Chapter 316: Something I Owe You

The classical buildings of the Edo period were arranged in a picturesque manner. Following that elusive figure, Yang Chen traversed two narrow alleys until he arrived at a walled garden ahead.

It was winter, and most plants had withered. The red and yellow leaves scattered on weathered tiles and stone slabs revealed the passage of time. Some branches peeked through the mottled courtyard walls.

Several ancient, robust pine trees with wide crowns stood evergreen in the courtyard, meticulously trimmed to maintain their verdant appearance in winter.

There were no other visitors on the blue stone path leading to the courtyard, whether due to its non-touristic nature or sheer coincidence. What thrilled Yang Chen was that this time, he hadn't lost track.

He saw the figure in the sky-blue skirt push open a wooden door into the courtyard and quietly step inside. Yang Chen followed closely and arrived at the door. The iron bars on the door, weathered with rust over the years, contrasted with the door's solid dark wood, exuding an aristocratic solemnity.

Realizing that the person he wanted to see might be just inside, within arm's reach, Yang Chen suddenly hesitated. He paused at the door, clenched his fists tightly, took a deep breath, and slowly pushed the door open.

Inside, he saw an artificial rock formation in the courtyard, with a murmuring stream that seemed never to freeze, trickling into a small pond. Dense but carefully pruned vegetation surrounded the pond, nestling against the walls of ancient buildings.

The design was elegant yet grand, evoking the dignity of the shogunate generals from ancient times. However, none of this captivated Yang Chen's attention because from the moment he entered, his gaze had been fixed on the pathway directly in front of the main house.

The hem of a skirt fluttered, revealing glimpses of bare feet as delicate as snow, swaying gracefully like a cold plum blossom. A strand of green hair brushed across her face in the chilly wind, as serene and tranquil as ever.

In her eyes, there was still that undisturbed calmness, devoid of any ripple.

Long-lost face, long-lost figure, long-lost aura—Yang Chen stood dumbfounded in place, his mind blank.

Then, a flood of complex images overwhelmed him like surging waves, plunging Yang Chen into past memories.

In a snowy landscape, surrounded by evergreen pines and cypresses buried in snowdrifts, the gloomy sky scattered feather-light snowflakes. A young man in sturdy attire leaned against a towering tree, clutching an arm from which a steady stream of crimson blood flowed. The snow at his feet was already stained red.

The young man's lips were pale, his face ashen, but a fierce determination gleamed in his eyes, undiminished. Yet, the excessive loss of blood, the biting cold, and three days of relentless battle had finally taken their toll.

As far as the eye could see, the snow-covered forest occasionally echoed with the howls of snow wolves.

At that moment, a dozen soldiers clad in snowy cloaks, armed with heavy rifles, arrived in two armored vehicles, scaling a nearby hillock. The young man recognized them as part of the Arctic Fox Special Forces, trained secretly in the Nordic regions, adept at combat in snowy terrains.

The "Arctic Foxes" disembarked from their vehicles in disciplined order, loaded their rifles, and began a meticulous yet complex search through the forest.

The young man exhaled a visible breath of mist, his eyes flashing crimson once more.

This was the fifteenth wave of enemies he had encountered. The previous fourteen had all fallen by his hand, but not without cost. His wounds from the specially treated bullets were slow to heal, the blood loss draining his strength and vitality.

Yet, he was not ready to die!

In the sleeve of his garment, a chilling long blade slipped into his palm—the only weapon he had left.

Just then, a muffled grunt sounded from a nearby Arctic Fox soldier, the closest one to him.

The soldier's neck was sliced open by a sharp weapon, blood spraying as he collapsed onto the snowy ground! Emerging from behind him was a slender young woman, clad in snug-fitting snow camouflage, with only her jet-black hair standing out vividly against the snow.

Before the other Arctic Fox troops could react, the girl swiftly maneuvered among the dense trees, using lightning-fast movements. Occasionally appearing, her short blade consistently left a brilliant spatter of blood at the throat of each soldier, a deadly yet captivating dance of death.

After the girl eliminated the entire squad of Arctic Foxes, she approached the young man without a word. Ignoring his protests, she pulled his hands toward her and bent down to lift him onto her back.

"Aren't you supposed to have left? Why did you come back?" The young man's arm still oozed blood, staining the girl's chest slowly.

Running swiftly without gasping for breath, the girl replied in a cold, emotionless voice, "I came back to save you."

"I'm responsible for covering the rear this time. That's the mission. You don't need to save me."

"You saved me in the rainforest. I owe you," the girl said.

A faint smile touched the corners of the young man's mouth. "You let me vent my frustrations, and I kept you alive. That's our deal."

"True, it's a fair deal. But I owe you something else."

"What?"

"It was you who told me I could still trust someone, at least to trust you."

The girl's voice was faint, as cold as ever, drifting like snowflakes in the wind.

Midsummer night.

A congested traffic artery, bustling with lights and noises, making every pedestrian appear agitated.

On the rooftop terrace of a five-story building, the young man held a cheap cigarette between his lips, his gaze hazy as he looked out over the smoky, chaotic streets below. People were brawling, city management officers were chasing vendors, and those involved in accidents were arguing. All sorts of scenes unfolded like scenes from another world.

The young man had only recently taken up smoking, but he quickly grew fond of the sensation—the fiery gas entering his lungs briefly cleared his mind, making him feel alive.

Suddenly, a ghostly figure floated onto the rooftop, slowly approaching the young man.

The young man turned around to face a girl in a sky-blue dress, her dark green hair fluttering in the wind. Her youthful face had matured considerably, yet it bore the lifeless expression of a puppet.

"Did you meet your mother?" the young man asked with a smile.

"I did," the girl replied flatly.

"Wow, after all that trouble finding her, you finally did," the young man curiously asked, "Did she tell you her real name? Or does she also go by Seventeen?"

There was no emotional fluctuation in Seventeen's watery eyes as she gazed at the dimly lit sky in the distance. "I have no name, and besides, I killed her."

"Who?" the young man suddenly coughed a few times, startled by her words, and asked somewhat puzzled, "You finally found your mom and then killed her?!"

Seventeen calmly replied, "The woman who gave birth to me."

The young man brushed off some cigarette ash and fell silent for a moment. "You didn't find it hasty?"

"She was someone who, when I found her, was doing business. I asked her who my father was, and she said she had so many clients every day that she couldn't remember. She said someone paid a high price to play with a pregnant woman back then, which is how I came to be. But she didn't have enough money herself, so she didn't want me, just left me on the side of the road, so she didn't even name me. She asked me if I had any money, I said no, she asked me if I wanted to do that kind of business with her, and she was old and wanted me to make money for her."

After flicking the cigarette ash away, the young man fell silent for a moment. "You didn't think it was too rash?"

"She lives like this, or she died more fit, at least she doesn't have to worry about money, don't worry about getting old, it should be happier than alive you know, I killed, no pain," seventeen after, turned around and snatched away the boy's hand burned half of the cigarette, eyes through a touch of cold, "I tell you, thirteen, don't this kind of thing in front of me, I hate to see you this way!"