Chapter 82 — I've Remembered You!

If she could not kill Wei Zhao, then she would simply leave, and come back for him when the chance arose — that was an assassin's creed. Fighting a battle she could not win was not the way of an assassin; that was the way of a suicide squad.

Limping her way down to the ground floor, Yang Qiqi went to the front desk. "Boss lady, the man in Room 209 earlier — the one who brought me here to open the room — what was his name?"

Earlier, Yang Qiqi had not asked Wei Zhao his name, because she knew that even if she did, he would not answer. Wei Zhao had treated her as a passerby, and she meant to kill him besides — naturally he would not go looking for trouble.

But Yang Qiqi was no fool. She knew inns required guests to register, and at the time she had been unconscious and carrying no papers that could prove her identity, so the one who had registered could only have been Wei Zhao.

"Oh?" The boss lady blinked, then caught sight of Yang Qiqi's clothes and bearing and recognized her at once — she was the woman the man had been carrying on his back when he had come rushing in, frantic, to open the room.

No way. They got together without even knowing each other? And came to open a room? But the way she looked before, she had been carried in on someone's back — was she drunk? If that explained it, then it was quite possible.

Young men and women these days, the boss lady sighed, mourning the decline of public morals. Yet it never crossed her mind: if not for these young men and women coming to open rooms, would her inn's business still be as good as it was now?

"His name is Wei Zhao." The boss lady glanced at the register and told Yang Qiqi.

"Thank you." Yang Qiqi nodded and committed the name to memory. Wei Zhao, was it? She could not tell whether it was his real name or a false one, but either way, that name was now fixed in Yang Qiqi's hatred.

"You're welcome." To the boss lady, it was no more than lifting a finger — a few words, nothing more.

Having noted Wei Zhao's name, Yang Qiqi turned and walked toward the inn's entrance. Watching her limp out of the inn, the boss lady could not help clicking her tongue. No way? Did they go at it that hard? She can't even walk properly?

That man did not look especially burly, and yet he was that formidable? Could this girl have been a first-timer? The boss lady shook her head, thinking wicked thoughts.

To Wei Zhao, the matter of Yang Qiqi was no more than a trivial interlude. As for the fact that she had pulled a knife on him, Wei Zhao was somewhat displeased — he had saved her life, after all. True, he had looked at her leg, but how was he supposed to treat the wound without looking at the leg?

If she was the sort who had to silence a man for merely seeing her thigh, then the nurse auntie had seen plenty of him today too — should he take up a knife and do away with her as well?

The alcohol lamp's flame was not as powerful as a gas stove, but with good control it could serve well enough. He poured the brewed decoction into the sealed bags he had bought from the pharmacy. Because the decoction was hot, it naturally gave off steam; once it cooled, the steam turned to water, and the sealed bags became vacuum-packed — good for preservation, and the decoction would not easily spoil.

That done, Wei Zhao put away the brewing equipment. These things could be used again next time; the alcohol was nearly burned up, but such things were sold everywhere.

Having packed everything and checked that nothing was left behind, Wei Zhao called the service desk downstairs and asked her to come up so he could check out. But when his gaze fell on the bedsheet in the room, he could not help a bitter smile — it seemed he would not escape having to pay for damages. The sheet was covered in bloodstains; clearly it could not be kept.

Before long, the boss lady came swaying into the room. It seemed the inn had no regular attendants — she ran the whole place by herself.

Wei Zhao had opened the window to air the room before the boss lady came up, letting fresh air flow in, so the smell of Chinese medicine in the room was not too strong and the boss lady did not really notice it. But the moment she stepped through the door, she was struck dumb by the great patches of blood on the bed.

"You... this bedsheet?" The boss lady pointed in shock at the sheet in the room, somewhat speechless — she was too stunned, stunned beyond words. Earlier she had wickedly speculated that Yang Qiqi was a first-timer, which was why she limped, and now seeing the great patches of blood on the sheet only confirmed her wicked guess. Yet she was thinking: this Wei Zhao had no idea how to be tender with a delicate flower — making her first time this brutal, it looked like a hemorrhage; was he trying to kill someone? If a person died in her inn, that would be terrible luck.

At that thought, the boss lady's face fell. This sheet had cost her several dozen yuan, and once the cost of the sheet was subtracted from the room fee she earned, there would be nothing left.

"How did you get the room into this state?" the boss lady asked coldly.

"My apologies. Whatever it costs, I'll pay for it." Wei Zhao could hardly explain, so he simply told the boss lady he would compensate at full price.

Since Wei Zhao had said he would pay, the boss lady naturally said nothing more, thinking to herself that the young man was sensible enough; otherwise she had some sharp words waiting to cut him down.

After inspecting the room's furnishings, the boss lady said, "One disposable bath towel, forty yuan; one bedsheet, sixty yuan. A hundred yuan in all."

"Fine," Wei Zhao said with a nod. The woman was not so black-hearted after all — white sheets like these cost thirty yuan apiece even bought in bulk, and she was charging him sixty, exactly double, the same markup as the bath towel.

Seeing how readily he agreed, the landlady had nothing more to say. "Come downstairs with me, then, and we'll settle the room charge. You rested in the room for five hours, so it has to be billed as a full day — sixty yuan. You put down a hundred before, so just give me another sixty and we're square."

Wei Zhao nodded, went downstairs, handed the money to the landlady, then turned to leave.

"Wait," the landlady called after him.

"Something else?" Wei Zhao asked, turning back, thinking to himself that she surely had not decided the deal was a loss and meant to squeeze another sum out of him.

"That girl you brought in earlier — before she left, she asked me your name, and I told her," the landlady said, and since Wei Zhao had been so straightforward, she kindly offered him this word of warning.

From the look of things, the two of them were certainly no lovers, which was why the landlady felt moved to say a little extra.

"Ah?" Wei Zhao gave a bitter smile. He wanted nothing more to do with that woman assassin, yet it had never crossed his mind that she would bother to remember his name on her way out. No doubt there would be trouble ahead.

Out of the inn, Wei Zhao checked the time. It was already past two in the afternoon, and he had not eaten lunch, though to Wei Zhao a single meal was no great matter.

Wei Zhao hailed a taxi, and once inside he told the driver, "First High School."