Blackstone Code-Chapter 525: The Show and the Assassin

Vera instinctively wanted to refuse, purely out of caution. She worried that if people noticed what was happening here, rumors would spread through the community. Sometimes, people’s gossip is astonishing—they can twist an ordinary event into something far from the truth.
It’s like that famous joke: a group of soldiers from different places were doing a night march exercise. The person at the front shouted, “No flashlights!”
Using a flashlight at night would reveal one’s position, so no light was allowed during a stealthy night march.
In the end, they were exposed—not because of the front, but because someone at the back shamelessly used lights to see. When the instructor asked why they hadn’t followed orders, the answer was unexpected:
No peeing or pooping!
A misunderstanding that spiraled out of control.
Similarly, a simple story about a handsome young man spending a night at divorced Vera’s place could easily become malicious gossip:
Vera picked up a young gigolo and is living with him!
Then it might escalate to
She’s selling her body to maintain her lifestyle in this community!
This is why political leaders communicate directly rather than through third parties—to avoid misinterpretation and ensure clarity.
Vera feared rumors about her
new partner
spreading quickly. This was a natural protective instinct, but concern for safety soon quelled her hesitation. She accepted Lynch’s request.
“I’ll tidy up the guest room…”
Lynch nodded and casually turned on the TV to the evening program.
At 9:30 p.m., this was the best time for TV in the Federation. Historically, late work hours meant people got home late, ate, and relaxed—making this peak viewing time.
Now, even after a lazy day, many still tuned in.
The state channel was airing the
Three Bastards
talk show—a hot political satire program. The audience’s reactions showed the trio were doing well.
“…As far as I know, you’ve been professional football commentators. Why appear on our show now? A career change?”
With enough money, anything’s possible. The hosts smiled broadly, no hint of confrontation.
This was a normal question; sudden guests always had reasons. They might want to voice opinions, try a new field, or transition from sports commentary to talk show guests or hosts.
The answers could vary greatly—introducing themselves, stating positions, sparking audience interest. It was routine and never failed before, but this time was different.
The middle commentator raised his hand—a serious, almost childlike gesture, oddly amusing.
“I volunteer! I can answer that!” he said solemnly. The host nodded.
Given the mic, he shot straight at the host, “Everyone knows we love money. Someone paid us to come and speak honestly, so here we are.”
The host froze, exchanging glances with the director. Mentioning
paid for honesty
on live TV was rare—most avoided that topic to maintain an illusion of neutrality.
The host hoped the director would cut to commercial and fix the script, but no response came. She had to face the tough moment.
Relying on experience, she continued, “That must be a lot of money?”
Before the second commentator could agree, the third covered his mouth, and the first snatched the mic back, tidying his messy hair and saying seriously, “My friend was joking…”
A shoe flew off during the struggle, turning the serious moment into a farce.
Fans pointed at the TV, recalling the trio’s antics; newcomers became curious.
The host twitched her mouth, rolled her eyes on turning away, and repeated, “A joke?”
The third commentator, smiling at the camera, said, “Yes, a joke. We’re here for ideals!”
The laughter made the serious tone light. Even knowing it wasn’t a joke, people found it hard to dislike them.
Some might, but most felt they were neither loved nor hated intensely.
The atmosphere softened, and the trio unleashed sharp criticism of the governor candidates—and sometimes the governor himself. The second commentator often
slipped
, saying too much.
Then the first and third would rescue him with gestures or silence, their clear stance and charm winning audience favor.
“They’re funny!” Vera said, having finished setting up Lynch’s room and watching for a while.
Lynch smiled, “These three have a unique style. They’re hard to dislike, so even when they go too far, it rarely backfires.”
He looked at Vera, “Sit down, don’t stand. The show’s just starting.”
After hesitation, she agreed.
They sat on the sofa, enjoying the lively program—a political news show turning from serious to lighthearted.
The host adapted quickly, sometimes making sharp remarks amid audience gasps, which viewers soon accepted.
As long as it wasn’t overly harsh or malicious, people could forgive and embrace it.
Vera’s occasional laughter made her feel relaxed—she hadn’t enjoyed such simple happiness in a long time. When the program ended, she realized she had been sitting very close to Lynch.
She wasn’t sure when she had gradually moved so near, but judging by where Lynch sat on the sofa, it seemed she had been the one to lean closer.
After the show ended, it was already 10:30 p.m., a time when most people prepared for bed. Their eyes met, and the warm breath between them brushed their faces, stirring a flutter in Vera’s heart.
Lynch kept smiling at her. She felt that if she didn’t leave soon, things might get complicated.
Just as her thoughts teetered on the edge, she stood up, turned away, and took a deep breath. “I’ve tidied the guest room, I…”
She bit her lip and quickly walked away, as if staying another second would be unbearable.
Lynch smirked, got up, and went upstairs. After a quick wash, he lay down on the bed.
The house had central heating; the basement boiler sent warmth to every room. Even without heavy blankets or thick clothes, it never felt cold.
Lynch fell asleep almost instantly—a few seconds was all it took. It was a good habit that helped him quickly regain energy and rest.
After an unknown length of sleep, he suddenly opened his eyes in the darkness.
A shadow blocked the light under the bedroom door.
He frowned slightly but stayed still in bed, reached for the pen he had placed on the bedside table, twisted off the cap, and clenched it in his hand.
The pen, costing over a thousand bucks, had a high-strength, wear-resistant alloy tip. Even if dropped, it wouldn’t deform. So it should be able to pierce a person’s chest.
The door slowly opened…