89: Chapter 89 Shadow Assassin? No, Dormitory Cleaner

The room had indeed cooled down, but it had absolutely nothing to do with Killing Intent.

It was purely because Ying's toe looked like a popsicle.

Ying slumped on the floor, clutching his left foot which had swollen up like a steamed bun, tears rolling down his Face.

In his life, he had been stabbed, played with fire, and even taken a bite out of high-voltage wires, but he could guarantee on his own head that none of those experiences were as intense as this.

The pain was piercing, shooting straight to the back of his head, as if ten thousand ants were holding a rave party with mini electric drills on his nerve endings.

"Um..."

Gu Fan sat cross-legged on the bed, holding a thermos he had swiped from Xiao Fan's bedside table. He blew away the steam and looked at the person on the floor with a Face full of concern.

"Do you want to cry a bit louder? Holding it in might hurt you."

Ying snapped his head up, his bloodshot eyes fixed intently on Gu Fan's Face.

Humiliation.

Pure humiliation.

He was "Ying," the ace of the Chain Abyss organization, an S-rank killer, not some clumsy thief who broke into the wrong room in the middle of the night and wrecked his own toe.

"Wu... (Kill me!)"

Ying wanted to roar those dramatic words, but his mouth was sealed tight by some sinister rule, and he could only squeeze out a sound like someone suffering from constipation.

Gu Fan sighed and shook his head, his expression looking exactly like he was watching a disobedient brat.

"Look at you, what's the rush? Let's settle the bill."

He put down the cup, pulled out a calculator from who-knows-where, and his fingers tapped away on it with a clicking sound.

"First, illegal entry. According to the Tianqiong City Public Security Regulations, that's a two thousand fine."

"Second, you kicked my slipper, but that slipper was my limited edition Hello Kitty one. Five thousand for mental distress."

"And the most critical part."

Gu Fan pointed to Wangcai, who was sleeping like a log nearby.

"You scared my dog. It didn't wake up, but it must have trembled in its subconscious. What if it has nightmares and ends up infertile? This is the biggest part—thirty thousand."

"That's thirty-seven thousand in total. I'll round it up for you to make it a nice even forty thousand."

Gu Fan thrust the calculator in front of Ying. The bright red "400" on the screen made his eyes ache.

Ying stared at this man in spongebob pajamas; the sense of absurdity in his mind was even more overwhelming than the intense pain in his foot.

"Is this guy insane?!"

"I'm here to kill you, and you're lecturing me on the law?"

"And rounding up instead of down?!"

Ying took a sharp breath, the panic in his eyes settling into a dead silence of resignation.

The mission failed.

As a cleaner for Chain Abyss, failure meant being erased.

He couldn't fall into the enemy's hands, and he certainly couldn't leak the organization's secrets.

Even in death, he had to maintain his Face.

Ying's cheeks suddenly bulged.

At his back molar, a lethal poison capsule disguised as a tooth cracked open.

A high-concentration cyanide compound—one milligram, and you'd meet the King of Hell in three seconds. No pain, pure release.

Goodbye, you shitty world.

Ying closed his eyes, waiting for the familiar numbness to drain away his consciousness.

[Ding! Detected 'Ying' attempting to maliciously evade debt through the act of 'suicide'.]

[Judgment: Dying to avoid paying a debt? This is deadbeat behavior and is extremely egregious in nature.]

[Backlash activated: Matter Transformation - Devilish Perverted Spicy Concentrated Essential Oil (Epic Grade).]

The expected death did not come.

The poison that was supposed to send him on his way changed its flavor the moment it slid down his throat.

It turned into a ball of fire.

No, calling it fire was too polite.

It was a burst of lava in his mouth, a miniature nuclear bomb, the result of concentrating the world's hottest Ghost Peppers ten thousand times and then pouring boiling oil over them.

"Mmph?!!"

Ying's eyes bugged out, his eyeballs nearly popping out of their sockets.

That spiciness was unreasonable, coating his throat and burning all the way down, igniting his esophagus and stomach before rushing through his blood to every part of his body.

Pain.

It was so damn painful.

Yet within this pain was a burning sensation that made him want to cut off his own tongue.

Ying's Face turned the color of pig liver, then bright red, and finally a blackish-red.

Smoke was rising from his forehead—actual smoke. Wisps of white steam shot up from the crown of his head, making him look exactly like a boiling pressure cooker.

"Water... water...!!"

The Restriction sealing his mouth had been lifted at some point, or perhaps the sheer intensity of the spice had broken through the rule's blockade.

Ying opened his mouth wide and let out the most miserable roar of his life.

He rolled on the floor like a madman, his hands frantically clawing at his throat, tearing his expensive night-suit to shreds.

Tears, snot, and saliva sprayed out as if a valve had been turned on.

He was completely dazed by the spiciness.

In Ying's mind, everything—his dignity as an assassin, the organization's secrets—was washed away, leaving only one thought: Give me water, or I'll kill your whole family!

"Oh my, what's going on?"

Gu Fan looked surprised and shrank back slightly. "Weren't you committing suicide? Why did you switch to eating hotpot? This reaction... did you chew on raw hotpot base?"

Ying couldn't hear a single word.

He was like a live fish thrown into a frying pan; every nerve was screaming.

He crawled toward Gu Fan. Those hands that were full of Killing Intent just moments ago were now trembling as they reached out in a plea for help.

"Help... save me..."

Ying's voice was as hoarse as if he had swallowed a handful of sand. "Water... please..."

Gu Fan looked at the person twisted like a pretzel on the floor and clicked his tongue twice.

"I told you, young people shouldn't be so extreme."

"See, life is so good, yet you had to go looking for excitement."

Gu Fan slowly picked up an unopened bottle of cold milk from the bedside table.

Xiao Fan had specifically left it for Wangcai last night.

Upon seeing that bottle of milk, a feral light erupted in Ying's eyes.

It was hope.

It was salvation.

It was the only oasis in the desert.

"Want a drink?"

Gu Fan shook the bottle, the liquid inside splashing against the walls with a gurgling sound.

Ying nodded frantically, his head thumping against the floor.

"You can drink it, but this counts as an extra expense."

Gu Fan handed over the milk while pushing the calculator forward again with his other hand. "Including this bottle of special spice-relieving holy water, the total is fifty thousand. If you agree, drink; if not, you can continue practicing your 'teppanyaki' routine."

"Wooo wooo!! (I agree!!)"

Ying snatched the milk. He didn't even bother unscrewing the cap and just bit it open with his teeth—but he forgot he had just cracked the "pill" with those teeth. The spiciness exploded again, and the pain nearly made him pass out.

But he didn't care anymore.

He desperately poured the milk down his throat. The icy liquid washing over his scorched esophagus was absolute heaven.

A one-liter bottle of milk was gone in two seconds, not a single drop left.

"Ha... ha..."

Ying slumped on the floor, gasping for air, his chest heaving like a bellows.

That lethal spiciness was finally suppressed a bit, but his whole body felt like it was falling apart.

His lips were swollen like two sausages, his tongue was numb and devoid of sensation, and his tears had washed his mask askew.

He stared at the ceiling with hollow eyes.

"Who am I?"

"Where am I?"

"Why am I here drinking milk?"

"Alright, have you recovered?"

Gu Fan's voice rang in his ears like a death knell. "Your life is saved. Now, sign the contract."

A crumpled piece of A4 paper drifted onto Ying's Face.

Ying struggled to pick it up. By the moonlight, he saw several crooked characters at the top: "Dormitory 44 Domestic Service Personnel Labor Dispatch Contract."

The terms were incredibly simple:

Party A: Gu Fan.

Party B: That guy (provisional name Xiao Hei).

Content: Party B voluntarily serves as a cleaner, security guard, delivery man, and punching bag in Dormitory 44 to repay a fifty thousand debt. Daily wage is ten yuan, room and board included (eats leftovers, sleeps on the floor).

Term: Until the debt is paid in full (Note: Right of interpretation belongs to Party A).

"I... I'm an assassin..."

Ying protested weakly, his voice as small as a mosquito's hum.

"So what if you're an assassin? Assassins don't have to pay back money?"

Gu Fan raised an eyebrow. "How about you try another of those 'special capsules'? I have a whole bottle here if you want to relive the experience?"

Ying shuddered as the memory of his Soul being roasted over a fire came rushing back.

He stared at the ordinary thermos in Gu Fan's hand, his eyes filled with terror.

This man was a devil.

An absolute, undeniable devil.

He could conjure that kind of medicine out of thin air and even trigger it remotely. This wasn't some rule; this was a divine technique.

Between death and working.

Between perverted spiciness and cleaning toilets.

This top-ten tough-guy assassin of Tianqiong City shed tears of humiliation.

With a trembling hand, he pressed a red thumbprint onto that deed of sale—using the blood from where he had scratched his throat.

"That's more like it."

Gu Fan put away the contract with satisfaction and gave Ying's shiny, swollen bald head a pat. "Welcome to the Lying Flat Society. Now that you've signed, you're one of us."

"I don't think your name is very auspicious. 'Shadow' or 'Soul'—it sounds like something that would attract ghosts."

"Seeing as you're dressed all in black, you'll be called Xiao Hei from now on."

"Hey, Xiao Hei, go mop the floor. All that spitting and spraying earlier made it filthy. If it's not clean, I'm docking your pay."

After speaking, Gu Fan yawned and crawled back into his blankets, not forgetting to tuck the corners in tightly.

"I want soup dumplings for breakfast tomorrow. Remember to go queue up early; Auntie Li's stall in the cafeteria has the most authentic taste. Goodnight."

Ying—no, he was Xiao Hei now.

He sat dazed on the floor, clutching the deed of sale, staring at the back of the man who had fallen asleep instantly.

The moonlight from outside shone on his Face, which was swollen like a pig's head, presenting a scene of desolation.

He picked up the mask from the floor, glanced at it, and silently tossed it into the trash can.

He knew.

The assassin known as "Ying" had died tonight.

The one who survived was the janitor of Dormitory 44, Xiao Hei.

He leaned against the wall and struggled to stand up, dragging his still-throbbing left foot as he limped toward the bathroom.

His figure from behind looked bleak, yet it carried a strange sense of resignation.

Since he couldn't beat life, he might as well mop the floor a little cleaner.

At least that way, his pay wouldn't be docked again.