Chapter Seventy-Seven: The First Direct Confrontation (Part Two)

Cold Blood saw Han and knew he was Qianyin's friend, also aware of Qianyin’s little schemes. So he went straight over to fight Han, not wanting An Feng to accidentally injure someone. Perhaps Cold Blood was being overly sensitive, but he always felt Han had feelings for Qianyin. If he didn’t teach Han a lesson, how would Han know his strength?

Han, upon seeing Cold Blood, wasn’t too pleased either. He knew Cold Blood liked Qianyin; otherwise, why would Cold Blood be with her? The first and the second—if they didn’t harbor mutual affection, it would be strange if they didn’t clash. It was the same with him and Qianyin; if he didn’t like her, perhaps they wouldn’t have become friends at all.

When these two men fought, they were ruthless. Though both intended to show mercy at first, once engaged, they forgot all about it—their strikes grew fiercer with each exchange.

Cold Blood preferred to strike at a man’s face and abdomen, both vulnerable and image-ruining targets. He kept aiming for these spots. If Han hadn’t defended well, his face would have been bruised and swollen by now.

Han favored ambushes; in a straightforward fight, he was no match for Cold Blood. After all, there were eight ranks between the tenth and the second.

Meanwhile, the boss stood at a distance, observing the scene. He soon realized that the three newcomers were no ordinary figures. Their movements during the fight were swift, precise, and merciless.

Among the seventy or eighty people present, thirty or forty were already lying on the ground, groaning in pain, bested by Qianyin and her group.

The Flower Thief stepped forward to fight Mo Lan. Upon recognizing him, Mo Lan’s expression turned grim, and she punched at his face again and again. She hadn’t forgotten his peeping during their bath last time.

The Flower Thief felt stifled; he’d only rushed in to keep others from hurting her, yet she was so ruthless toward him—did she really want to kill him? He glanced at Qianyin, but seeing how fiercely she fought, he dared not step in to help. Besides, she clearly didn’t need it.

The Flower Thief could only dodge quickly, occasionally feigning an attack that barely hurt at all.

Mo Lan soon realized this; ever since the Flower Thief engaged her, no one else dared approach.

Here, only the Flower Thief and Han had such privileges—granted by the boss. The others were all new recruits.

The boss’s gaze began to predict what would happen next, but for the moment, he was uncertain. He circled his eyes over the four faces, then suddenly looked at Qianyin and understood. So, these two were exactly whom he’d been searching for.

Even if he lost some men, it was worthwhile to gauge the strength of these two. But how could he keep them by his side? That young man seemed to have a good relationship with them.

The barren land became their battlefield. Once peaceful and harmonious, it now echoed with screams, clashing blades, and fists striking bone.

The boss seemed to relish such sounds, closing his eyes to listen quietly.

Qianyin’s hand grew tired—already ten or so men had fallen under her whip. She wasn’t used to it; whips were troublesome, and the opponents seemed unafraid of death. Those she struck down soon died, not from her wounds, but from poison in their mouths.

This frightened Qianyin. Her eyes drifted toward where Cold Blood and Han fought, seeing their fierce engagement. It seemed Han would be all right.

Distracted, she nearly missed a sword thrust toward her brow. She kicked the man away, sending him flying several meters and knocking down others in his path. If she’d reacted a moment later, she might have died at his hand.

She realized she needed to focus on eliminating this group. She resolved to intensify her attacks, lashing out at everyone who approached. Those who could no longer rise seemed to break the poison in their mouths themselves, dying instantly.

An Feng showed no restraint either—anyone he struck was down for good, dispatching twenty or thirty people in one go. Since these men couldn’t be brought back to the station, he might as well end them here.

By now, forty or fifty had fallen. The boss could no longer remain seated; he stood up, surveying the scene.

“Retreat,” the boss commanded. He’d enjoyed the spectacle enough; it was time to withdraw. The dead were insignificant—more would flock to his side in time.

Han cast a glance at Qianyin, reluctant to leave, but knowing it was time. He quickly retreated, catching up with the boss. The Flower Thief smiled and said nothing; if the boss overheard anything, he might be the next one lying on the ground. The others followed suit, retreating as well.

The four of them, exhausted, sat on the ground catching their breath, with no intention of giving chase. This was just the first skirmish—there would be plenty of chances to capture them later. For now, it was merely a test of their strength.

“How do you all feel about those guys?” Mo Lan asked. The Flower Thief had shown her mercy, while she’d attacked him with deadly intent. Since he hadn’t retaliated in kind, she still didn’t know his true strength.

“The one I fought was quite formidable, but he was putting up a front. He’s not as strong as I am,” Cold Blood stated—not out of arrogance, but confidence. Given more time, he was sure he’d be the victor.

An Feng shook his head. Their opponents were of varying skill, some high, some low, but none matched the four of them. However, if all attacked together, they’d stand no chance.

The boss had clearly been testing their strength, only ordering retreat when losses became too great. The four of them understood this well, which was why they’d held back.

“These people weren’t very capable, but they seemed reckless. They must have taken poison—I didn’t kill most of them, yet all the ones down are already dead, not a single survivor,” Qianyin reported honestly, sharing everything she knew. Only now did they realize the ground was littered with corpses.

All four frowned. Such a spacious, sacred place, now filled with bodies. Each wore a mask; some bled, some showed no wounds at all.

After they’d rested enough, they stood and headed down the mountain. As they got in the car, they called the Chief.

“Chief, there are a lot of masked suspects at the temple on West Road. Send someone to clean up and see if you can find any clues. I’ve got a lot on my plate here,” An Feng said, making it clear he was too busy and that the Chief should handle it himself.

The Chief, a bit dazed at being called in the middle of the night, nevertheless immediately phoned Liu Fei and the others to take care of it.