Scarred Hearts — A Girls' Love Tale - Chapter 26

Ying Sha’s outfit was quite similar to Yan Shuangfei’s. Both wore swords at their waists. Her long black hair hung freely over her shoulders, and the easy smile on her face gave people a sense of warmth and familiarity.

The woman standing next to her was about the same height, but completely expressionless. She stood straight and still, almost like a soldier at attention, making the whole atmosphere feel heavy and tense.

Luo Qinghan forced a smile, brushed the hair out of her face, and asked politely, “What brings you two here?”

“Something happened to Shuangfei?” Ying Sha didn’t show the slightest bit of concern for her friend. Instead, there was a hint of mockery in her voice. “She’s really slipping. Can’t even protect herself anymore. Next time we spar, I’ll definitely win.” She eagerly reached for the sword at her waist but quickly stopped when she saw the warning look from the woman beside her. With a sheepish grin, she composed herself and turned to Luo Qinghan. “I brought some people to help. I’m honestly curious how long Shuangfei can hold out.”

“You know who it is?”

“I do.” Ying Sha’s smile faded, replaced by a serious expression. “We call her The Artist. She’s pretty skilled on her own, but with a judicator helping her, she’s not someone to take lightly. What surprises me, though, is that based on what I know about Yan Shuangfei, even if she couldn’t win, she should’ve had no problem escaping—unless she was already injured, and that’s affecting her performance.”

The more Luo Qinghan listened, the more uneasy she felt. A cold chill ran through her as she suddenly remembered the injury she had inflicted on Shuangfei earlier that morning. Shuangfei’s pained, aggrieved expression flashed in her mind, and a wave of guilt and regret completely overwhelmed her.

She softly said, “Excuse me for a moment,” then turned and hurried into the house. Overwhelmed by emotion, her body felt weak and her stomach churned. She stumbled inside, leaned against the door for support, and covered her mouth with a trembling hand. Her thoughts were in complete chaos, with only one phrase echoing again and again in her mind:

Shuang’er, how could you be so foolish…?

Yan Shuangfei narrowed her eyes at the knife pressed against the center of her throat. She couldn’t pretend she wasn’t nervous, but she still managed to keep her face calm. With a slight smile, she asked, “You’re just going to kill me like this?” Her tone was serious, as if she genuinely wanted an answer.

Her shirt had already been opened. Though the room had some heat, there was still a chill in the air. According to The Artist, too much warmth would encourage bacterial growth and cause infection. Besides, it would also make the bl00d smell spread faster—which would be unpleasant.

Yan Shuangfei hated the scent of festering wounds, so despite the pain, she felt a reluctant kind of gratitude for The Artist’s attention to detail.

“No, no, no. I wouldn’t kill you,” The Artist said with a smile, holding a delicate knife. The blade gleamed in the light, thin and sharp. From the moment Shuangfei saw it, she knew it was dangerous.

And her instincts were proven right almost immediately. With a casual downward stroke, The Artist drew the blade into her skin. A sharp pain shot through Shuangfei’s body, searing and spreading slowly like fire.

Seeing her shiver involuntarily, The Artist gave a satisfied smile but didn’t speed up her movements. She continued cutting along her planned path, keeping the same pressure and pace. The blade traced a straight line down from Shuangfei’s throat, across her chest, and kept going.

Bl00d poured down her body, soaking her pants. Yan Shuangfei couldn’t help but move, but The Artist grabbed her arm and warned, “Don’t squirm. Or I might cut something I wasn’t planning to.”

“So much bl00d!” Shuangfei gritted the words through her teeth.

“Oh, right.” The Artist seemed to realize something and casually wiped away the flowing bl00d with a damp towel.

The blade reached her navel, then finally stopped. It didn’t withdraw, though—it remained embedded in her skin. The Artist straightened up, her hand steady, watching Shuangfei’s dazed eyes.

Shuangfei was drenched in sweat, biting her tongue to avoid making a sound. After a deep breath, she said, “You’re hesitating? Come on. You don’t castrate men on the first strike, do you? I may not be a man, but the principle is the same.”

Anyone with a bit of knowledge about torture would know—you don’t start by crippling someone or taking away what makes them want to live. That just breaks them completely, and no matter how much pain you inflict later, you’ll get nothing useful.

The Artist laughed. The silver stud on her face pulled her skin taut, making her smile look dangerous. “Didn’t think your desires were that strong.”

“Everyone has desires. All kinds,” Shuangfei replied.

The Artist paused, then picked up another towel and wiped her knife clean. She placed it near Shuangfei’s shoulder and said, “Let’s draw a cross this time.” Without waiting for a response, she resumed her work.

“What a shame. Your back is full of whip marks. It’s ruining my artistic inspiration,” The Artist complained. It seemed like getting answers was secondary to her—what mattered was satisfying her twisted need to inflict pain. “Still, at least your front is well-preserved.”

She tossed the knife onto the table with a crisp clang, then took out a small iron brush—tiny, but covered in sharp barbs and hooks.

“Don’t underestimate this little thing,” she explained, pressing it against Shuangfei’s bleeding wound. She gave it a rough scrape. Instantly, the flesh tore and twisted, becoming a messy clump of bl00d and tissue.

Despite all her effort to endure, Shuangfei couldn’t stop a low groan. Her vision darkened, and her consciousness started slipping.

“Not quite the effect I wanted,” The Artist muttered, disappointed, as if her experiment had failed. Without warning, she grabbed Shuangfei’s left pinky finger—this time bringing out a new blade, small enough to be called a needle.

She made a small incision on the finger, then used the iron brush to slowly peel back the skin—bit by bit, until the entire finger was raw and exposed.

The Artist carefully removed the intact strip of skin, placed it on a clear mold, sealed it, and labeled it—all with meticulous care.

“Are you keeping it as a trophy?” Shuangfei asked weakly. Her whole body felt numb, yet somehow still capable of feeling. Every inch of her burned like it was on fire. She couldn’t scream—the pain was lodged in her throat—but she still managed to speak with a mocking smile.