Scarred Hearts — A Girls' Love Tale - Chapter 25
After roughly wiping away any traces they’d left behind, Yan Shaoqiu asked for instructions, “According to the plan, you were supposed to get arrested, and then I’d pull you out. But now that things changed, what do we do?”
“You idiot. If I’m not caught, of course I run!” Yan Shuangfei shot him an annoyed glare. The two of them dashed down the stairs.
Shaoqiu was in the middle of sprinting when suddenly, he was shoved hard. He lost his balance, flipped over the railing, and slammed to the ground.
“What the hell! Yan—” Shaoqiu groaned, feeling like all his bones had shattered. He tried to sit up, dazed and ready to cuss, but then he heard a burst of gunfire. Yan Shuangfei, completely unarmed, was now cornered against the staircase railing, her hands clamped around a blade, bright red bl00d dripping steadily to the ground.
The scene left Shaoqiu stunned into silence. Thankfully, his brain kicked into gear just in time—realizing the attacker was about to notice him, he scrambled into a nearby car and sped away, fumbling to get it started.
Stay calm. His hands were shaking. He tried to reason it out. That guy didn’t look like a cop, or someone from any of the Four Great Families. More like… a hitman.
A hitman?!
Shaoqiu’s mind was spinning. Yeah, yeah, a hitman. But something felt off. Assassins usually kill quickly—so why had that guy hesitated?
Clinging to a thread of hope, Shaoqiu didn’t call the Yan family. Instead, he dialed one number—Luo Qinghan.
The sound of heavy breathing filled the line. Luo Qinghan almost hung up when no voice came, but then Shaoqiu finally spoke, trembling:
“Shuangfei’s in trouble.”
“Master Yan. I’ve heard so much about you.”
A cold voice spoke. It belonged to a woman wearing heavy makeup, standing in a dark room. Yan Shuangfei slowly opened her eyes, just in time to see the only bit of light from the window cast onto the woman’s face.
She glanced at the man standing behind the woman. His face was tattooed with intricate patterns, especially around the eyes—almost covering half of it.
Looking down, she noticed chains around her wrists and ankles. Even the slightest movement made them clink.
Shuangfei stared at the woman silently for a moment, then lowered her head, deep in thought. The woman didn’t break the silence either, crossing her arms as she watched her.
“You’re… an artist?” Shuangfei asked, uncertain.
Artist—in the underworld, that meant someone notorious for torture and interrogation, on par with a butcher.
“Oh, right,” Shuangfei added with a look of realization, completely calm despite being bloodied and chained. “Weren’t you being hunted by shadow assassin? All of Shadowland has a bounty on your head. I didn’t expect someone like you to be working for one of our Four Families. Can’t believe those idiots hired such a dangerous person.”
“And I didn’t expect I’d get the attention of the great Yan family head,” the woman replied politely. She was mixed-race, with red hair and black eyes. Her aura was colder than Shuangfei’s.
Shuangfei straightened up. “I know you want that huge sum of money back, and to escape the Shadowland hit squads. But if you’re looking for info on Ying Sha’s whereabouts, you’ve got the wrong person.”
The woman had a stud through her tongue. Every time she spoke, it gave Shuangfei chills, making her instinctively look away.
“Really?” the artist pursed her bl00d-red lips into a thin line. Shuangfei noticed she’d already opened her work case—every strange and intricate tool was neatly laid out, polished to a chilling shine.
Shuangfei took a deep breath. She knew she wouldn’t be able to avoid this.
The man remained silent throughout. When the artist began playing with a small, razor-sharp knife, he sensibly left, closing the door behind him. The room was once again filled with a flicker of hopeless light in utter darkness.
“Any preferences?” the artist asked casually.
Seeing that Shuangfei had her eyes shut and looked resigned to her fate, the artist understood her stance. She slowly put on surgical gloves, turned to her captive, and tilted her head slightly as she asked.
Shuangfei smirked and stared back at her. “I don’t like electric torture. Once the current gets high enough, you lose control of your bladder. It’s disgusting.”
Her tone was so serious, it was like she was just chatting about restaurants—“This steakhouse is good, that one’s not.”
“Really?” the artist stepped closer. “I’ve always liked electricity. You know, a little current during s3x? Feels amazing.”
“Thanks for the tip,” Shuangfei replied politely.
“Oh, right. Your name—is it from that poem? ‘Fallen flowers stand alone; light rain, twin swallows fly.’”
“Didn’t expect you to know Chinese poetry,” Shuangfei replied with biting sarcasm. “No, it’s not.”
Of course not. Her name had always been bound to Luo Qinghan.
“I’m done chatting,” the artist huffed like a child denied candy. She turned away and grabbed a knife. The curved blade gleamed coldly. Her eager movements, her burning eyes, the way she traced patterns on Shuangfei’s skin—she seemed almost thrilled.
After a long while, she stood up and whispered in a floaty voice,
“Do you know why they call me the Artist?”
Why? Shuangfei didn’t ask, but her curious eyes showed she wanted to know.
“Because I paint. And sculpt,” the artist leaned in close, her warm breath brushing against Shuangfei’s ear as she added softly—
“On the human body.”
“Find her!” It was the first time Yan Shaoqiu had seen Luo Qinghan completely lose control. Every call she made was more of a shouted order than a conversation.
“I don’t care how big the area is. Dig three feet underground if you have to—just bring her back!”
Tomorrow was Chinese New Year’s Eve. And the heavens had picked now, of all times, to pull such a cruel joke? While everyone else was celebrating, she was facing a nightmare.
If something happened to Yan Shuangfei, she would never forgive herself.
“Miss Luo,” the butler approached cautiously. Right now, no one dared get too close to her. One wrong word and they risked getting screamed at.
“Speak!” she snapped impatiently, juggling yet another call.
“There are two women outside requesting to see you. They claim to be friends of the Yan family head. One of them… calls herself Ying Sha.”