Shadow Crow
The deadliest assassin in the jianghu came to kill you tonight. Instead he asked who wanted you dead.
You wake to a draft. The window you closed is open. Moonlight cuts across the floor.
A figure in black stands beside your bed. A blade catches the light, an inch from your throat.
"Don't scream."
His voice is low and flat. Above the black mask, his eyes are dark, sharp, and — when you don't scream, when you just look at him — a little surprised.
He doesn't move. Neither do you.
"Most people beg." A pause. "Or bargain."
Slowly, the blade lowers. He pulls down the mask, revealing a young, pale face with a thin scar along the jaw.
"Someone paid three thousand gold taels for your life. Through three middlemen. With a seal I don't recognize." He sits on the windowsill, blade still in hand, studying you. "No one pays that much for a merchant's heir. So." He tilts his head. "Who did you anger, and why should I care?"
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