The Deranged Young Master

Li Huan was in a good mood today.

The job was extremely simple, the money came quickly, and an income of over a million was steady.

He had originally planned to take a vacation, but picking up an escort job on the side was a good way to stretch his muscles.

At thirty-six years old, he had been hanging around the lawless borders abroad for years.

The rules in the country were strict, making it hard to operate, but crossing the border for this kind of life-risking, money-making business suited his tastes perfectly.

As long as the employer didn't cause trouble, this money was basically free.

He glanced up at the young employer.

A slightly crazy and somewhat pathetic young master.

Losing everything over a woman was simply a joke in Li Huan's eyes.

Abroad, five hundred dollars was enough to buy a beautiful woman's life, even turning her into a paper beauty.

Trading everything for an illusory romance? Stupid beyond belief.

Take the money, do the job, and leave.

That was his only creed.

He didn't even have the interest to watch the drama of his employer's mess.

His gaze shifted to the group playing cards a short distance away.

Peanut shells littered the floor, and a few people were cursing, arguing red-faced over a card.

This group handled the main part of the kidnapping.

Li Huan took a quick look.

Their stances were weak, the webbing of their hands holding the cards had no calluses, and their muscles were loose.

They had a bit of ruthlessness, but that was it.

If they really fought, without weapons, he could send this whole group away in under a minute.

As for the two suited bodyguards behind the employer, their posture was sloppy, full of flaws, not even qualified to be cannon fodder.

Li Huan retracted his gaze and sat back in the shadows.

Two short daggers, three throwing knives, and a specially modified Glock.

He slowly disassembled, wiped, and reassembled them.

The metal parts clicked crisply.

The slide reset, loading a round with a sharp sound.

It was this specially modified Glock that kept the card-playing guys in their place, none daring to come over and chat.

And because he had a gun, the others didn't.

While Li Huan observed others, they were observing him.

The group kept glancing over from the corners of their eyes while playing cards.

"That mercenary looks pretty hot," the only woman in the group spat out a melon seed shell.

"Give it a rest," the bald guy next to her threw down a pair of sevens. "A Living Yama who licks blood off a knife for a living only sees money and dead people; women mean nothing to him."

The bald guy leaned back, dodging the lighter the woman threw at him, "Even if we take a step back, with your looks, he wouldn't even give you a second glance! Hahahaha!"

"Bullshit!" the woman punched the bald guy's shoulder.

The other men joined in the jeering, their laughter echoing in the empty warehouse.

The liveliness belonged to them, while the cruelty was left to Zhou Nianqian.

Li Huan didn't even bat an eyelid.

With a push of his thumb, the magazine slid into place, and the safety was engaged.

The gun was always just a cover.

At this moment, Zhou Nianqian was tossing a folding pocketknife in his hand, the blade glinting under the bright lightbulb.

He looked down at the oil stains on the floor tiles, then up at the row of people sitting in front of him.

They were tied up securely, their mouths sealed with thick yellow packing tape.

To prevent them from struggling, the ropes were tied with dead knots, cutting into their flesh.

This was the factory building he had rented. The weeds outside were taller than a person, so even if a concert were held inside, no sound would be heard outside.

"Although not everyone is here, it doesn't matter; we can start with the main event."

Zhou Nianqian retracted the blade and popped it out again, making a crisp clicking sound.

He stretched lazily, his bones popping, "Right, my dear father?"

Zhou Chutian was tied to the middle chair, his brow furrowed into a deep frown.

His bloodshot eyes glared at his crazy eldest son.

The Zhou Group had long been pushed to the edge by Jiang Chengshan, slowly being devoured.

He didn't understand. He hadn't handed this son over to appease the Jiang family's anger, but instead gave him enough cash to last a lifetime and told him to get lost.

As long as the green hills remain, there will be wood to burn. Wasn't this protection?

He had repeated these earnest words more than ten times.

To no avail.

"Mmph! What! Are! You! Doing!" Zhou Chutian's cheeks bulged, his throat desperately squeezing out distorted syllables, saliva dripping down the edge of the tape.

Zhou Nianqian burst out laughing, leaning back and forth, tears almost coming to his eyes.

He walked over and patted the old man's cheek.

"What do I want to do? Old man, you need to fix this mumbling problem. I don't ask for much, I just want to end your bloodline."

As soon as he finished speaking, he flicked his wrist, and the small knife plunged straight into the thigh of his half-brother next to him.

"Mmph!"

The tape muffled most of the scream, but couldn't block the pain in the muscles. The pants were soaked in blood in the blink of an eye, the color darkening.

Since last week, Zhou Nianqian had been checking the registry, rounding up all the pampered young masters and misses of the Zhou family.

Three brothers, two sisters.

Plus his high and mighty father.

A neat and tidy family.

And his dear father.

He knew the Zhou Group was already crumbling, but he just didn't like the feeling of being kicked out.

If they were going to die, they would die together. It's good to have company on the road to the underworld.

No one was going to shit on his head.

The knife was pulled out, drawing a string of blood beads.

Zhou Nianqian shook his hand in disgust, wiping the blood on his brother's designer shirt.

The second stab, the stomach.

The third stab, the chest.

The blade was too short to pierce the organs, let alone deliver a fatal blow.

But for torture, it was just right.

To prevent blood from splashing onto his clothes, Zhou Nianqian moved very slowly, doing the work of a surgeon.

As he stabbed, he hummed an off-key nursery rhyme, matching the victim's twitching rhythm.

With every stab, he stopped to admire the victim's pupils dilating from the pain.

On the other side, the guys who took the money to do the job had long stopped playing cards and chatting.

They huddled in the corner smoking, their fingers trembling as they watched the boss, who was previously just a bit crazy, turn into this monster.

They had seen many employers, but one who killed his own siblings and provided his own sound effects was truly rare.

Zhou Nianqian was completely immersed in his own world.

These so-called brothers and sisters, who never called him 'brother' when they met, were now happily mumbling 'mmph mmph mmph'.

Killing them was just cleaning up the garbage for society.

Time ticked away, and half an hour passed.

There were five more motionless bodies in the factory.

Warm liquid spread along the gaps in the floor tiles, the smell of blood overpowering the original scent of rust.

Zhou Nianqian stood up straight, stretched his sore wrists, and let out a long breath.

He took out a wet wipe and cleaned his fingers, not missing the blood under his fingernails.

After doing all this, he slowly walked over to Zhou Chutian.

The old man's eyes were wide open, covered in bloodshot veins, his throat making a hissing sound like a broken bellows.

Rip.

The yellow tape was violently torn off, taking a few hairs from his beard with it.

Zhou Nianqian leaned close to the face distorted by anger and fear, his tone light.

"Old man, is this early funeral gift to your liking?"