Chapter 60 - The Mantis

It was like the whole family exploded in fireworks when they saw Wuming back. Everyone was hugging him and it was as if his grandmother couldn't get enough kissing his cheeks. His father greeted him with welcoming arms, smelling like tobacco. Qing Lok was over the moon when he saw him. His hug were the tightest and lead him to a silly dance with an even sillier tune he sang.

Of course, they all crowded in the living room and food came in. They didn't know Wuming was coming and didn't get to serve his favorites, to which his grandmother promised would be the menu tomorrow.

"It's nice what you did to the place, grandma," he said, bringing down his teacup and saucer. He was walking around the living room. He knew his grandmother has a low attention span and had always been restless. It was not even a surprise that the house decorations changed. Almost every four or five years, their furniture got sold and new ones replaced them. It kept his grandmother busy renovating for the next two years or so.

"Ah, yes," the grandmother said. "W—"

"Enough with it for now," said Qing Zihao. "I want to know why you're here when you're not supposed to be here."

Wuming leaned against the fireplace. "I was on a mission when your summon came. As you know in Rouge, we just accept assignments without the why. And as you know me, I tend to pry."

Qing Chen closed his eyes painfully. He was still sleep-deprived and would really love to be back in their feather bed. But here Wuming was… getting into trouble like it was nothing. As always.

"I didn't get a name. Just an address and that the person lived alone so there would be no mistake that he would be the only one in the house. I got there a little early. I was instructed to kill him before midnight. When I didn't see movements inside the house, I went in, and flipped through.

He didn't seem to be somebody worth killing. I already saw his picture. He was a thin man, like he was already dying of some disease. Maybe it was his family who made this contract to put him out of misery—that sort of stuff. But then again… I know an assassin's house when I see one. It's the same as mine.

No pictures inside, not much food in the fridge, they were barely any laundry, the curtains hadn't changed since they moved in, it was kept like it was meant to house another person—like if I died they wouldn't have much trouble putting all my stuff out. He was already sleeping when I came to this little room where there was a small desk.

Most were irrelevant but then I flicked the light on and saw that the walls were lined with daggers and knives of every shape and size. It was a marvelous collection--"

The rest of them sighed in disappointment because they all knew where this was going.

It was Qing Lok who spoke, "You took something."

"Of course I did!" Wuming said. "I always take something. Even just something small."

Wuming had surveyed the wall and out of the corner of his eyes, something seemed to wink at him from under the light. He pointed at it, "You. I want you."

He took it from its stand. It was a silver butterfly knife with an intricate engraved pattern at the hilt. It looked like a woman's knife with the way the leaves curled around the handle. He was still examining it when he heard a noise and out of instinct, the blade flew from his hand.

The splotch of red immediately showed on the thin man's white shirt. Wuming assessed the situation and knew that the old man wouldn't put that much of a fight. He knew damn well he could kill this man with his bare fists.

"Sorry," Wuming said, "I didn't mean to wake you."

"That's alright," the man said in a weak voice. It made Wuming think that he should just leave the man to die with the knife poking just above his heart. He made a move to remove it.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Wuming said.

"But you like this knife," the man said.

Now that Wuming was looking at the real person, he didn't look that old. But he sounded just like how his grandfather sounded in the last months of his life. Like every word he let out was a struggle but still carried a sweet tone. "I was planning to take it."

Wuming's mouth opened in protest when the old man's hand clutched on the hilt with thin and long fingers, bony with the knuckles layered with wrinkling skin. With effort, he pulled the knife and blood poured out, staining the majority of the shirt. "Now, boy, you only have a few moments to talk. Who sent you?"

"I can't tell you that," he immediately said. Most of his kills, he did without talking. But sometimes, it couldn't be avoided. Just like this one. Whatever happened in the conversation did not really matter to him as he would always leave the other person dead.

"You're going to tell me. I knew this day would come. Did the boss sent you?"

Wuming shook his head. "There are a lot of 'boss' in this industry I don't know which one you're tal—"

The blade flew from the man's hand and Wuming quickly ducked as it spun above his head and stuck to the wall.

"You're going to tell me or the next blade will go straight to your eye."

Wuming grinned. "Of course, of course," he answered and pulled the butterfly knife from the wall, still red with the other man's blood. "But I don't really know. I'm a for-hire kind of guy."

"Huh," the old man grunted, "I was waiting for someone familiar. I even thought they'd sent my partner to do the deed."

Then it was like the old man slipped but caught himself in the middle. "Damn, kid," his voice slurring and he fell back to the desk behind him for support. He chuckled, raising blood to his mouth. "You weren't prepared but you still got the heart, huh? I'll let you take ten blades with you for that."

Wuming's forehead creased. "You're giving me blades for killing you?"

"I'd let you have them all. I need someone to look after them. But taking everything would weigh you down. Take ten, the ones you liked most. Go on then, choose while I'm still alive."

Wuming ignored this and asked. "What organization are you from?"

"Now, why would I tell you that? Are you going to hunt everyone down in that place and kill them? What use do you have of it?"

"I rarely get to kill another assassin or a hitman—or anyone in this line of business."

The old man shook his head. "No, I'll never let my brothers down. It would be best for you to not know. You said you're a for-hire. You don't really deal with organizations."

"But—"

The old man coughed and he fell to his knees then to his side. Wuming crouched near the man. His eyes were wide, like looking for light. "The knives," he breathed out. "Take some with you. Take care of them."

"I will," Wuming said.

Those were the man's last words. Those people he had to kill while they were alive always had last words. Most of the time, they were cursing at Wuming while grabbing at the last strands of their lives, others were messages for their families, others request a form to how they would die. Most of these last words he never honored.

But at this one, Wuming shrugged his shoulder and took out the ten best knives that caught his attention as the old man bled out on the floor.

Killing another killer was an easy job and bonus, he never had to clean up. The police never let the media know about that stuff and after months they would close the case because the other killer was too hard to find.

"Thanks, Mantis," he said to the dead man as he closed his eyes. "I'll take good care of these and frame them on my wall."

"That was how I left him. On the floor," Wuming said now and ran a hand through his hair. His voice carried no humor it always had but just plain emotionless.

"Then what happened?" his father asked.

"I got a copy of the file from the police. They found him pinned to the wall, the rest of the knives sticking out his whole body."

Xie Changying choked on her tea. "What?!"

"Yes," Wuming said. "Someone went there after I left."

"I don't see why this should concern us, maybe they were just making sure he was dead."

"Yeah, I know that," he said and turned to his family. They were all looking at him with expectant eyes. "The thing is, written on the wall with the old man's blood, it said: You're next."

"It didn't exactly have to mean you," Qing Zihao said.

"That's what I thought too. I merely came here just because of your summon, father. But when I arrived at Chen's, I got the chance to look through the internet about this murder earlier this morning. That's when I knew they meant me."

"Because?"

"Because when they pinned the old man to the wall, all of his immediate sources of DNA were also taken. Everything. Just like the murder in your hotel. That's how I knew our family could be the next target." He turned to his brother. "He already attacked you by putting that body in your hotel, Chen."

A mixture of adrenaline, and shock struck Qing Chen like lightning. Questions filled his mind, but in bold capitalized red letters, Feng Xuan's name appeared.

"I really should advice you, for safety," Wuming said. "I think it's about time you should tell the truth to your wife."