Chapter 8: Which Part Offended You?

June in Mian City was stiflingly hot. The afternoon cicadas buzzed so loudly they drilled straight into your skull.

Out in the open space behind the manor, Li Yang gripped a short knife and drove it into the straw dummy in front of her.

699.

The sun beat down without mercy, burning her cheeks red, her heavy makeup smeared across her face.

Loose strands of hair clung to her sweaty skin.

She looked like neither human nor ghost—her looks had hit a new personal record for sheer unhinged madness.

At the thought, she stabbed the dummy again, full of resentment.

698.

Tyron had dumped her out here half a month ago, and it was all because of her big mouth.

Originally, between “killing” and “arson,” she’d picked the latter.

She’d only read half of Hu Jianming’s *On the Self-Cultivation of an Undercover Agent*, so she wasn’t sure what kind of liability came with killing someone on an undercover job. Arson seemed simpler—by a whole billionth of a point.

But when Tyron asked her why, her mouth betrayed her, and she’d brushed him off with “I don’t know how to use a knife…”

So Tyron had assigned Ah Yi to teach her blade work.

“I told you, you can’t press your thumb on the back of the blade.” Ah Yi stood in the shade of a tree not far off, frowning as he hollered at Li Yang.

Baking under the blazing sun, Li Yang pressed her lips tight, shifted her thumb, and stabbed the dummy again.

697.

Back at the police academy, Li Yang had aced the weapons course. She never thought she’d end up repeating the basics.

“You’re the worst student I’ve ever taught!” Ah Yi shouted from fifty meters away.

“The tip’s not straight! Insert vertically, kill in one strike! Would it kill you to put some effort in? Don’t let the Boss’s expectations down—there’s still six hundred and ninety-six to go…”

Ah Yi clasped his hands behind his back, frowning and shaking his head over and over.

He genuinely didn’t get what his Boss saw in this woman. He’d followed the Boss for years and never even touched the man’s fingers, yet this woman could eat the Boss alive…

Li Yang stabbed again. The tip grazed the dummy’s shoulder and tore a slit in it.

“Off-center.” Ah Yi corrected coldly. “Add two hundred. 898.”

“That makes 895!” Li Yang protested, but Ah Yi pretended not to hear, unmoved.

Li Yang clenched her back teeth.

She knew Ah Yi was settling personal scores under the cover of official duty.

Coincidentally, what Li Yang did best was settle official scores in private.

So the moment night fell, she showed up at Tyron’s bedroom.

She’d just showered, her hair still wet and hanging loose around her shoulders.

She wore a tight tank top and a short skirt. Her only intention was to show off her sunburned, peeling arms and legs and play the pity card—nothing else.

Really.

No seduction intended.

Really.

Tyron wore a black tank top with a patterned cardigan over it. His brown-gray eyes and clean, sharp features lent him a touch of mixed-race beauty.

He sat by the window, headphones on, no cat in his arms, his unfocused pupils resting on the pitch-black garden outside.

Bright moonlight spilled across half his face.

Having lost his sight, he’d trained his other four senses since childhood.

So the moment Li Yang came up behind him, Tyron caught the familiar scent.

She didn’t wear perfume, but her body wash carried a faint milky sweetness.

“Still up this late?”

Tyron pulled out one earbud and stretched an arm along the windowsill, opening a space for Li Yang to slide into his lap.

Sure enough, Li Yang came willingly, drawing her legs up and curling entirely into Tyron’s arms.

That faint scent crept quietly into his nostrils, cloyingly sweet.

He really did have a physiological fondness for this woman.