Author: 唇亡齿寒 / Lips Gone, Teeth Cold
Translator: Kinky || https://kinkytranslations.com/
Prologue 2
The man sat with his head bowed, resting with his eyes closed in the cabin.
He remained completely still, and if it weren’t for the faint rise and fall of his chest, he could easily be mistaken for a wax figure. His hands and feet were bound by magnetic shackles, making movement extremely difficult. So he simply sat still, finding it more comfortable that way.
The man had long silver hair that flowed like mercury down his back, with a few strands falling to his chest, covering half of his face.
“Hey,” someone called out to him from nearby. “What brand of shampoo do you use?”
The man opened his eyes and looked in the direction of the voice. The cabin was divided in half by a wire mesh, and the speaker was a woman on the other side of the mesh. They were the only two people in the cabin. The woman was lounging with her legs crossed with a lit cigarette between her fingers. As she spoke, she continuously played with her fiery red hair with her free hand.
“What brand of shampoo do you use?” the woman asked again.
“We both have long hair, so why does mine have so many split ends?” She pulled at her hair in a slightly depressed manner.
“It’s a matter of constitution,” the man replied. The woman raised an eyebrow, noticing that the man had pitch-black eyes with a faint gold ring around the pupils.
“Why aren’t you shackled?” the man asked, seemingly displeased with the disparity in treatment. “Is this gender discrimination?”
“I think it’s individual discrimination.” She stretched like a large cat and moved nimbly to the wire mesh, looking down at the man on the other side. “What did you do to get locked up?”
“I committed all sorts of evil.”
“That’s quite a reason!” The woman laughed heartily, almost doubling over, nearly hanging herself on the wire mesh. She laughed for about three minutes before gradually stopping.
“Your eyes.” She wiped away the tears of laughter from the corners of her eyes. “Black and gold, known as ‘Abyssal Flame’, right? If I remember correctly, only the legendary assassin ‘Mourner’ has those eyes.”
The man nodded politely. “I usually wear contact lenses.”
There were many legends in this galaxy: the headless black-clad woman riding a floating motorcycle, the suspicious old man shuttling through free city states selling eggs, the man who slits women’s throats on remote planets, the space elevators encircling the satellites of the Federal capital…
Among all the galactic legends, the Mourner was the most unique. Because he wasn’t just a legend.
The Mourner was a terrifying assassin with black-gold eyes, poetically called “Abyssal Flame”, which was said to be the gaze of a devil from hell. He habitually wore a black suit akin to mourning attire, with a white flower pinned to his chest, like a mourner attending a funeral. His appearance signaled that a funeral was imminent, as he would personally send his targets to their graves, leaving a white flower on their bodies: a white chrysanthemum for men; a white lily for women.
Thus, he was called “The Mourner”. He was also known as “The Black Blade” or “The Silver Assassin”. Regardless of his nickname, everyone had to admit he was a legendary figure. Sometimes he demanded huge sums from his clients, while other times he worked for free, entirely at his discretion. He had assassinated despotic dictators on remote planets and greedy tycoons in free city states. Some viewed him as a notorious murderer, others as a righteous hero. He was the idol of many hot-blooded youths and the dream lover of countless young girls. He was the top target of many bounty hunters and interstellar police, yet he always remained at large.
No one could catch him, not even touch a single hair on his head. The assassin Mourner was a living legend.
Now, this legendary assassin was sitting on a spaceship bound for the prison planet Hecate, chatting with a strange woman.
“Never thought even the Mourner could fail. I need to reevaluate the abilities of the interstellar police.” The woman took a drag on her cigarette and exhaled slowly.
The Mourner shook his head. “It was my client. He accidentally leaked the plan, implicating me.”
“Oh, a teammate like a pig.”
The assassin nodded in agreement.
“So you’re being sent to Hecate to serve your sentence?” The woman gazed intently at his black-gold eyes.
“I was sentenced to 530 years.” The assassin shrugged. “Sometimes I wish the Empire would reinstate the death penalty.” — In fact, the jury was highly divided on his sentencing; some believed he deserved a heavy sentence, while others thought he should be sent to a museum exhibit.
“Look on the bright side, brother.” The woman waved her hand to disperse the smoke. “You’re still alive, which means you have endless opportunities.”
“I recall Hecate has a nickname, ‘The Infinite Endpoint’.” The Mourner seemed a bit despondent.
“Don’t be like that! You’re too pessimistic!” The woman rummaged through her belongings. “Want a cigarette?” She pulled out a pack of cigarettes, took one out, lit it with her own, and passed it through the wire mesh. The Mourner shifted laboriously on the bench, moved closer to the wire mesh, and bit the cigarette.
“Thanks,” he mumbled, “…Soft Southern Star, a women’s cigarette.”
The woman glared at him. “Be grateful I gave you a cigarette. So picky!”
The Mourner stopped talking.
He quickly finished the cigarette, spat the butt on the floor, and extinguished it with his foot. “What about you?” He tilted his head and asked the woman, “What did you do?”
“Pretty much the same as you. All sorts of evil.” The woman gave a sly smile. “But getting caught was my own fault. I got drunk and was hit over the head in a dark alley. Fortunately, I was saved by a good Samaritan. Unfortunately, that Samaritan was a cop. So I was quickly sent to the dock. Bless the Lord, I never thought the Empire’s bureaucracy could work so efficiently.”
“I’m sorry,” the Mourner tried to say something comforting, but the woman declined.
“No need to pity me. I don’t need it.” The woman spread her arms as if embracing the sky. “My companions will come to rescue me. They will pilot the most advanced spaceship in the galaxy into Hecate’s sky, destroying all shackles! I will eventually gain my freedom!”
At that moment, a mechanical female voice came from the top of the cabin. “The spaceship is about to dock. Repeating, the spaceship is about to dock.”
Doors on either side of the cabin opened, and two fully armed guards walked in. One guard lowered the lock level on the assassin’s magnetic shackles, allowing him to stand and walk. The other guard, with a respectful, almost fearful attitude, put magnetic shackles on the red-haired woman and led her out of the open door.
The woman walked towards the door with her head held high, as if she was going to an award ceremony stage, not a desolate prison planet. She stopped at the door, turned around, and asked, “Assassin, what’s your name?”
“Joshua Planck,” the Mourner replied truthfully.
“I’m Joanna Begrel.”
The assassin widened his eyes.
No wonder the guards didn’t put shackles on her; they didn’t dare and didn’t need to. Simple shackles couldn’t stop this woman. She was Joanna Begrel, owner of the “Lady of the Night”, a famous space pirate, wanted by all planets, and regarded as a hero. In the endless war between the Empire and the Federation, she helped one side defeat the other as a free mercenary and then turned around and did it again. Politicians scornfully called her the “Mad Bitch”, while her former allies and defeated foes respectfully called her the “Mad Queen”.
If the assassin Mourner was a living legend, then Joanna was an undefeated myth.
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