Chapter 7 — Daughter of the Martial Arts Dojo

I came here to offer an apology.

What are you apologizing for? Be precise.

What happened in the alley. I should not have...

Should not have what? Finish your sentence.

Her throat bobbed twice. She could not force the words out. I let out a low laugh.

You cannot say it. Because you know that what could be dismissed in three simple sentences does not warrant you traveling hundreds of kilometers to see me.

This is not something that can be dismissed in three sentences. And even if you spoke, it would be useless.

Her eyes turned red. The corners of her mouth twitched slightly.

It was already written off in Beijing, wasn’t it? Your mother refuses to answer your calls. Jiang Linzhou ignores you too.

Everyone you know has moved on. Completely turned the page. I am the only one who has yet to make my stance clear.

You gambled that I would be the last person capable of showing mercy.

She remained silent. The streetlamp hummed softly overhead.

You were wrong.

Her shoulders slumped entirely.

I did not come looking for you. I simply had nowhere else...

You simply had nowhere else to go.

I took a step forward. She retreated, the back of her skull striking the metal utility pole with a dull thud.

You hired three thugs. Daggers. Razor blades. You offered a bonus if they crippled me.

My arm required six stitches. And now you stand here claiming you ‘did not come looking for me.’

You cannot even bring yourself to admit the real reason you are here.

She sank down into a squat, burying her face in her hands.

Ji Zining, her voice muffled against her knees, have you never done anything wrong in your entire life?

I have made mistakes. That is precisely why I know that wrong is wrong. True repentance is not merely a matter of empty words.

I turned around. The street was utterly deserted. Dry parasol leaves were being pushed along the pavement by the wind. She let out a sudden scream, her voice cracking entirely.

Then where else is left for me to go!

I did not stop. I did not look back.

That is your own concern.

I walked up the stairs. Old Zhao was waiting in the hallway.

Should we have someone take her away?

No need.

Beneath the streetlamp outside the window, there was no one left. Fallen leaves blanketed the ground. My phone lit up. Duan Lang.

Has the person arrived?

She is gone.

Did you touch her?

She does not even possess the qualifications for me to dirty my hands on her.

Old Zhao went downstairs. I leaned back against the chair. The phone lit up once more. My adoptive father.

My child, are you asleep yet?

I replied with a single word: Not yet.

Get some rest early.

I did not reply. I placed the phone down on the wooden desk. Outside the window, the streetlamp glowed brightly. The bare branches of the parasol tree stood stark against the night. It was terribly quiet. Much like the martial arts academy.