The day I rescued her was the most successful setup in my career.
When she lay on my back and asked her name, I had no idea that three months later she would become my weakness, and three years later she would die in my arms wearing a wedding dress.
I'm undercover. The lanterns on the moat, the paintings under the sweet-scented osmanthus trees, the vows at the wedding - they are all part of the mission. I thought I could escape unscathed, that I could take her away after the mission was over.
Until she stood between me and her father, and her wedding dress was stained red with blood.
The last thing she said was: I don't blame you.
But I blame myself.
Later I quit my job and planted tuberoses all over the old street where she used to paint. I go to the cemetery every spring and sit in front of her tombstone for a whole day.
She didn't know until her death that the man who saved her on a rainy night had come to kill her whole family from the very beginning.
The tuberose is blooming again. I walked to the cemetery holding the flowers.
After five years of walking, I still can't get out of that rainy night.
