Shadow Heir II: Dark Glory - Chapter 32: Are You the Silvermoon Assassin?
After Jiang Wanxing left, Su Wuji circled the block in his car, picked up Xiao Pang, and headed back to the Queen’s Bar.
The vehicle rolled straight into the underground garage.
This garage wasn’t open to the public. To get in, you had to pass through two layers of remote-controlled gates.
The reason Su Wuji chose this route was simple: in the trunk lay a barely-breathing Ducaro hunter.
Four hyenas—three dead, one captured.
Xiao Pang had followed the order “leave only a breath” to the letter, nearly pounding the man into a pulp.
“Interrogate him properly. I want every detail of Ducaro’s operations in Huaxia.”
Handing the man over, Su Wuji turned and took the elevator upstairs.
On the way up, he replayed the events of the day in his mind.
But the first image that surfaced was Jiang Wanxing pulling him up from the ground.
He even raised his hand, sniffing it with a frown. “That woman… don’t tell me she’s got a dog’s nose.”
And then—when Su Wuji reached his door and cracked it open—he too sniffed.
A faint trace of blood wafted out.
He’d called Jiang Wanxing sharp-nosed, but right now, he was no different.
Blood? In his room? Every nerve went on high alert.
He yanked the door wide.
Someone was lying on the floor.
Black sportswear. A cap knocked loose. Long hair stuffed into the collar.
Even beneath the loose clothes, the lines of her waist, back, and legs betrayed a sinuous, alluring grace.
“A woman?” Su Wuji muttered, eyeing her form. “That ass… curves like Captain America’s.”
The figure coughed blood onto the floor. Clearly badly injured.
He didn’t rush to help. Instead, he pulled up his phone and checked the live tracker.
The red dot marking the Silvermoon Assassin… sat right inside the Queen’s Bar.
Of course. This woman sprawled on his floor—she was the escaped Silvermoon killer.
Su Wuji groaned inwardly. Seriously? Run if you must, but why to me? I don’t need Ducaro’s mad dogs breathing down my neck.
But the assassin spoke first.
“They say… when you’re in trouble, don’t go to those you once helped. Go to those who helped you.” Her voice was faint. “So… I came to you.”
That weak voice. That familiar cadence.
Su Wuji’s eyes went wide. “Wait—Xǔ Jiāyān?!”
Of all people, he’d never expected Xu Jiayan to be a Silvermoon assassin.
Wasn’t she supposed to be a cultured overseas returnee? A doctor in Ninghai?
Hadn’t Silvermoon only recruited trafficked orphans?
She had parents, a privileged life—why on earth would she end up in this world of blades and blood?
Su Wuji’s head spun.
“Quick… cut open my clothes…” Xu Jiayan rasped. “What are you staring at… idiot.”
Gone was the sultry, teasing woman of before. She was pale, barefaced, lips and chin streaked with blood.
Su Wuji locked the door, drew the curtains, and crouched beside her. “Can I move you?”
“Of course. Just fractured ribs.” She even managed a wink. “You really are a good man. Saved me twice already.”
That fragile smile tugged at him.
“Good man my ass. Who the hell did you cross to end up like this? If they come for me because of you, I won’t forgive you.”
She didn’t answer. “You can do whatever you want to me now. Doesn’t matter.”
“Cut the act. You’re half-dead and still flirting.”
He grabbed scissors and slit her shirt.
Her bare back was smooth and pale, marred only by shallow cuts on her arm and shoulder.
He turned her over and cut the sports pants.
Her figure was almost too much—curves sculpted like a sinuous flame, defiant against her condition.
“Like what you see?” Xu Jiayan followed his gaze, glancing at her own chest.
“Honestly? Looks like a damn burden to lug around. Don’t you get tired?”
Still, he slipped an arm under her shoulders, the other under her knees, and lifted her gently. He carried her to the inner bedroom and laid her on the bed.
His words dripped disdain, but his touch was careful.
“I’m the first woman to sleep in this bed, aren’t I?” she teased, lips stained red.
He snorted. “This bed’s been through more women than you could count. I switch them daily.”
He pulled out a medical kit, clamped cotton with tweezers, and dabbed alcohol on her wounds.
The moment it stung, her eyes welled with tears.
“Don’t act pitiful,” he said. “You didn’t cry bleeding out on the floor, but now you weep?”
“I’m afraid of scars.” She pouted. “I’ll need stitches, won’t I?”
“No stitches.”
He uncorked a white porcelain vial, dusted fine powder over the cuts.
Her body shuddered, drenched in sweat, cotton undergarments soaked through, nearly transparent.
“So much sweat,” he muttered. “You’ve ruined my sheets.”
“I’m always like this. A water doll.”
“You’re gonna flirt yourself to death…”
He wiped her mouth and collar clean.
“My chest too,” she whispered, nodding toward two streaks of blood trailing down into the deep cleft.
“Your arms still work. Wipe it yourself.”
Truth be told, his composure was hanging by a thread. One wrong move and things would spiral out of control.
“You’re not gentle at all…” Her words slurred, and she fainted.
Su Wuji checked her pulse—steady enough. He tucked her under the quilt.
Then he called up Xiao Yinlei.
“Ohhh, the first woman on this bed.” Yinlei arched a brow. “Xu Jiayan should feel honored.”
“Take her somewhere safe,” Su Wuji ordered, lifting the blanket. “It’s too dangerous here.”
“Yes.” Yinlei cradled Jiayan. “Boss, if Major Jiang shows up again, should I block her?”
Smart girl. Without asking, she already understood the danger wasn’t just Ducaro.
“No need. I’ll handle Jiang myself. She’s not the type to push when it’s unwise.”
Once Yinlei left with Jiayan, Su Wuji disposed of the torn clothes, scrubbed the windowsill and room, even picked out long hairs from the bedspread.
By the time he checked the clock, it was half past one.
Downstairs, the nightclub still raged.
He stripped, stepped into the shower. Left the door open.
Steam and body wash drifted out, masking every trace of blood.
When he came out, dripping and bare—
He froze.
“You—who are you?”
Someone stood in the room.
Dressed in sleek black sports gear. Shorts ending mid-thigh revealed long, wheat-toned legs—yet the contrast made it clear her natural skin was pale.
A tight T-shirt clung to her frame beneath a quick-dry jacket.
That supple waist. That perfect silhouette. Flawless.
She turned, smiling faintly.
“Su Boss. Quite the performance.”
Her gaze slid downward, pausing. “Mm. Developed nicely too.”
It was Jiang Wanxing.
