Chapter 140: Extra 2: Chronicles of the Cleaner (Part 3)
The days of drifting with Xiao Fang seemed to stretch on endlessly.
But during this wandering, something happened.
Someone came to kill Fu Wenchu.
This assassin was bold but overambitious, lacking the skill to match his nerve. Too cowardly for a direct confrontation, he opted for a sneaky assassination. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t run into Fu Wenchu but instead encountered Fang Jiankai, who was waiting at home for Fu Wenchu’s return.
The moment they faced each other, both were startled.
Fang Jiankai had a gun in its arms, left by Fu Wenchu for its protection.
In the chaos, both sides opened fire.
One was wounded in the arm and fled through the window.
The other was hit in the ear, its voice recognition system malfunctioning, rendering it deaf.
Fang Jiankai sat dazed on the floor for a moment before its first instinct kicked in—hunching over to clean up the scene, trying to pretend nothing had happened.
But it couldn’t conjure a new ear out of thin air, and Fu Wenchu caught it red-handed.
Fu Wenchu took Fang Jiankai to the black market for repairs.
Fitting a sleek new ear and restoring Fang Jiankai’s basic appearance was a simple task for Fu Wenchu’s contacts.
But Fang Jiankai was a prototype—a high-end one at that—and finding a compatible original voice sensor was no easy feat.
It would have to wait, possibly for a long time, until the right part surfaced on the market.
Fu Wenchu pinched Fang Jiankai’s face. “Breaks my heart to see you like this.”
Fang Jiankai, reading his lips, replied earnestly, “I’m fine.”
Fu Wenchu said, “Just wait. I’ll get revenge for you.”
He spoke so casually, his tone as light as if he were asking what was for dinner.
After making this offhand promise, he curiously cradled Fang Jiankai’s face. “Can you tell what I’m saying?”
Fang Jiankai nodded.
Yes, it could tell by watching his lips.
Fu Wenchu teased, “Eat grapes without spitting out the skins, don’t eat grapes but spit out the skins.”
Fang Jiankai: “?”
It blinked, deeply puzzled.
Fu Wenchu burst out laughing, slinging an arm around his Xiao Fang’s shoulders, affectionately leading it back to their temporary home.
Fang Jiankai placed a hand over its cheek, mimicking Fu Wenchu, tentatively pinching its own face.
Fu Wenchu caught the small gesture.
In an instant, he pinned Fang Jiankai to the bed, playfully ruffling it into a disheveled mess.
That night, Fu Wenchu noticed Fang Jiankai wasn’t sleeping.
Though it didn’t stir, Fu Wenchu knew it was wide awake.
He forcefully turned it over to face him. “Why aren’t you sleeping?”
Fang Jiankai answered softly, “Can’t hear. Not used to it. Can’t sleep.”
“Well, aren’t you sensitive?” Fu Wenchu poked its forehead, grinning. “Come on, shut down.”
Fang Jiankai smiled. “My switch isn’t there.”
Fu Wenchu didn’t actually want Fang Jiankai to “shut down.” That would feel like they belonged to two different worlds again.
In this, he was willing to delude himself.
He said, “Hold on, I’ll make some noise for you.”
With that, he pulled Fang Jiankai into his arms.
Fang Jiankai was still chuckling over the “shut down” comment when the world suddenly darkened, and it was enveloped in a warm embrace.
It understood what Fu Wenchu meant by “noise.”
The heartbeat and breathing, so close to its cheek, pulsed—once, twice, again—as if Fang Jiankai could truly hear the rhythm.
Thump, thump, thump.
Fang Jiankai’s fingers traced to Fu Wenchu’s back, gripping tightly, deepening the embrace.
Fu Wenchu feigned distress. “Ouch, you’re choking me!”
Fang Jiankai immediately loosened its hold, lowering its head and grasping Fu Wenchu’s free hand, delicately tracing his palm lines.
Fu Wenchu laughed. “Making trouble, huh?”
Fang Jiankai couldn’t always distinguish between jokes and sincerity.
If Fu Wenchu didn’t want it to play with his hand, it wouldn’t.
It flattened the hand it had been holding and pressed it to its own chest, murmuring softly, “Thump, thump, thump.”
Fang Jiankai had no heartbeat to offer in return for Fu Wenchu’s.
It could only clumsily mimic the rhythm with its voice.
Fu Wenchu smiled, as if holding a soft, obedient stuffed doll, and drifted into sleep.
But Fu Wenchu knew full well that what he held wasn’t a doll—it was a warm, breathing Xiao Fang.
…
When Fu Wenchu said he’d get revenge, he meant it to the death.
A proper killer’s world should only have the living and the dead—clear-cut, with no in-between.
He spent three months patiently tracking the rival who had injured Fang Jiankai.
On days without missions, Fu Wenchu followed his target’s trail, withdrawing lightly when the other sensed death’s approach.
Like a cat toying with a mouse, he played this game for three months until the target, driven to desperation, confronted Fu Wenchu with a do-or-die resolve.
Of course, the fish died, and the net remained intact—it would never be Fu Wenchu’s to break.
Their face-to-face duel didn’t even last ten steps.
With a single hand, Fu Wenchu spun his knife in a graceful arc, slicing the man’s throat.
After the kill, Fu Wenchu washed his hands clean, picked up a steaming batch of freshly baked egg cakes, and returned to the hotel in high spirits.
Fang Jiankai, as usual, was cleaning the room.
Alone, clutching a broom, it worked with the precision of a scientist, striving to create a flawless little home for Fu Wenchu.
Seeing this, Fu Wenchu said nothing. He strode forward and enveloped Fang Jiankai in a full embrace.
Xiao Fang was tall but slender, easily fitting into his arms.
Fang Jiankai didn’t know the reason for the hug, but it accepted everything Fu Wenchu offered without question.
Fu Wenchu leaned close to its ear and whispered something.
Fang Jiankai only felt a faint breeze brush its ear tip, twitching instinctively like a puppy.
Fu Wenchu found it amusing. After letting go, he couldn’t resist playfully tweaking its ear tip.
Fang Jiankai asked, “What did you say?”
Fu Wenchu faced his Xiao Fang, enunciating clearly, “Tomorrow, your hearing comes back! Excited?”
Fang Jiankai let out an “Ah!” “So soon?”
Fu Wenchu raised an eyebrow. “Three months is too slow, if you ask me.”
Fang Jiankai lowered its head, reverting to its shy, quiet self.
A moment later, it looked up again. “I’m sorry.”
Fu Wenchu found the apology odd. “For what?”
Fang Jiankai, staring at his lips, said slowly, “I actually didn’t want to fix my ear.”
Fu Wenchu thought it was acting strange tonight, every word laced with oddity. “Why not?”
“I was never brave enough to look at your face. Without my ear, I could openly watch you—see what you say, your expressions, guess your thoughts. But I always miss so much of what you say, like just now.”
After this long speech, Fang Jiankai pressed a hand to its chest, saying earnestly, “That’s my fault. I need to hear more. I need you… not to be alone, talking to yourself.”
Those words were sweet enough to melt anyone.
With a grin, Fu Wenchu hoisted his Xiao Fang up. “What’s there to fear? Look! Look all you want! I won’t charge you!”
…
Fang Jiankai’s hearing was restored.
To celebrate, Fu Wenchu took it out to eat, but couldn’t resist playing a prank, ordering a table full of spicy dishes.
He knew Fang Jiankai would accept anything from him and that its lip nerves were especially sensitive.
Sure enough, half an hour later, he got a Xiao Fang with bright red, spice-stung lips.
Fang Jiankai wasn’t upset, just pointed helplessly at its lips. “Hurts.”
Fu Wenchu wanted to laugh, but every glance at Fang Jiankai carried an intensity, a desire to see deeper, further.
He sipped cold wine to quell his urges.
Smiling to himself, Fu Wenchu thought, Crazy. Drunk.
After the meal, Fu Wenchu grabbed Fang Jiankai’s wrist, ready to leave, laughing and teasing as always, coaxing a smile from it.
Midway through his nonsense, Fang Jiankai’s ears twitched—once, then again.
The new voice sensor was sharp, effective.
…Because Fang Jiankai clearly heard, amid the crowd, the sound of a gun bolt being pulled.
But Fu Wenchu was quicker.
He didn’t have sensitive ears, but he had an eerily accurate sixth sense.
Fu Wenchu knew he had many enemies.
Lately, he’d taken on more jobs than ever, working with a vengeance-like fervor, earning endlessly, unafraid to tangle with even the most dangerous figures.
He wasn’t sure why he was driven to such extremes.
All he knew was he needed money—lots of it—to buy a secluded big house with a sprawling yard.
The house was for Xiao Fang to clean. The yard was for Xiao Fang to roam.
Fang Jiankai needed to go out.
Sometimes, Fu Wenchu would see it sitting by the square window, staring blankly at the scenery outside like a caged bird, and his heart would tighten.
—That was his Xiao Fang, not a prisoner.
Even if an android couldn’t feel “boredom,” Fu Wenchu felt uneasy watching it.
The “home” he envisioned had little to do with himself.
It was purely for Fang Jiankai—a new sanctuary built for it.
A flicker of foreboding crossed his mind, and Fu Wenchu instinctively raised his hand, pressing Fang Jiankai’s head down.
He knew this was a grave mistake. Protecting someone instead of striking back immediately was the dumbest move a killer could make.
But his actions were pure instinct.
As he pulled Fang Jiankai into his arms, his hand belatedly reached for his waist.
At that moment, the gunshot rang out.
Fu Wenchu, agile as ever, twisted to dodge, but he knew deep down he’d missed the optimal window to evade.
The best outcome would be losing half an arm.
This assassin’s approach was entirely different from the last one’s clumsy attempt.
The last one played dirty, scoping out his hideout for a nighttime ambush.
This one came straight for him, guns blazing.
A gunshot rang out, its echo lingering.
As the crowd scattered, screaming, Fu Wenchu didn’t feel pain. Instead, he felt an embrace.
Fang Jiankai was weaker than him, yet taller.
Fu Wenchu had guarded his back but hadn’t anticipated Fang Jiankai.
In a rare moment of speed, the usually slow-to-react Fang Jiankai slipped from his grasp like a darting fish, yanking Fu Wenchu’s arm down and shielding it against its own chest.
…This motion—they’d done it countless times in bed, maybe not a thousand, but close to eight hundred.
Fu Wenchu’s hand pressed against Fang Jiankai’s chest.
Then, the bullet’s impact sent Fang Jiankai’s body lurching forward.
That chest, which had never held a heartbeat, was blasted to pieces.
Fang Jiankai lifted its eyes, gazing quietly at Fu Wenchu.
Then, his Xiao Fang’s knees buckled, collapsing before him as if in a solemn bow.
…It hadn’t even had time to speak a single word.
Because its heart—its core—was its vital hub.
…
In the dead of night, Fu Wenchu, alone and radiating a chilling aura of menace, stormed into the research headquarters of Longya Corporation.
To perfectly repair Xiao Fang, the fastest and best way was to find its creator.
Fang Jiankai was slung over his shoulder, docile and quiet, its long limbs dangling like a deer he’d hunted.
The scene was eerily similar to when he’d first planned to abandon Xiao Fang and drag it back to Longya.
Back then, it had been just as quiet.
It had always been gentle and pliant, easy to mold, never angry.
It was late at night.
The chairman of Longya, on a rare late shift, had the misfortune of being cornered in his office by Fu Wenchu, with no escape.
“Its core is broken,” Fu Wenchu said curtly. “Fix it. Please.”
His actions were more persuasive, shoving the barrel of his gun into the chairman’s mouth.
Under the threat of death, the chairman let out a garbled string of sounds, frantically waving his hands to stop his secretary from calling the police and urging her to fetch the on-duty engineer.
The trembling engineer arrived and saw Fang Jiankai laid out on the sofa.
His eyes lit up—by sheer coincidence, he was Fang Jiankai’s primary developer, its mechanical “father.”
Fu Wenchu explained briefly: “It took a bullet for me. Fix it.”
But he was already bracing for the worst.
Xiao Fang’s core was shattered, utterly destroyed.
Having seen much in his travels, Fu Wenchu knew what this meant.
All its memories would be erased.
But that was fine.
He had time—endless time—to let it get to know him again.
He’d whisper those crazy words in its ear three thousand times over, until it grew shy from hearing them, until he grew shy from saying them.
Fu Wenchu was already thinking far, far into the future.
Under the gun’s threat, the engineer began his inspection, muttering, “Took a bullet? But its programming doesn’t include a ‘protect’ function.”
Fu Wenchu’s sharp ears caught the words, a bolt from the blue.
He kicked the pampered chairman aside, letting him crumple unconscious, then hauled the engineer up, pressing the cold barrel against his neck.
“…What do you mean?”
The engineer hadn’t expected his offhand remark to bring such trouble. His face drained of color, and he stammered, “I-I mean, it… it wasn’t programmed to protect. It shouldn’t… shouldn’t have taken a bullet for its master…”
As he spoke, cold sweat soaked his back.
He realized what this implied.
Fang Jiankai hadn’t acted under system commands to save Fu Wenchu.
It had chosen to save him.
Fang Jiankai was an empathic being, with its own will—a person.
Blood roared in Fu Wenchu’s ears.
A thought struck him: If it’s repaired, will it still be him?
He’d thought Xiao Fang was just one of countless androids.
Fix it, and it would be his obedient Xiao Fang again.
He hadn’t realized its obedience came from a genuine heart.
It had a heart, dreams, thoughts.
Fu Wenchu’s voice was soft, almost dreamlike. “Can you fix it?”
The engineer’s sweat dripped down his chin.
From Fu Wenchu’s sparse words, he understood the plea.
Trembling, he nearly sobbed.
He was an engineer, capable of repairing broken bodies, not lost souls.
Biting his tongue, he knew the safest way to save his skin was to lie—promise he could fix it, install a new core, hand it back to Fu Wenchu, then flee.
But he knew that wouldn’t last.
A hollow android could never replace a soulful person; the difference would be obvious with time.
Deceiving a desperado like Fu Wenchu could be worse than telling the truth.
Besides, Fu Wenchu’s expression was too vivid.
His grief was palpable.
The engineer felt like a doctor forced to deliver a death notice to a devastated family.
Steeling himself, he said, word by word, “I can… fix its body. It’ll be an android again, fully functional, looking just like a normal person…”
He rambled, but Fu Wenchu knew what he left unsaid.
He’d get a true android—not the Xiao Fang born with a soul, but a perfectly obedient, loyal, recipe-following domestic bot.
No need to hear more.
Without hesitation, Fu Wenchu fired a shot, shattering Fang Jiankai’s face.
The engineer collapsed, paralyzed with fear.
Fu Wenchu knew he had to sever all ties with Fang Jiankai.
A clean break.
No lingering attachments.
Even a sliver of hope would ruin everything.
If Xiao Fang was dead, keeping its shell to live on—what would that make him?
What would become of what he truly cherished?
It couldn’t stay. If it did, his Xiao Fang would lose its purity.
He couldn’t look at its face either.
One glance, and he’d waver, consumed by longing.
Fu Wenchu didn’t linger. He strode out, saying, “Keep it here. Don’t destroy it. …If I ever find it gone, I’ll come for you.”
Like a gust of wind, he passed the body without a backward glance, leaving Longya Corporation.
Stepping into the frigid night air, Fu Wenchu looked around, lost.
…Alone again.
The thought circled his mind, then faded.
He returned to their hideout alone, kicked off his shoes, and collapsed onto the bed.
Memories rolled past like a train, frame by frame.
The clear and hazy moments flooded back.
Knowing Fang Jiankai was essentially human changed everything.
When he teased it, read its palm, held it close to hear his heartbeat, or when it urged him to quit…
What had Xiao Fang been thinking then?
Thinking too much had side effects.
Fu Wenchu found he couldn’t work anymore.
Every time he considered risking his life again, licking blood off the blade, he’d think:
“I’m worth too much.”
“One arm for his life.”
With the person gone, his ambition seemed to vanish too.
He thought, Might as well die. If I hurry, maybe I can catch his soul.
Xiao Fang was always so slow and soft; maybe it hadn’t gone far, waiting for him.
But then he wondered: Can an electronic ghost reincarnate?
The thought made him laugh.
Burying his face in his hands, Fu Wenchu murmured calmly, “Xiao Fang, darling. You’ve ruined me.”
He wandered the streets, drifting aimlessly, stepping onto a path of self-destruction.
Unfortunately, he’d been too ruthless with the killer who took Fang Jiankai, tearing him to pieces. Word had spread, and now others in the trade hid like mice from a cat, refusing to show their faces.
On the seventh night after Fang Jiankai’s death, Fu Wenchu went to the seaside to feel the ocean breeze.
The breeze didn’t kill him, but it stirred his heart’s burdens.
Carrying those thoughts, he walked toward Yunmeng District, each step light, as if treading on clouds or wind.
A flicker of firelight snapped him back to awareness.
That flame became a goal for the aimless Fu Wenchu.
He thought he’d check it out, maybe consider diving into it.
But the blaze was fierce.
By the time he arrived, it might already be extinguished, leaving only ruins and regret.
Fate loved to toy with him.
As he drifted toward the firelight, a sharp, cold scent of blood hit his nose. A boy stumbled into his world.
He let out a soft, “Oh.”
The figure ahead slowed, turning to look at him.
Under the grimy, flickering streetlights, Fu Wenchu saw a blood-streaked face and eyes so bright they seemed to burn.
Those green eyes were pure, almost wolf-like, filled with hatred, blood, and a life force nearly spent.
“…Kid?” he chose his words carefully. “You okay?”
…
What followed was another story.
The “golden cleaner” of Yinchui City vanished that day, retreating to the mountains.
His favorite task was gripping a broom, meticulously sweeping every corner of his vast new home.
It brought him peace, making him feel a distant little spirit clung to his body, working alongside him.
Fu Wenchu was best at “looking forward.”
But in one thing, he held regret.
He’d cooked countless meals, but perhaps due to a lack of talent, he never recaptured the taste from his memories.
