A plead for mercy

Bajie let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he kept walking.

Well, well, listen to you. Already planning the bedtime stories. Gotta say, I admire the confidence. Most folks in your situation would be too busy shitting themselves to think that far ahead.

His tone was teasing, but there was no real bite behind it. If anything, there was a touch of respect buried in there.

The Marches, huh? Not a bad choice. Not a great one either, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers. You’re gonna stick out like a sore thumb at first—accents, mannerisms, the way you move. You’ll need to learn fast, blend in, keep your head down. Lucky for you, I happen to be an expert at disappearing acts.

He shot her a sidelong glance, assessing her as if trying to gauge just how much of her own fire would be a help or a hindrance.

And this whole ‘only string is my family’ bit? That’s noble, real sweet, but let’s not kid ourselves. You don’t get to be as good as you are without making enemies. You’re gonna run into trouble again—maybe not tomorrow, maybe not in a year, but someday. And when that day comes, you better hope you’ve got someone left in your corner, ‘cause lone wolves? They don’t last.

Bajie sighed, rolling his shoulders as they walked.

But hey, it’s your life. I’m just here to get you out of this mess. What happens after? That’s all on you. Just don’t get all weepy on me if it turns out to be harder than you thought, alright? I am *not* the comforting type.

He gave her a smirk before turning his attention back to the path ahead.

Now, let’s pick up the pace. The sooner we get you off the map, the sooner I can go back to living my life without a hormonal assassin dragging behind me. Sound good?