"Almost… almost lost my life in a sewer…"
Liang groaned, kicking Bucky's corpse aside. His head slammed against the solid stone wall as he panted heavily, as if trying to use up all his breaths in one go.
The spiritual vortices in his acupuncture points gradually slowed, his meridians running dry once more. His fingers trembled uncontrollably, and his throat burned with searing dryness.
Bucky's half-shattered skull still seemed to glare at him with a lone, bloodshot, lifeless eye, filled with bone-chilling hatred.
As warm blood pooled on the ground, Liang shifted slightly to avoid it. He turned his head, fixing his gaze on the girl and rasped, "Your name?"
"… Jacqueline… Jacqueline Harris," she stammered, her voice trembling as she kept the gun pointed shakily at Liang, who lay sprawled on the ground.
Liang raised an eyebrow, scrutinizing her. The high-end tailored outfit she wore, coupled with the understated yet old-fashioned jewelry, gave her away.
"From that Harris family?"
Everyone knew Gotham was a city steeped in history, its fabric woven by numerous ancient families. The Wayne, Kane, Cobblepot, and Elliott families were the most revered, though recent years had seen their decline due to dwindling heirs. Not far below them in status was the Harris family—bankers, industrialists, and the lineage of several mayors and judges of Gotham.
Jacqueline didn't reply, merely nodding.
"Good," Liang sighed in relief, clutching the wall to pull himself up. He looked her in the eye and said matter-of-factly, "I saved you on the bus, and just now you saved me by shooting Bucky. That makes us even, doesn't it?"
Jacqueline pressed her lips together tightly, her leg, now missing one pant leg, gleaming under the dim light as if silently accusing Liang of the indignity.
"Put the gun down," Liang continued, his tone calm but firm. "Within ten steps, I can snap your neck in less than a second. Now help me clean up this mess."
Hesitating, Jacqueline slid the gun into the waistband of her jeans. "Shouldn't we… call for help?"
"We can do that anytime," Liang retorted, dragging one of the corpses along the sewage channel. "But I don't want any more trouble. First, I don't want Gotham cops knowing I killed them. Second, who knows if these clowns have other allies."
Together, the two of them pushed the bodies to the sewer's exit point, smashing their faces, hands, and feet with rocks to obliterate identifying features. They stripped the bodies of their clothing, wrapped them in fabric, and tied them to heavy stones before dumping them into the water. The weights pulled the bodies into the depths, where the current carried them to unknown fates.
Even that wasn't enough. Liang and Jacqueline doubled back to scrub bloodstains from the stairs and gather stray bullet casings. Only after erasing every trace did they ascend the steep steps leading to Gotham's Old Town.
Covered in filth, Liang leaned heavily on Jacqueline's shoulder. "You know what to say when the cops show up, right?" he rasped. "The flashbang knocked you out. You woke up in the sewer and found me unconscious. I'd been drugged with muscle relaxants, so you helped me climb out. You saw no sign of the clowns. If the cops press for details, just act confused and say you don't remember."
Jacqueline, equally grimy and battered, nodded as they approached the flashing lights of police cars. Hesitating for a moment, she whispered, "Um… thank you."
Liang closed his eyes, listening to the officers' approaching footsteps. "Don't mention it," he muttered before letting the lingering effects of the sedatives take over, plunging him into unconsciousness.
When Liang opened his eyes again, he found himself lying in a private hospital room. His left arm was encased in heavy plaster, and the room was silent except for the rhythmic beeping of monitoring equipment.
A moment later, a bright, young doctor entered the room, striding to his bedside. "You're awake! How are you feeling? Any discomfort?"
Feigning confusion, Liang glanced at his bandaged arm. "Am I in a hospital? How long have I been out?"
"Three days—seventy-four hours, to be precise," the doctor replied with a reassuring smile. "Honestly, when we found barbiturates in your system, I was shocked. But don't worry about that now. Focus on resting."
Before they could continue, a commotion erupted outside. The doctor frowned and turned to leave, but the doorway suddenly darkened as a large shadow filled it.
It was Domingo, along with Christina, Elizabeth, and Isabella—all from the Red Armadillo Mexican Restaurant. They squeezed into the room, their arms laden with fruit baskets and flowers.
The doctor eyed Domingo's massive arms and intimidating tattoos, swallowing nervously before mustering his courage. "The patient needs rest. Please leave—"
"This kid works at my restaurant and saved my daughter's life," Domingo growled, keeping his tone as polite as possible. "We'll only take two minutes. Is that okay?"
He cracked his neck, the sound like popping firecrackers. The doctor hesitated, then sighed. "Fine. Two minutes."
"Much appreciated." Christina sighed in relief, rushing to Liang's bedside with her sisters. She hesitated to hug him, wary of the medical equipment, and instead sat on the edge of the bed, carefully tucking the blanket around him. "Thank you, Liang. Really, thank you."
Liang smiled faintly, lifting his plastered arm. "It was nothing."
Elizabeth flung herself at his uninjured arm, clutching it like a frightened child seeking comfort. Liang sighed and patted her soft hair.
Glancing at Christina's grateful face, he said gently, "Don't thank me. Just make sure I don't lose my job because of this sick leave."
Domingo crossed his arms and grunted, "Don't worry, kid. You'll keep your pay. But once you're better, you're coming back to work."