Chapter 147 — The Long-Awaited...

Yang Puqi seized the black-clad woman's short hair and gave it a fierce yank. She staggered and nearly dropped to the floor—yet though her dagger had fallen, she produced a second one from somewhere on her person. The grip on her hair was plainly painful, but the woman did not so much as cry out; with only the faintest grunt she slashed the second dagger at the right arm with which Yang Ce was holding her.

Yang Yongjin had no choice but to let go, his heart sinking a little. Perhaps his guess was right after all: this was a death soldier, rigorously brainwashed and trained.

Yang Ce felt the situation growing more tangled by the moment. He could count his enemies on the fingers of one hand. The Wang family was finished; the Ouyang clan of P Province he had wiped out himself; Wei Dekang had been blown to bits; Wei Jin had fled abroad. So who on earth was coming after him? And wait—he was in Wang Yanqiu's house. Could it be that Wang Yanqiu was the target?

Then what sort of force had Wang Yanqiu crossed? Judging by that business in Macau, she might well have made some deadly enemy—but the two who attacked her then were not in the same league as this black-clad woman.

Those two in Macau could at best be called assassins. The woman he faced today was a true death soldier, and whoever could train such a creature was no ordinary master.

Wang Yanqiu was only the head of a tiny band of assassins—how could she have made an enemy of someone like that?

"I'll ask you one more time: who sent you? Otherwise I won't be polite. Don't think I won't do anything just because you're a woman," Yang Ce said with a cold laugh. "My specialties are the Dragon-Catching Tit Grab and the Diamond Ball-Buster Kick."

To be continued.

1038. Death Soldier

Wang Yanqiu nearly broke into a sweat at Yang Juehuan's words. Only Yang Ce could say something so brazenly shameless. Then again, on reflection it was hardly surprising—he had used exactly that kind of crude move on her back when they fought.

The woman seemed not to have heard at all. She kept stabbing at Yang Ce with the dagger, as though she would never stop until she got what she wanted.

Yang Ce's head began to ache. With a person like this, neither soft nor hard tactics worked—she was impervious to reason. "Don't force me to get rough!"

The black-clad woman's face remained blank as she pressed her attack. At his wit's end, Yang Ce shot out both hands and lunged at her breasts, seizing them squarely and squeezing hard.

Yet the black-clad woman seemed unaware of it, showing no sign that anything was amiss—as though what Yang Ce had grabbed was not her breast but some other part of her body, just like her hair a moment before.

"Are you going to talk?" Yang Ce tightened his grip. Mm, the feel of it wasn't bad, actually—but what a pity. "All right, that's enough. Stop taking advantage of the situation." Wang Yanqiu could hardly stand to watch. This Yang Ce really was a bit too shameless.

"Heh heh." Yang Puqi gave a dry laugh and let go. He was truly speechless. This woman—no, she could hardly be called a woman anymore. She was just a machine.

Yang Ce did his utmost to distract the woman in black, hoping to induce a state of mental haze and tension in her so that his ability could slip in through the cracks.

Unfortunately, no matter what lewd tricks he resorted to, the woman responded unhurriedly and with perfect composure.

"Damn it," Yang Ce cursed under his breath, then bellowed, "Vajra Groin-Sweeping Kick!"

This was Yang Ce's specialty, though it was the first time he had used it on a woman. Yang Lanxu thought to himself: I'll kick your little sister to bursting, and see if you're still this calm.

With a "bang," Yang Ce's kick landed square on the black-clad woman's crotch. Her face instantly flushed bright red—not from embarrassment, but because it truly hurt, hurt so much she was in agony.

The black-clad woman's body bounced once off the ground with Yang Juehuan's kick, and one could well imagine the force behind it.

Though the black-clad woman was a deathsworn trained from birth, no different from a robot, that did not mean she was like a robot and felt no pain. The reason was simple: she was human, flesh and blood. She might have no thoughts of her own, but she still had sensation.

The black-clad woman's face turned the color of earth. She clutched at her crotch and crouched down, beads of sweat the size of peas pattering to the ground, teeth clenched, breath rasping—yet there was no tension in her eyes, no hatred. They were as placid as before, as unruffled as the surface of a lake.

Yang Ce cursed inwardly. What the hell was this? He had kicked her right in the little sister, and she was still this composed. She really was a piece of work.

As for the current relationship between Yang Ce and Wang Yanqiu, though it could not have been closer, Yang Shuoxuan did not want her to know everything about him—such as the acupressure technique Fang Tian had taught him, a secret art not passed to outsiders.

But from the look of things now, unless this woman was made to feel some pain beyond the ordinary, she would never say anything useful.

Wang Yanqiu, watching from behind Yang Juehuan, was secretly alarmed. This Yang Ce really was ferocious. Thank goodness the last time he fought her he had only used that one move, "Dragon Claw Grabs the Breast." If he had used this "Vajra Groin-Sweeping Kick," her own little sister would have been kicked to pieces. Just thinking about it made Wang Yanqiu break out in a sweat on her forehead.

This Yang Ce was not merely shameless—he had reached the absolute pinnacle of shamelessness.

Yang Ce gave the black-clad woman a faint smile. He did not want to waste words anymore; only action would do. Otherwise there was no hope of getting a single scrap of secret out of her.

Lightly he struck several acupoints on her body—but he did it with his back to Wang Yanqiu, his own body blocking her line of sight. And even if Wang Yanqiu did notice, Yang Shuoxuan had already prepared his explanation: he had used poison.

The black-clad woman reacted, writhing on the ground like a water snake. From her expression alone one could tell her suffering was beyond imagining, yet unfortunately—though her face was contorted with pain, her eyes remained vacant, and she did not beg for mercy, did not speak even a single extra word.

Yang Ce sighed softly. This was the first time he had encountered an opponent like this. His ability was useless, acupressure was useless—she was nothing but a robot. He was utterly helpless against her.

"What's going on?" Seeing the black-clad woman struggling on the ground, Wang Yanqiu sensed something was off and asked Yang Ce.

"This one is a trained deathsworn. She has no thoughts or will of her own—only obedience to her master's orders." Yang Ce shook his head. "It seems it's all but impossible to get any clue out of her."

Yang Ce reached out and released the black-clad woman's acupoints. "You can go."

The reason Yang Ce let her go was to track her with his ability and see where she went.

But who could have foreseen that the instant Yang Ce released her acupoints, the black-clad woman slammed her head violently against the floor. With a tremendous crash, her skull burst and she was dead.

Yang Ce cursed inwardly at his bad luck. What kind of mess was this? Fortunately, he and Wang Yanqiu were both killers and had no great taboo about the dead. Had it been any other girl, she probably would not have dared go back into that house.

Wang Yanqiu was dumbstruck. She had never encountered a scene like this. Today she had not only laid eyes on a legendary deathsworn, but the deathsworn had committed suicide right in front of her.

"Just what kind of person is Yang Cenbin, and why would she come here?" Though Wang Yanqiu was a killer herself, when faced with the unknown, her instinct was to find something to lean on.