Bullets whistled sharply past Kuang Hexuan’s ear, grazing the skin and sparking a piercing tinnitus.
Far from cowering, Kuang Hexuan went berserk, flooring the accelerator, charging toward Ning Zhuo.
The engine’s roar was a perfect target, the headlights glaring beacons in the fog.
The off-road vehicle had some bulletproofing but wasn’t invincible.
Bullets, useless in the fog until now, poured forth, pocking the chassis. From all directions, shadowy figures closed in fast.
Ning Zhuo shouted, “Kuang Hexuan, get out of here!”
Kuang Hexuan didn’t budge.
Not only that, he whipped the car into a skid, blocking the road, intent on picking Ning Zhuo up.
Suddenly, a blinding white flash erupted in the distance.
Ning Zhuo’s heart sank.
—Armor-piercing round!
Kuang Hexuan heard it too.
A tracking one.
He was trapped.
The warhead’s screech, burning the air, raised goosebumps across his skin.
In those fleeting seconds, he grabbed the medical kit at his feet, snatched his jacket from the driver’s seat, and flung it out, drawing a few stray shots. Then, hugging his head, he dove through the open window.
Before he hit the ground, the car exploded.
His back was instantly peppered with a dozen jagged shards, followed by two bullets.
One grazed him, carving a bloody streak.
The other burrowed deep into his calf.
He rolled through the dirt, barely steadying himself before sensing someone closing in from the side.
Grabbing a brick from the ground, Kuang Hexuan forced his wounded leg to bear his weight, lunging at the attacker, smashing the brick at their head.
But the brick, decayed by years, was no better than tofu. It crumbled to dust on impact, leaving the target unshaken.
…And they wore a helmet.
Unharmed, the attacker was stunned by Kuang Hexuan’s fluid assault.
…He’d expected Kuang Hexuan to be dazed and helpless post-explosion.
That split-second hesitation was all Kuang Hexuan needed.
Ning Zhuo had taught him: in life-or-death moments, timing is everything.
Kuang Hexuan roared, clenching his fist, and slammed it into the attacker’s fog-proof visor, shattering the glass and crushing their eye.
Before he could react, a hand shot out from the side, pinpointing the vagus nerve at the attacker’s neck seam, striking with brutal force.
The attacker’s breath caught, unable to exhale, and collapsed.
Another hand grabbed Kuang Hexuan’s nape, dragging him like a sack into an alley.
Kuang Hexuan was now encircled, in worse straits than Ning Zhuo.
But he’d reached Ning Zhuo’s side.
Wish granted.
Fumbling with the medical kit, Kuang Hexuan’s eyes darted over Ning Zhuo, scanning for injuries.
Ning Zhuo shot him a cold glance, popping a painkiller and crunching it like candy. “Mind yourself.”
Kuang Hexuan, knowing his rescue was a flop, grew sheepish.
Ignoring his porcupine-like back, he sliced open his blood-soaked pant leg, clamped the bloodied knife in his teeth, and roughly dug disinfected fingers into his wound.
With a muffled growl, a spiky bullet clinked out, bouncing on the ground with an echoing ring.
Only then did the silent Kuang Hexuan let out a groaned curse. “This fucking…”
Spraying hemostatic foam, sealing the wound with a transparent film, he stood, leaning on the wall.
While he operated on himself, Ning Zhuo rummaged in the kit, finding an unmarked vial.
A potent stimulant, spiking adrenaline short-term.
He pocketed it for a last resort.
Kuang Hexuan scratched his chain tattoo, admitting his folly. “Ning-ge, I… I came.”
Ning Zhuo stared, silent, then shed his jacket, spraying hemostatic foam over his body, washing off a layer of blood to reveal countless wounds.
A slash crossed his abdomen, three or four blade cuts marred his back, alongside bullet burns.
A red gash at his eye’s edge came from glass shards in the car explosion.
Seeing Ning Zhuo’s battered state, Kuang Hexuan’s eyes welled up. He wiped them hard, head bowed. “…Ning-ge, I meant to get you out… I screwed up again.”
Ning Zhuo tossed the empty foam canister aside, downplaying it. “Too many of them.”
The faint comfort made Kuang Hexuan choke, nearly sobbing.
Ning Zhuo grabbed him, hiding as he asked, “What I taught you—enough to keep you alive?”
Limping behind, Kuang Hexuan dodged the question. “I’ll protect Ning-ge with my life.”
Ning Zhuo: “Why?”
Kuang Hexuan panted, unsure when he’d become so devoted to Ning Zhuo.
Maybe when Ning Zhuo announced they’d build a ship to leave.
Others’ feelings, Kuang Hexuan didn’t know.
He only recalled trembling with excitement.
Before, he’d lived aimlessly, wild and reckless in underground fight clubs, until Shan Feibai found him, asking if he wanted to leave Silver Hammer.
From that day, he had a goal beyond mere survival.
But it was Ning Zhuo who made it real.
Dying for their shared dream of freedom was Kuang Hexuan’s purpose.
Amid his leg’s throbbing pain, he murmured dreamily, “That ship of ours… how can it sail without you…”
Ning Zhuo replied coolly, “…Mm.”
That ship needed everyone.
Not one less.
Not a single one.
…
Compared to Jiang Jiuzhao’s grueling advance, Spider’s invasion was a breeze.
They reached the underground fifteenth-floor parking lot.
Such ease unnerved Spider.
Cautious, he split the three vehicles across the fifth and tenth floors for mutual support, planning to sweep top-down.
Spider’s main force hit the fifteenth floor, the lowest parking level.
Only three or four cars were parked there, sparse.
Dozens of mercenaries, armed and orderly, poured from vehicles fitted with infrared-blocking tech.
Spider knew if Haina hadn’t reacted by now, something was off.
Sure enough, a young voice crackled through the intercom: “Hey, who are you guys?”
No response came.
Tang Kaichang’s broadcast carried a hint of awkwardness and irritation. “I’m warning you, leave now, or face the consequences.”
Spider smirked.
The threat was toothless, like some kid stuck in his edgy phase, probably chugging milk each morning for growth.
Seeing no sign of retreat, Tang Kaichang’s face flushed. With a mix of anticipation and nerves, he pressed the black button he’d never touched before, meant for intruders.
His pale, slender fingers lacked strength—a sturdy middle-schooler could knock him flat.
But with that press, Spider’s world warped grotesquely, transforming in an instant into a ghostly underworld.
A bronze, over-two-meter-tall mechanical judge descended before them, clutching a severed tiger’s head in one hand and a book of life and death in the other.
Countless scarlet lanterns dangled along the walls, swaying faintly, joined by flickering electronic traps glowing like wolves’ eyes in the dark, chilling the scalp.
An eerie chant rose: “Thy visage fierce—thy heart just—dark woods, black barriers—thy will commands—”
The walls rippled, embossed patterns emerging.
Like movable type, bold characters scattered irregularly across the walls protruded, confronting Spider’s crew.
Together, they read: Enter uninvited, forfeit your life.
A mercenary, rifle raised, sought cover near the junction of “enter” and “uninvited,” triggering a trap.
Two invisible nano-blades shot from the characters, slicing through his throat.
As he collapsed, blood mist spraying, Spider’s instincts screamed. He barked, “Fall back! Don’t stand at the character joints!”
Before his words settled, the wall’s large grids split—one into two, two into four, multiplying until the full Supreme Orthodox Curse Against Ghosts text appeared.
The characters reflected each other, forming a dense, crimson laser barrier, sealing Spider’s group’s retreat.
A derelict car within the laser’s range was shredded to scraps.
Lama chants surged, voices weaving an uncanny spell.
The once-spacious parking lot became a death trap.
With the laser web closing in, Spider knew trouble loomed. He roared, and his crew instinctively retreated to the laser-free zone—a door to Haina’s interior.
Spider expected an ambush beyond.
But he hadn’t anticipated a motorcycle crashing through the door, toppling three or four men, charging fearlessly toward the lethal lasers!
Their orderly formation shattered under the bike’s onslaught.
On Shan Feibai’s rear seat sat Min Qiu, a particle tang sword strapped to her back.
Before Spider’s crew could react, Min Qiu drew her blade, slicing through Spider’s car axle with a grating screech as she passed, expressionless.
As Shan Feibai breached the lasers, a safe path opened for him, untouched.
The lasers guarded his rear, melting incoming bullets into molten iron.
Shan Feibai swiftly broke through, ferrying Min Qiu to the tenth floor.
He ordered, “Cut off their retreat.”
Min Qiu tied her short hair back with a rubber band, saying flatly, “Wipe them out, got it.”
Shan Feibai flashed her a quick grin, speeding outward.
Spider hadn’t brought his full force into Haina, leaving a twenty-man reserve outside for support.
Shan Feibai was ready for a tough fight, but found the supposedly hidden reserve already trading fire with someone.
Seizing their exposure, Shan Feibai launched a rear assault, sniping their commander with a clean headshot.
Leaderless, the mercenaries—lured by high pay—panicked, swiftly mowed down by perimeter traps and Shan Feibai.
The one who’d sparked this skirmish, exposing the reserve early, was Yu Shujian, returning.
Instead of hiding at a nearby safe point as ordered, he’d raced back to Haina.
Yu Shujian blocked Shan Feibai’s path.
He cut to the chase. “No word from Ning-ge. If you’re going for him, take me.”
Shan Feibai sized him up. “Ever been a spotter?”
Yu Shujian nodded. “Yeah.”
“Not afraid to die?”
“My life’s from Ning-ge. If he dies, I’d fail him. I’d die with him.”
Shan Feibai didn’t want to waste time arguing.
Nor could he deny such loyalty.
“Get on, hold tight. I’m crap at riding bikes—just go fast,” he said. “If you fall off, I’m not turning back.”
…
Ning Zhuo lurched forward, exhausted, using his fall’s momentum to shatter an enemy’s cheekbone, crashing to the ground with the instantly unconscious foe.
Dew from the fog clung to his curled lashes.
He rolled over with effort, facing a blank white sky, muttering, “Thirty-seventh.”
His heart pounded vividly now, each beat bringing a surge of metallic blood to his throat.
His fighting style was overdraft, burning life.
His arm was leaden, barely lifting, his lean muscles taut over steel-like calves, rigid and unyielding.
His weed-like, tenacious vitality seemed to flicker out.
Fifteen minutes ago, Kuang Hexuan had succumbed, slipping into a coma.
Ning Zhuo buried him in rubble, leaving breathing space.
His vitals were faint.
Hopefully, when found, Kuang Hexuan would still be alive.
Ning Zhuo could barely breathe, his soul trembling with fatigue.
Amid screaming tinnitus, another hallucination struck.
A conversation from over a decade ago.
Back then, Ning Zhuo genuinely wanted to raise a kindred Little Bai, but not to repeat his own mistakes.
He’d mocked himself, saying he didn’t know whose hand he’d die by.
…What had Little Bai said then?
Ning Zhuo gathered a sliver of strength, using his knee as a pivot, forcing himself to half-kneel.
His knee was bloodied—his and his enemies’.
He exhaled heavily, finally standing upright.
The mercenaries had cornered him onto an uncollapsed building.
Ning Zhuo downed the stimulant, tossed the empty vial into the stairwell, and, as it clinked, staggered upward, fighting for life with every swaying step.
Reaching the rooftop, he pierced the fog’s shadows and saw a tall, lithe figure.
Jiang Jiuzhao, perched on the roof’s edge, stretched and sprang up cheerily. “Yo, you’re still alive?”
Ning Zhuo paused, then said, “Can’t die.”
He’d made a promise.
He’d vowed to die by his hand.
