From the day he met Beanie, Left Shore never wanted to get close to him. As they spent more time together, Left Shore only wished they could live out their lives never crossing paths again.
It wasn't that Beanie was a bad person or especially annoying—he was simply trouble. Worse, he was the kind who actively sought out trouble but had no ability to handle it.
Since childhood, Left Shore couldn’t remember how many beatings he’d taken because of Beanie, or how many times he’d hovered on the edge of life and death thanks to Beanie’s messes.
Yet no matter how many times he beat or teased Beanie, that fool was dead set on believing Left Shore was a good person—his lifelong best brother.
Left Shore honestly wanted to crack open Beanie’s head and see what was inside. How could a grown man be this stupid?
But more often, Left Shore envied Beanie, because Beanie had everything Left Shore could never obtain.
Beanie was the Young Lord of the Assassin Alliance, showered with endless affection. He grew up among killers, yet somehow stayed true to himself—naive and kind-hearted.
Even after his hands were stained with blood and he’d fallen into hell, Beanie remained pure and genuine. Sometimes Left Shore truly hated Beanie’s unique innocence—it was something he’d never have in this life.
Beanie loved to compete with him—always had. When they were kids, it was for top fighter; as adults, for top killer. Left Shore knew Beanie was fiercely competitive. For a while, Left Shore took every mission he could, climbing the assassin rankings nonstop until he finally reached number one.
Number one killer. It took him five years to earn that title. After that, he stopped taking missions so easily—he started watching Beanie take them instead.
Beanie wanted to compete for number one, so he had to take on more and harder missions than Left Shore. Left Shore was curious—after Beanie’s hands were stained with blood, could he still keep that innocent heart?
Left Shore knew that every time Beanie went on a mission, one of the Assassin Alliance’s old monsters would secretly follow. Most of the time, Beanie didn’t finish his missions himself—the old monsters did it for him.
The old monsters of the Alliance weren’t even subtle about it—anyone with half a brain could tell. But Beanie never noticed. He even naively thought he was amazing.
After half a year of watching, Left Shore couldn’t stand it anymore. He personally asked the old monsters to let him protect Beanie from the shadows during missions.
The old monsters agreed without hesitation. Their only condition: Beanie must come back in one piece. He could get hurt, but not crippled. If Beanie lost an arm, they’d break both of Left Shore’s arms; if Beanie lost a leg, they’d break all three of Left Shore’s legs.
Left Shore agreed without hesitation. He might dislike Beanie, but he’d never wanted him dead. To him, Beanie was special—someone he could bully and hit, but never let anyone else hurt or kill. He’d never let Beanie die by another’s hand.
Left Shore’s job was simple: protect Beanie, keep him out of mortal danger. He’d never help Beanie complete a mission or kill a target.
For a year, Left Shore shadowed Beanie, watching him go from clumsy to skilled; from getting hurt all the time to rarely suffering injuries; and, again and again, getting hopelessly lost.
Beanie was incredibly lucky—he almost never faced deadly danger, so Left Shore rarely had to intervene. He just watched Beanie kill, watched him take hundreds of lives and still stay innocent and genuine.
Heh... In that moment, Left Shore believed it—some people really are born lucky. Beanie would always be the happiest Beanie.
Left Shore didn’t want to waste any more time on Beanie. He went back to the Assassin Alliance, made things clear with the old monsters, handed over Beanie’s protection, and returned to the house he’d built for himself—to finally do the experiments he’d never had time for.
It was his only remaining hobby. Every day, facing those mechanisms and hidden weapons, Left Shore was calmer than ever. But for a killer, peaceful happiness was just a dream.
His mother found out his identity and came to him, playing the motherly affection card before asking him to assassinate a famous general of Xiling.
That general was a master fighter, surrounded by countless personal guards. Dozens of assassins had died trying to take him down—ordinary killers wouldn’t dare accept the job. And since Alliance assassins couldn’t target court officials, they never took missions involving government figures.
His mother asked him to do it. He cited the rules. His beautiful mother replied, 'As long as you don’t take payment, I’m not hiring an assassin, and you’re not breaking any rules. Left Shore, you’re just helping your mother—it has nothing to do with the Alliance’s code.'
Left Shore really didn’t want to accept the job, but under his mother’s gentle pressure, he finally took it. He succeeded in killing the man—but ended up badly wounded himself.
Lying in a valley, covered in wounds, staring at the star-filled sky, Left Shore thought he must have longed for his mother’s love—otherwise, he wouldn’t have broken the rules for her.
He knew better than anyone how much trouble killing a court official would bring.
He was right. Even though the Alliance turned a blind eye out of respect for his master, when he faced endless pursuit, they didn’t step in to save him—nor did they erase his tracks or help him escape, like they used to.
Left Shore couldn’t say the Alliance was wrong. The moment he took the job to assassinate a court official, he brought endless trouble on them. It was only natural for the Alliance to abandon him.
But what about his mother?
Why did she watch coldly as he was hunted, not caring at all whether he lived or died?
For a while, he was like a stray dog, chased everywhere, forced to hide. Once, he was surrounded by dozens of top fighters—exhausted, he fought to mutual destruction.
In that moment, lying in a pool of blood, he thought he should die. There was nothing in this world worth holding on to. But...
Just as he was about to give up on life, someone he never expected appeared.
Beanie!
"Left Shore, why are you so badly hurt? Don’t scare me. Wuwuwu, it’s all my fault—if I hadn’t gotten lost, I would’ve found you sooner."
"Left Shore, can you talk? Say something to me, so I know you’re not dead."
"Left Shore, it’s all my fault. I promise I’ll never get lost again. Next time, I’ll find you so much faster."
......
Beanie broke down crying as he struggled to lift Left Shore and carry him on his back.
"Idiot." Left Shore, still conscious on Beanie’s back, just didn’t want to speak. He only wanted to leave this world that had nothing left for him.
But after Beanie carried him out of the woods and safely reached a village, Left Shore didn’t want to die anymore.
If he died, what would happen to Beanie, that hopeless idiot? If Beanie could get lost in a patch of woods less than a hundred meters wide, who would find him if he wandered off again?
If he died, who would be the first to find Beanie when he got lost again?
No one. So he couldn’t die!