Through the receiver in Zhao Shumin's hand, gunfire crackled like distant firecrackers, a continuous barrage that carried across the line.
She parted her lips slightly, blinking in confusion.
Killing someone... right now?
A single slash?
What kind of human language was that?
"...Seriously? Show us."
She didn't believe it.
Staying up late at night to kill people? Were they holding some kind of murderer's nighttime rally?
What a joke.
Shen Yi obliged without hesitation, actually showing them.
She turned her phone's camera around. On the screen, the night was heavy and dark, gunfire erupting relentlessly as background noise. In the blurry light and shadow, only Wen Ya's fleeting silhouette could be caught, leaving a trail of corpses scattered sideways in her wake—like a typhoon had swept through, leaving only a bloodstained mess.
Obviously.
The hundred or so gunmen on site hadn't exactly satisfied Lady Wen Ya.
Shen Yi sighed, turning the phone back to face herself. "I told you, I'm not joking. Friends, without me, who'd give you a front-row seat to a live crime scene?"
Both girls fell silent at once.
Only Sophia covered her mouth, her eyes sparkling like stars. "So cool."
"Your mom is so cool, Xiao Yi!!" She suddenly leaned closer to the screen, her nose nearly touching the lens. "Can I come over and play sometime? I want to see your family's kung fu—oh, I knew it, your whole family knows kung fu, right?"
"Can you show me some Chinese kung fu then?"
The Miss kept chattering, her words fast as a string of firecrackers, way too noisy.
Shen Sixing came over to glance at the screen, let out a chuckle, a bit surprised by the girl's phrasing:
"Chinese kung fu?"
His voice lifted.
Shen Yi reacted instantly, slapping a hand over the phone's screen and turning sideways to block her old dad's face entirely from view.
"No eavesdropping on our chat."
On the other end of the call, Chen Jiaojiao's face went pale the moment she caught a glimpse of Shen Sixing, even though it was just a blurry side profile.
She quickly grabbed a teddy bear plushie to hide behind, leaving only her startled eyes visible.
Zhao Shumin was getting curious too. She took the phone from Chen Jiaojiao's hand a bit, speaking softly, "Come to think of it, we've never been to your place, Yiyi."
Chen Jiaojiao chimed in, her voice muffled behind the bear: "I went when I was little!"
But after that, she never dared to go again.
"Can we come visit your home? Can we, can we?" Sophia pressed on, her tone rising with a playful whine at the end.
Shen Yi smiled. "Of course. Once I'm done with things here and come back, I'll invite you all over."
"Thank you, sweetie," Sophia said, cupping her face in her hands with delight. "I'll bring you a gift."
"Since you're going," Chen Jiaojiao said with an awkward laugh, her voice shrinking, "I guess I'll pass..."
Zhao Shumin: "Don't be scared. Yiyi's family doesn't eat people."
Chen Jiaojiao couldn't help but retort, her tone both timid and stubborn: "Yeah, and when they're not killing, they're still decent people."
Zhao Shumin: "..."
Compared to the caution of the other two girls, Sophia was boldly fearless.
Her own family background wasn't exactly clean; she'd grown up used to bloody dealings on the edge of a knife, which made her all the more curious about the inner workings of a legendary assassin family.
Shen Yi's camera was pointed right at the smoke-filled murder scene.
Muzzle flashes flickered in the night.
It looked super cool.
Sophia couldn't hold back her grin. She struck a victory sign in front of the lens, cheerfully snapping a selfie with the pervasive gun smoke and the bodies strewn across the dark grounds.
Click.
The photo froze.
The young girl's sweet smile, with a backdrop of a pitch-black estate and fallen figures, looked like the MVP summary screen of a killer right after a hit.
Sophia's slender fingertip tapped the screen. She used that screenshot to edit a post for her social feed, captioning it: It's really bonus points to have a friend who can kill, you know.
Image: ⌯˃ᵕ˂⌯ಣ
The comments came instantly: ???
A cascade of question marks rolled down like a snowball. Someone posted a terrified emoji, replying: Is this from a movie shoot?
Sophia locked her screen with a smile.
...
Killing Lorenzo alone wasn't enough.
Wen Ya wiped the blood from her blade on the hem of a corpse's clothes, straightened up, and turned her gaze toward the tightly shut door deep within the main manor building.
As the saying goes, you must pull out the roots to cut the weeds.
If the son had done wrong, the father was to blame. The old bastard wasn't getting away either.
By the time Shen Yi and Shen Sixing caught up at a slower pace, Wen Ya had already finished.
She stood in the center of the hall, the dagger in her hand gleaming cold under the light, its blade spotless.
A dozen or so people lay on the floor—some flat, some slumped by the sofa edges—their chests no longer rising.
Killer Mom's methods were utterly brutal!
Shen Yi clasped her hands together under her chin, utterly admiring. "Mom is so amazing."
Shen Sixing couldn't help but smile, slipping into a long, nostalgic memory. "She used to charge into my family alone. Can you imagine, Xiao Yi? Our family had hundreds of professionally trained assassins, and not one could withstand a single move from her."
"Back then, my whole family was completely cowed by her skill."
At first, his family looked down on him and his wife.
But after seeing Wen Ya storm in alone, they all went silent.
The scene at that time—along with his father's face—was more spectacular than any massacre he'd ever witnessed since.
"So cool." Shen Yi's eyes widened silently, able to picture the scene vividly. She murmured, "I want to spar with Mom too."
She wanted to see, after hundreds of bouts with White Sparrow and coming out on top, just how far she still was from matching her mother.
Shen Sixing patted her head, his palm warm against her crown. "We'll talk about sparring another time."
With that, he began scanning the room.
The Visconti family's hall was decked out with valuables; several oil paintings on the wall were clearly the work of famous artists.
He casually took a few down.
Seeing this, Shen Yi perked up and started rummaging too.
She wasn't great at spotting the expensive stuff, grabbing whatever she could—a silver candlestick, crystal ornaments, a hefty-looking cloisonné vase that she hugged tightly to her chest.
Wen Ya stood in the middle, watching the father-daughter duo shuttle back and forth. She froze.
The woman looked left and right for a moment.
Finally, she couldn't help but speak softly, "Doesn't this look a bit bad? Our whole family seems like a bunch of robbers."
So embarrassing.
Shen Sixing didn't turn around. "But even if we don't take it, the other Visconti family members will just split it all anyway."
Wen Ya: "But we're assassins. We're not burglars committing home invasions."
"Is there a difference? Honey, I honestly didn't realize you were the kind of goody-goody who kills and leaves without taking anything."
Wen Ya's face fell a bit. "You're the one with no professional integrity, aren't you? Assassins are supposed to just kill."
Shen Sixing finally stopped moving, turning back to smile at her warmly. "Alright, alright. I can tell you used to be a very dedicated assassin."
From that polite "you," Wen Ya could sense a hint of blatant mockery.
She reached out and swatted his head, not with much force, her tone sharp yet soft: "Stop being so sarcastic with me. This is basic decency—I always follow the rules."
The couple shared the same line of work,
but their styles were complete opposites. In terms of professional ethics, Wen Ya had maintained a flawless reputation to this day.
Shen Sixing, however, often gambled and lost terribly, and after a kill, he’d casually grab a wallet, swipe a couple of paintings, and pocket a few gold watches as routine.
He was a complete scoundrel with zero professional ethics.
Shen Sixing’s take on this was: "The people who criticize me—they’re not exactly innocent either."
He didn’t believe anyone could finish off someone and then resist the urge to take something.
Wen Ya: "That’s because you started it. I remember that back in the day, retired hitmen all had good reputations."
Shen Sixing chuckled, "What can I say? I’m stimulating the economy."
Wen Ya let out a cold laugh.
Shen Yi didn’t bother getting involved in her parents’ professional ethics debate.
She was squatting next to a bronze sculpture, figuring out how to move it. After a few attempts, she realized she couldn’t budge it and reluctantly gave up.
"Mom and Dad," Shen Yi said, turning around and grabbing a porcelain vase, excitedly asking, "Can we auction these off? I remember we own an auction house."
Shen Sixing raised an eyebrow: "Sure, and then the whole world will know that the Visconti family’s bloody massacre was our doing."
He didn’t care.
Even if it were revealed, it would only add another layer of terror to their family’s already notorious reputation.
The Shen family’s auction house every year moved a huge number of items with shady origins.
Everyone in the industry knew that the previous owners of those goods were rich people the Shens had taken out.
Logically, buying things with such bloody histories was bad luck, but plenty of people couldn’t resist currying favor with the Shens or seeking some twisted peace of mind.
Thus, their auction house generated impressive revenue each year, with a steady stream of bidders.
Shen Yi rummaged around and realized there were just too many things to take. She thought about grabbing a sack, but after searching,
she found that rich folks didn’t keep burlap sacks in their homes.
So she had to dig a clean set of Egyptian cotton sheets out of the dressing room, bundled up the loot by tying the four corners. The sack hung heavy on her shoulder, clinking and clanking as she walked.
Sell them, sell them—all of them!
Wen Ya watched from behind as Shen Yi dragged the sheet sack, bigger than herself, full of spoils,
while Shen Sixing strolled along clutching over a dozen paintings and sporting seven or eight gold watches on his arms.
She covered her face in silence.
So embarrassing!!
Her utterly unimpressive child and husband.
