiyi twisted her sleeves anxiously.
“I’ll go talk to them first.”
I went upstairs. The punks were classic street thugs, led by a guy with spiky red hair called “Rat Tail.” I put on a respectful face: “Rat Tail, what brings you here today?”
He ignored me, pointing downstairs at Yiyi. “Get lost. Tell that chick to come up and talk to me.”
“She’s new here. If you need anything, I can help you out instead,” I said, holding my breath and trying to look intimidated.
“Screw you!”
Rat Tail slapped me. He thought he was being tough, but to me, it was like watching a slow-motion replay. I resisted the urge to dodge, clutching my face and stepping back.
“What are you doing? Who hit him?” A short-haired policewoman rushed upstairs. Yiyi must have sensed trouble and gone to find a cop.
Rat Tail swallowed hard, sizing her up. She was in her twenties, fair-skinned and slender, with eyes as deep as the sea. But her face wore a stubborn, competitive look that didn’t quite fit her delicate features.
“Officer, what’s your number? Want to grab dinner tonight?” Rat Tail leered.
The other punks joined in, surrounding the officer.
“Did you hit him?” she asked, pointing at Rat Tail.
“Nice hands…” Rat Tail grabbed her wrist, trying to pull her close.
A second later, he screamed in pain as she twisted his arm and pinned him to the floor. The other punks hesitated, but she glared at them so fiercely that none dared move. She cuffed Rat Tail and turned to me. “You—come to the station and give a statement.”
Chapter 03
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