The gray-robed young man looked quite ordinary. He sat there cross-legged, drinking and eating sunflower seeds, the very picture of an unemployed drifter killing time in the marketplace.

Only his eyes stood out: they were bright and clear, like the polished edge of a sword.

The gray-robed young man drummed the countertop and spat out the sunflower seed shells in his mouth. He laughed, “Ol’ Wang, assassins aren’t brave warriors prepared to face death with equanimity, nor are they reckless, temperamental barbarians. We aren’t valiant elites who can kill a man every ten steps and travel thousands of miles without anyone standing in our way. I won’t even try to imitate people like that.”

Old Man Wang asked with great interest, “Then what do you think a true assassin ought to be like?”

The young man in gray pointed at himself and said, “Like me. When I’m not killing people, I bury my head in the dust and act just like any other ordinary civilian. I never foolishly overestimate my own power.”

Old Man Wang snickered, “But you’re no ordinary civilian. You’re just hiding your identity, that’s all. That’s not so clever.”

The young man in gray laughed and drained his cup. “I blend into the marketplace!...