Chapter 45: The Reckless Fool Is the Real Key

Chapter 45: The Foolhardy Idiot Is the Key

Li Zhiming grimaced in pain, unable to speak.

The hand at his collarbone, however, continued its slow, deliberate wandering, seemingly unconcerned about the fact they were surrounded.

"Li Zhiming..."

Sang Yu leaned close to him, nearly pressing his entire body against him, nuzzling his head possessively.

"Look, so many people here. If they watch me toy with you, would they feel the same joy as I do? The eldest young master has only ever toyed with others—never been played with himself, has he?"

"!!"

Li Zhiming shuddered with dread. The next moment, his robe was brutally ripped open, yanking the fabric and tearing his wounds apart.

"Ah..."

He cried out in pain, feeling his heartbeat slowing more and more, his vision gradually blurring.

He was gonna die again, wasn't he?

That lunatic.

Sang Yu didn't give a damn about his suffering. He actually buried his head in Li Zhiming's neck and bit down, painful and numbing at once. One hand roamed shamelessly and provocatively, goading his senses.

When Feng Yin kicked the door open and rushed in, he walked in on a scene both bloody and debauched.

The second young master was slumped like a blood-soaked target, drenched entirely in crimson, dead as a doornail, his handsome face slashed beyond recognition.

The eldest young master was pinned to the wall, limbs splayed, clothes in disarray, sweat beading on his pale face.

The only person still neatly and cleanly dressed had his face buried in the eldest young master's neck, groping him lewdly, even cruelly jabbing at his wounds as if in revenge.

Seeing Feng Yin, Li Zhiming latched onto him like a lifeline, mouthing desperately.

'Kill me now!'

He didn't want to be violated by this madman before he died.

Whether Feng Yin understood or not, his expression changed in an instant from shock to fury. His eyes red with rage, he charged over and flung the unguarded Sang Yu aside.

"Young master, young master, I... I came too late..."

Feng Yin was on the verge of tears, his face flushed.

Li Zhiming's vision was already failing from the pain. He summoned all his remaining strength to force out a few words: "Hurry... kill me."

"No, young master..."

"Want to die? Without my permission, don't you dare."

Sang Yu picked himself up. The jade crown on his head had just fallen off when Feng Yin threw him, and his ink-black hair spilled over his shoulders in wild disarray.

His crazed expression was even more terrifying.

He stared at Li Zhiming, curled his lips, and lunged forward again, biting down hard on his lips.

Almost instantly, the taste of blood flooded between their mouths.

Well, there goes my first kiss.

Li Zhiming thought in a daze, his senses numb—he could barely even feel the pain on his lips anymore.

His eyes red, Feng Yin shoved Sang Yu away and drove his sword straight into his heart.

"Ngh..."

Sang Yu stumbled back a few steps, catching himself on the table. He didn't resist—he just laughed at Li Zhiming: "Li Zhiming, I got the death I wanted. Happy?"

Feng Yin shoved the sword in deeper and cursed: "Are you insane?"

"Li Zhiming."

He glanced around at the dense crowd outside, his gaze utterly calm, like a still, dead well. Suddenly, he stepped back. Feng Yin wouldn't let him escape—he was on him in a flash.

But Sang Yu laughed once more.

In the blur of flashing steel, he pressed himself against Li Zhiming. Feng Yin couldn't pull back his momentum in time and skewered them both.

"Young master!"

He shouted in alarm, immediately trying to let go and back off, but Sang Yu grabbed him, seized the hilt, and rammed it deeper into his own chest.

Li Zhiming was barely holding on. Now pierced straight through the heart, he coughed up a massive mouthful of blood.

His head drooped to the side, resting against Sang Yu's back.

In his last moments, he faintly heard the man muttering.

"Dying... that's fine too..."

Fine my ass—may your mother sprout eighteen flowers.

Li Zhiming felt like every nerve in his body was screaming. Never had he endured such agony.

This hurt like hell.

*

Going through it again, Li Zhiming hesitated. He didn't want to deal with this mess anymore—he just wanted to get as far away as possible and let them fight it out.

He sneaked out of the estate and found a small tavern to drink.

And then.

Just sipping his wine, minding his own business, and he choked to death. Choked to death. Choked... to... death...

Again.

He did nothing this time—wouldn't even touch water. He just sat there, zoned out, waiting for the long night to end.

Great.

This time, a ceramic shard came flying out of nowhere and sliced his throat open.

Once more.

A perfectly good roof beam suddenly collapsed and crushed his skull.

Anyway.

Li Zhiming gradually discovered that if he didn't deal with this, no matter where he hid or what he was doing, all kinds of weird accidents would end up killing him.

If he did handle it, Sang Yu would either go crazy or lose it, and either way, he'd kill him.

He'd even change the method of death depending on how crazy he got.

And then there's that Li Zhixing.

No matter how closely he watched him, at best, it just delayed the inevitable—he'd always find a chance to slip away, quietly run to Sang Yu's side to get himself killed, and provoke him.

Yeah, provoke him!

Li Zhiming suddenly slapped his thigh, finally figuring out the key to breaking the deadlock.

That reckless idiot looking to die was the real key.

If it weren't for him picking fights, Sang Yu wouldn't have lost it.

If he could just stop him from saying the stuff that set Sang Yu off, wouldn't that change things?

Let's try again.

Li Zhiming nervously went to Sang Yu's room. He hid a dagger, then, just like before, crouched by the table in the dark, waiting for things to go down.

Li Zhixing showed up, just as expected.

He quickly got into a fight with Sang Yu.

Li Zhiming quietly crept forward, closing in.

"Killing me for that good-for-nothing—I'll take you out first. I want to see how tempting that face of yours really is—whether messing with you is more fun than with a woman."

"Oh, by the way, the Crown Prince is about to dump me. You know why?"

"You're actually the Emperor's bastard—ah..."

He let out a yell, spun around instinctively, eyes wide with shock. Before he could do anything else, he crumpled to the floor.

Li Zhiming held up an ornament, staring at the blood seeping from Li Zhixing's head, frozen stiff.

He might've...

hit him too hard.

Sang Yu looked at Li Zhiming in astonishment, his lips moving: "Eldest Young Master."

"I'm sorry, I, I just—I only wanted to stop him from running his mouth, to stop him from hurting you. Did I mess up? I..."

"You didn't do anything wrong."

Sang Yu snatched the ornament from his hand, tossed it casually aside, and patted his back reassuringly.

Li Zhiming stared at the blood pooling on the floor, genuinely scared out of his mind.

Using a knife still messed with his conscience—that kind of criminal act was way too much for a law-abiding citizen like him.

He never thought the random object he'd swapped in would be even deadlier than a knife.

He pushed Sang Yu, his voice trembling slightly: "Sang Yu, hurry, check—is he dead?"

Sang Yu glanced at him with disdain, his tone contemptuous: "Probably dead. A man like that deserves it—he should have died last time. What, is the Eldest Young Master feeling sorry for his little brother?"

Sensing the danger in his tone, Li Zhiming instinctively denied it.

"No."