Rebirth of a Mercenary: The Ace Mercenary Forced to Be the Beloved of the Group

Xuan Xiao was still standing bent over by the track, his hands on his knees, sweat dripping from his chin, leaving dark dots on the gravel.

Bai Ye walked over, stopped in front of him, and handed him a bottle of mineral water. The cap was already unscrewed, and a layer of water droplets, taken from the freezer, clung to the bottle, glistening in the sunlight.

Xuan Xiao looked up at the bottle of water and the hand holding it—fair fingers with a little bit of dust from last night’s alleyway still clinging to them, and a thin red mark on his wrist from a dagger that had already scabbed over.

He took the water bottle but didn't drink. His gaze moved from the red mark to the gauze below Bai Ye's collarbone, from the gauze to the bandage on Bai Ye's left arm, and from the bandage to the outline of the dressing that was faintly visible under Bai Ye's training uniform on his waist.

Four stab wounds. This man was stabbed four times while he was asleep last night. He was sleeping on the top bunk and knew nothing about it.

With a "smack," the mineral water bottle slipped from Xuan Xiao's hand and hit the gravel, water spilling from the bottle opening and wetting a small patch of ground.

Bai Ye glanced down at the water bottle on the ground, about to say, "You can't even hold a water bottle properly," but before he could finish speaking, Xuan Xiao had already pulled him into his arms.

The embrace came unexpectedly—Xuanxiao's arms encircled Baiye's back, one hand clasped between his shoulder blades, the other around his waist, the force so great it felt like he wanted to press Baiye into his own body. His chin rested on the top of Baiye's head, his breathing rapid and heavy, his chest heaving violently, his whole body trembling slightly.

Bai Ye's face was pressed against Xuan Xiao's sweat-soaked training uniform chest. He could smell the laundry detergent mixed with sweat on his body and feel his heart beating abnormally fast.

He was stunned for a moment—no one had dared to hug him like this in his past life, and no one had dared to do so in this life either.

He raised his hand to push Xuan Xiao away, pressing his palm against Xuan Xiao's chest and pushing hard. It didn't budge. He pushed again, still no movement. Xuan Xiao was holding him too tightly; his arms were like two iron hoops, firmly locking Bai Ye in his embrace.

"Relax." Bai Ye's voice came from Xuan Xiao's chest, muffled and clearly displeased.

Xuan Xiao heard it, but didn't let go. He rubbed his chin against Bai Ye's head, making the tuft of hair that Bai Ye hadn't managed to suppress even more messy.

Then he felt the person in his arms struggling harder and harder, and his shoulders began to tighten, making a soft rustling sound as his training shoes kicked against the gravel.

Bai Ye really wanted to break free, but his sixteen-year-old body was already at a disadvantage when he tried to outmuscle an eighteen-year-old martial artist. Moreover, Xuan Xiao was currently in an abnormal state where he had suddenly found his anchor point after being under extreme tension.

"Release yourself," Bai Ye said again, this time in a colder voice.

Xuanxiao finally loosened his grip a little reluctantly—he only lightened the tightness of his embrace, changing from "holding him in his arms without letting go" to "circling him and not letting him go."

He lowered his head, wanting to check Bai Ye's injuries again, and then he saw the top of Bai Ye's head. To be precise, it was that tuft of hair on Bai Ye's head that had been sticking up since last night, that he had ruffled in the dormitory, that Li Mo had pressed down on, and that he had now rubbed so hard that it was completely standing up. It was about four or five centimeters long, stubbornly standing on top of his head, swaying gently in the morning breeze, trembling with the rhythm of Bai Ye's breathing.

Xuan Xiao was stunned.

He looked down at the tuft of hair, watching it sway gently with Bai Ye's breath, watching it gleam with a soft black sheen in the sunlight.

The bloody images that were still playing on repeat in his mind were suddenly covered by this tuft of hair—the man in black, the dagger, the four knife wounds, the bloodstains in the alley, all were squeezed into a corner by this tuft of hair.

He couldn't help but reach out, wanting to ruffle Bai Ye's hair, his fingertips almost touching the tuft of hair.

Then his hand stopped in mid-air.

It wasn't because Bai Ye dodged it, but because he felt an extremely familiar chill creep up the back of his neck. This reminded him of the bucket of cold water poured over his head last night, and the fear of being punished with forty laps of shuttle runs this morning.

A hand reached out from behind, fingers spread, and firmly gripped the back of his collar. The force wasn't great, but the grip was extremely precise—right at the most vulnerable spot on the collar of his training uniform. With a pull, Xuan Xiao was lifted off Bai Ye.

"You don't seem to have run enough," Li Mo's voice came from above Xuan Xiao's head, devoid of any warmth, its tone flat, yet sending chills down one's spine more than any roar. "Keep running."

"No—Captain—I really can't run anymore—look at my legs, look—" Xuan Xiao was dragged towards the track by the back of his collar, staggering and struggling, pointing to his legs with one finger, both of which were indeed trembling.

Li Mo didn't look at him.

"Captain—I've run dozens of laps—my legs really can't take it anymore—"

Li Mo continued walking towards the track.

Xuan Xiao was dragged four or five steps away and turned to look at Bai Ye. His eyes were filled with despair, sorrow, and pitifulness. His lips were downturned, and his brows were furrowed so tightly they could trap a mosquito. He exuded a survival signal that said, "If you don't save me, I'm doomed."

Bai Ye stood by the track, his ahoge (a single strand of hair sticking up) still swaying gently in the wind. He watched as Xuan Xiao was dragged towards the track by Li Mo like a sack of potatoes, and saw the "no one can plead for him" expression on Li Mo's face. He sighed.

"elder brother."

Li Mo stopped in his tracks. He didn't turn around, but he didn't loosen his grip on Xuan Xiao's collar.

"He's already run many laps," Bai Ye said.

Li Mo still didn't turn around. Xuan Xiao's collar was still being held in Li Mo's hand, and he was in an extremely awkward half-squatting position, not daring to break free or speak, only praying frantically in his heart.

"If we keep running like this, we'll miss tomorrow's training," Bai Ye said again.

The silence lasted for a few seconds. Li Mo looked down at the Xuan Xiao he was carrying, then turned to look at Bai Ye standing by the track.

Bai Ye stood in the morning light, his expression calm, his eyes serious.

This serious expression reminded Li Mo of a scene from ten years ago—six-year-old Bai Ye tugged at Bai Chen's trouser leg and said, "Brother, you punished me too harshly," in the exact same tone as he was now.

He loosened Xuanxiao's collar.

Xuanxiao stumbled and almost fell when he landed, clutching his neck and panting heavily.

Li Mo didn't even look at him, turned around and walked back to Bai Ye's side, glancing down at him: "Don't let this happen again."

Bai Ye nodded.

Xuan Xiao collapsed by the track, rubbing the back of his neck where his collar had been choking him for so long, panting heavily as if he had just escaped death.