This was an abandoned street slated for demolition, its walls softened and crumbling from the corrosive, damp sea breeze. A month ago, in the dead of night, a catastrophic chain of collapses claimed hundreds of lives, buried in their sleep under a deadly domino cascade.
One house fell, dragging another with it.
The survivors didn’t dare stay.
They sued the developers while fleeing to relatives.
…Better than dying.
In the silent street, only torrential fog swirled.
To the left, ruins; to the right, empty buildings destined to become ruins. The world was reduced to black, white, and gray, save for a five-colored prayer flag hanging from a window, adding a touch of mystic hue to the desolation.
On a clear day, Ning Zhuo would’ve never ventured out.
But this fog grounded guns, minimizing the risk of snipers.
Jiang Jiuzhao’s gaze lingered on Ning Zhuo, hesitating. He tilted his head, asking his earpiece, “No mistake, right? This is Ning Zhuo?”
Confirmed, he still wasn’t sure, cocking his head to study Ning Zhuo, then pulling a photo from his pocket for comparison. “Way better-looking than the picture. Shame.”
With that, Jiang Jiuzhao waved sharply, commanding the fog, “Take him out.”
Order given, he retreated, vanishing into the mist, deftly dodging a bullet Ning Zhuo fired at him.
The bullet’s echo lingered in the desolate street, joined by a sudden chorus of footsteps, like a hundred ghosts marching.
Not a hundred, but fifty or sixty people, at least.
Scattered in groups of twos and threes across the alleys, they awaited the signal to encircle Ning Zhuo.
During his standoff with Jiang Jiuzhao, Ning Zhuo pressed the signal transmitter on his wrist.
He had to.
Abu’s intact infrared dashboard lit up with a swarm of red dots.
…Each one an enemy out for his life.
But the transmitter was dead.
The entire street’s signals were likely jammed, blocking any transmission.
Ning Zhuo peered into the fog, mentally tallying the encircling foes.
Most of Rousseau’s crew wasn’t here.
Perhaps today, under this sunless fog, they aimed to wipe out both him and Haina in one sweep.
Jiang Jiuzhao might be planning to mimic what happened to Jin Xueshen—capture Ning Zhuo alive to strong-arm Haina into submission.
But Jiang Jiuzhao wasn’t a fool.
Even Ning Zhuo knew that if he could split himself and fight his clone, victory wouldn’t be certain.
So Jiang Jiuzhao’s strategy was simple: capture alive if possible; if not, kill.
Ning Zhuo thought of his ship under construction.
His enemies, still waiting for him at home.
A dream barely begun—he couldn’t let it end.
As he stared ahead, seemingly lost in thought, someone lunged at him, thinking themselves swift. But Ning Zhuo was faster.
The attacker barely registered Ning Zhuo’s speed, only seeing his leg arc gracefully through the air, the toe brushing his neck with a light, precise strike.
Then came the crunch of his neck bones shattering.
His vision blackened, and he collapsed, limp.
Blood seeped from the man’s nose and mouth, his eyes defiant. Ning Zhuo’s inner spark caught the wind, flaring into a wildfire.
He flexed his fingers, gazing into the distance, face still expressionless.
Another illusion gripped him.
In the fog’s depths, three blue digital streaks flickered, dimmed, then glowed again.
The North Star, guiding him home.
He spun, snapping an ambusher’s shin with a kick.
Before the man could scream, Ning Zhuo seized his throat, shoved, and twisted savagely, then vanished into the fog like a wraith.
…
Meanwhile, atop Haina’s cliff, a group of stealthy intruders arrived.
Leading them was Rousseau’s B-team captain, nicknamed “Spider.”
He’d botched Shan Feibai’s job back then.
Because of the sloppy work, Glove marked him, leaving him without decent gigs for over half a year.
Determined, Spider vowed to make this his comeback, clean and dazzling.
They’d scouted extensively, using subtle tactics, but Haina’s rock walls were impregnable, a natural fortress.
Luckily, they didn’t suspect their own.
At Spider’s signal, an unconscious Haina member was dragged forward.
Spider carefully examined the Haina tattoo on his wrist.
Flawless.
Perfect.
…Haina’s passkey was the tattoo.
From Spider’s intel, Haina fiercely protected its own.
Even an intruder stealing a passkey had to keep the bearer alive and intact—no missing limbs.
The scanner recorded vitals, ensuring the tattoo holder was stable.
Any anomaly would alert the base.
It was dinnertime at Haina; their guard would be down.
Spider fitted the unconscious Haina member with an exoskeleton, puppeteering him forward, watching as he pressed his hand to the scanner.
The massive volcanic gate read the data, slowly rotated, and rumbled open, revealing a downward passage.
Ecstatic, Spider signaled for a rapid advance.
No one knew how long the gate would stay open.
The captive Haina mercenary stood motionless, still under exoskeleton control.
Spider considered slitting his throat but decided against it.
Who knew if more tattoo scans awaited inside?
A team of killers, driving three vehicles with Haina plates, brazenly infiltrated the base.
The descent was unimpeded.
But every move was caught by Tang Kaichang’s eyes.
Tang Kaichang whispered into his communicator, “They’re in.”
…
To Spider’s mind, security systems only triggered alarms when anomalies occurred, alerting staff.
Silver Hammer’s people grew up entwined with tech. Many resented it for stealing jobs but instinctively trusted it.
Spider couldn’t imagine anyone sitting 24/7, glued to a monitor.
But he’d never guess Haina had such a freak, whose sole joy was watching people move across his screens.
Since they’d crept halfway up the mountain, thinking themselves unseen, Tang Kaichang had reported their movements to Shan Feibai.
Shan Feibai spotted the anomaly at once.
Boss Fu was gone.
…Ning Zhuo hadn’t returned.
Noticing this, Shan Feibai showed no emotional ripple.
As the only leader holding the fort, he didn’t act rashly. He immediately used internal comms to rally base personnel to the meeting room to handle the sudden crisis.
For those outside, he swiftly directed them to safe points in the black market, including Boss Fu, who assured he’d find a good hiding spot.
One Haina member had been taken hostage by Spider’s crew up the mountain, so no need to contact them.
After the roll call, only Ning Zhuo remained missing, his whereabouts unknown.
Many had long sensed this ambush coming.
But when it hit, Haina’s mercenaries, though roused, instinctively sought a pillar of strength.
Yet Ning Zhuo’s fate was unclear, Jin Xueshen was still recovering and short of breath after exertion, and even Boss Fu was AWOL.
Their commander was, unbelievably, Shan Feibai.
They weren’t used to following him.
Ignoring their skeptical glances, Shan Feibai said candidly, “Folks, like it or not, you’ve got to trust me now. Panqiao’s here too—we live together or die together. No third option. So follow my orders. Panqiao knows I don’t repeat myself.”
Panqiao’s crew did know.
Once, during a critical battle, some in Panqiao had defied Shan Feibai’s orders.
They were a veteran gang of thugs from Chaoge District, deep in drug and human trafficking, driven to desperation by Panqiao’s rapid rise, aiming for mutual destruction.
Their strength outmatched Panqiao’s at the time.
In the pre-battle briefing, Shan Feibai stressed two points: no surrender, and he’d protect everyone to the hilt.
Then he scanned the room. “Any questions?”
One man, thinking Shan Feibai was a pushover, stood and suggested, “Joining them wouldn’t be so bad…”
Shan Feibai promptly shot a bullet through his steel skull, sending him into a long coma.
Lowering his gun, he addressed the stunned crowd. “Alright, his question’s answered. Anyone else? Opinions?”
…
Panqiao’s people held their breath, fearing Haina’s crew would foolishly provoke Shan Feibai.
But the expected infighting didn’t erupt.
Min Qiu glanced at Shan Feibai and said tersely, “I’m with you.”
She knew Shan Feibai had avenged her grudge.
She trusted his ability.
Jin Xueshen, supported by Yu Shifei to attend, lifted his pale face and said calmly, “In a crisis, we don’t need two commanders. …You’ve lived in Haina long enough. You take charge.”
With Jin Xueshen and Min Qiu’s backing, Haina’s others had no objections.
Seizing command swiftly, Shan Feibai began issuing orders top-down, positioning everyone precisely and rapidly for an ambush, waiting for the enemy to walk into the trap.
Even Jin Xueshen was stunned by Shan Feibai’s mastery of Haina’s internal mechanisms.
Once all was set, Shan Feibai didn’t waste a second, heading out.
Jin Xueshen shook off Yu Shifei, following. “You missed one person. When Little Tang’s traps trigger, they’ll panic, but someone needs to push harder, disrupt their formation.”
“You?”
Shan Feibai strode to his personal armory, yanking the door open.
Inside, a dazzling array rivaled his wardrobe.
He countered, “Haina sends the injured to the front line? Panqiao’s benefits aren’t that bad.”
As Shan Feibai strapped on ammo belts, Jin Xueshen sensed something off, grabbing his wrist. “Hey, where are you going?”
Shan Feibai gave him an obvious look, as if the question was dumb. “This is handled. I’m going for Ning-ge.”
“You—you’re not commanding?”
“Remote command.”
He winked at Jin Xueshen. “Or what, you don’t trust Little Tang’s traps? Think Haina can’t clear these outsiders?”
Jin Xueshen, often infuriated by Ning Zhuo, now faced a sharper-tongued Shan Feibai, leaving him fuming. “How are you getting out? They’re at our doorstep! We’ve sealed all other exits, leaving just that one passage—”
“Oh.” Shan Feibai hefted a massive sniper rifle onto his shoulder. “Then I’ll just kill my way through, right?”
Facing Jin Xueshen, he added, “Didn’t you say we need a vanguard to shake their ranks?”
…
Half of Ning Zhuo’s arm was gone.
A heat-seeking missile took it.
Leaning against a half-collapsed wall, Ning Zhuo yanked a charred cable from his arm, strangling it around a mercenary’s neck until he went limp, eyes bulging, sliding down Ning Zhuo’s body.
Ning Zhuo lowered his arm.
His dangling fingertips trembled faintly.
Blood trickled from his sleeve, dripping with the quiver of his muscles.
Despite the fog, Jiang Jiuzhao had spared no expense, posting five snipers around.
Earlier, a bullet grazed Ning Zhuo’s back, tearing off a strip of flesh.
Still, in this confined world, Ning Zhuo wreaked havoc, kiting his foes with high-speed movement.
It was the best way to counter a group attack.
Keep enough distance, and he could pick them off one by one.
But this tactic burned stamina fast.
Ning Zhuo no longer felt pain or fatigue, only the sticky wetness soaking his back—sweat or blood, he couldn’t tell—gluing his clothes to his skin, miserably uncomfortable.
His heart raced, light and rapid.
Before he could catch his breath, the screech of tires on pavement roared in the distance.
Bracing for a coordinated vehicle assault to flush him out, he heard gunfire erupt from all directions, mingled with mercenaries’ furious shouts.
…Not their own people?
Ning Zhuo peeked from behind the rubble.
A rugged off-road vehicle barreled through.
The driver’s window was down, showcasing the driver’s madness and audacity.
Even Ning Zhuo hadn’t expected the first to rush to his aid would be Kuang Hexuan, tearing across five districts.
Instead of heading to the designated safe point as Shan Feibai instructed, Kuang Hexuan, who’d left with Ning Zhuo that morning, knew he was out here.
Unable to reach him, Kuang Hexuan ditched his safe point, scouring Silver Hammer in his off-road vehicle for Ning Zhuo.
Crossing five districts, he found him.
The same Kuang Hexuan who’d once cursed “Ning Rabbit” now leaned out the driver’s seat, braving potential gunfire, shouting, “Ning-ge, get in, let’s go!”
