Reborn To Be The Imperial Consort [BL]-Chapter 171: Preening Black Dahlia — XII

It was time for a confession.

Li Xinyuan fled.

Yes, a genius neuro and cardiothoracic surgeon of the modern times and the future Divine Doctor, fled without looking back once.

Right after entrusting Namgung Hyein to the female lead’s tender care, Li Xinyuan gave her a few instructions for the future and turned tails.

He was not going back, that much was certain. Not when he had not the slightest inclination of why Namgung Hyein had such a sudden meltdown — or maybe he did and left before things could take a hideous turn.

Cold-hearted, maybe. Crass, certainly.

But better than giving her any sort of hope and unintentionally leading her. Especially so with her fragile mental health.

Li Xinyuan heaved a great sigh, feeling a heavy weight roll off his shoulders. Now, he stood by the window, staring into his room, wondering why he didn’t think of closing it.

Then, the surgeon shook his head, a tad disappointed in himself, before crossing through the window to enter his room.

In doing so, the surgeon used his hand for support — as is common — thus, inadvertently worsening the pain he had been feeling since the night before.

"Ow!" Once inside the room, Li Xinyuan held the injured hand — with his other wounded one — and winced in pain. "Good job, bastard."

Admonishments could do little to soothe the pain in his being, but it would at least discourage him from doing the same in future.

The wounds on his hand?

They were a result of an abrupt but swift brawl between Li Xinyuan and an assassin, who by some fortune, found him last night.

...

The previous night.

It was once more that the torment of insomnia found him unguarded. And now, as it seemed, he was to lay awake for the rest of this young night, lamenting endlessly upon his inability to sleep in peace.

Slowly, the surgeon turned on his side, arm under his head like a pillow and back to the open window.

That window was kept open only — only for ventilation. Nothing else.

Nothing else.

But perhaps, someone failed to understand that after all.

As Li Xinyuan let out a tired sigh, exhaustion seeped deep in his bones and turned to lay on his back, against the dim moonlight, a looming, dark shadow fell over him.

It was then, that he noticed.

Someone was sitting on the window sill.

Alarms blaring in his mind, the surgeon bolted upright, eyes wide and goose bumps all over his person.

Time seemed to crawl by as he turned his head to meet the eyes of the intruder.

Golden irises met the dark ones, the latter full of killing intent as the man sitting on the window lunged forth without preamble, gleaming cold blade drawn and a grin on his face.

"I found you."

Li Xinyuan flinched, unable to make his escape in time, pressed under the killer, holding off the cold blade with his bare hands.

His breath faltered, chest tight as he looked up at the man. The assassin who’d sniffed out his trail.

Though, perhaps by some coincidence.

Like a hammer, his heart thundered against his ribs, hands trembling with effort under the force of the assassin’s blade.

"Who sent you?" Though the surgeon asked, his mouth was dry and back drenched in cold sweat.

"None you need to know of."

The force behind the sword increased, the cold blade dug into both his palms, drawing carmine liquid that dripped on the surgeon and the sheets under him.

Gritting his teeth, Li Xinyuan kicked out his legs, face pale as he flung the assassin away from him, sending him crashing against the wall.

The surgeon followed quickly, hands wet with his own blood as he straddled the assassin, taking advantage of his disorientation.

"Who sent you?" He snarled, pressing a dagger to the intruder’s throat.

He needed to know who had such a persistent bounty on his head.

The assassin grinned, wide and insane. The surgeon punched him on the nose, uncaring of the blood flowing down his arm.

The man grunted, that damned smile persistent. It gave nothing away.

"How did you find me?"

"I am talented."

Li Xinyuan’s eyes flashed with murderous intent. Cold fury bled in his veins, he gripped the man’s lapel and punched again.

Right where it hurt.

The man let out a cry as Li Xinyuan’s hands, wet and warm with blood, tightened around his throat. Holding the dagger to his throat once more, the surgeon leaned down.

"Tell me now." he hissed softly, pressing the dagger harder, drawing blood in the process. "Or I will claw it out of you."

The assassin stilled. He stared up at the surgeon, the eyes blown wide and saw a dark void in gold stare right back.

He paled more.

This wasn’t some doctor. This man was veering on the edge of insanity.

A belated realisation.

"Stop." Before he knew it, the assassin whispered. "I will tell you now."

For a second, Li Xinyuan’s nerves relaxed, his guard lowering a little.

"Good—"

The man under him tried to bite the poison under his tongue. An assassin would rather die than rat out its master.

Li Xinyuan, in an instant, saw through the deception. Before the man could bite down the poison, he showed his thumb into his mouth and pried his jaw open.

Crude and callous.

The assassin’s eyes widened, showing, for the first time since the brawl began, his fear.

"You thought deception would work?"

A chill crawled down his spine as the man grunted in response, eyes wider with regret.

"N-no—"

...

Li Xinyuan rubbed the reddened dressing, absently walking over to his bed. He needed to change the dressing again.

The surgeon frowned, lowering himself to the fresh sheets Hu Lijing had changed this morning after disposing of the body.

Li Xinyuan’s head dipped in thought, half-minded, he changed the dressing in silence, allowing the bloodied ones to fall onto the floor.

The nine-tailed fox spirit hadn’t questioned him. He did not ask about the corpse, nor the blood that coloured the surgeon’s hands and clothes. He did not demand answers for the... Less than ideal state of the corpse.

Hu Lijing did not ask how or why Li Xinyuan knew who sent the assassins after him. Or how he knew that their whereabouts were discovered on accident by this one.

The surgeon could not be more grateful for that.

He did not like thinking of, or dwelling on the past. It was a shadow he had yet to escape.

Years of saving lives still did nothing to help him unlearn what he was trained to be it seemed.