Chapter 149: Saving Master Mo (Part 3)

After exiting the vehicle, the three of them scanned their surroundings, taking a few steps forward from time to time. Seeing no one there, they grew suspicious, their vigilance heightening. "Weren't they supposed to trade here? Why hasn't a single person shown up?"

An Feng looked around. Rows of maple trees behind them rustled in the wind, which was so loud that he could not hear any human breathing. The night offered little light, making it impossible to see where anyone might be hiding.

The group stood still, listening intently for the sound of breath or footsteps to discern the direction of their enemies. Failing to spot anyone was a terrible sign. Behind the captors, Old Master Mo struggled violently, trying to make noise to warn them away. After all, there were too many enemies; the three of them could not possibly save him.

One of the killers noticed his movement and kicked him hard, snarling, "Stop moving! Do you want me to cut you?"

The leader glanced back but did not intervene. Since they had arrived, it was time to reveal themselves. He signaled for his men to drag their captive into the clearing, then turned his gaze toward the three who had already discovered them.

"Where is what I asked for? Coming empty-handed—are you that confident?" The leader’s voice was unmistakable; it was the same man who had called Old Master Mo.

An Feng sneered, pulling out his gun and aiming it at the man. He said calmly, "Do you know who I am? I’m the kind of person who can shoot you without killing you, yet make you wish you weren't alive for the rest of your days."

Mo Lan remained silent, drawing her own weapon and keeping it steadily trained on the man holding the rope tied to Old Master Mo.

In an instant, a murderous aura permeated the grove. Infuriated, the leader signaled the killer. The thug pulled out a small knife and drove it into Old Master Mo’s calf. The old man’s eyes turned bloodshot with agony, but his mouth was gagged, preventing even a whimper of pain.

Mo Lan’s heart ached at the sight, but she held her ground, gripping her gun tightly.

"Did you not hear what I said? Be careful, or I’ll make Old Master Mo die with us." The leader kept his eyes on Mo Lan’s expression, feeling a surge of satisfaction at the flicker of pain in her eyes.

Qian Yin held her whip, surveying the two dozen or so men present. She truly couldn't understand what they had to be proud of. If she didn't care whether Old Master Mo lived or died, these people would have been in hell long ago.

The whip danced idly in her hand. Those present recognized Qian Yin immediately; not daring to mention her cold-blooded reputation, they simply chose to ignore her presence.

An Feng didn't waste words. He pulled the trigger rapidly, the bullet flying straight toward the leader’s forehead. The man had no time to dodge; he dropped dead instantly, lying motionless on the ground.

The other killers, never expecting their opponents to retaliate, fell into a panic. Without their leader, they were a scattered mess, lacking any real resolve. Terrified, they huddled around Old Master Mo, some brandishing guns and others knives, seemingly abandoning the fight against the three intruders to focus on killing the old man.

An Feng remained calm, firing shot after shot, hitting his mark every time. Within moments, a dozen men had fallen.

Qian Yin rushed forward, looping her whip around Old Master Mo and dragging him toward them with a swift motion. The sound of his body scraping against the ground made the intensity of his pain obvious, yet with his mouth gagged, he could not even scream.

Mo Lan panicked; some of her shots missed their intended vital targets, striking the killers' arms instead. The remaining gunmen fired wildly in their confusion while trying to take cover.

An Feng’s marksmanship was superb. Soon, only one man remained, standing foolishly with a knife in his hand amidst a sea of corpses. Although this technically violated police protocol—even if the others had fired first, leaving no survivors was problematic—An Feng didn't hesitate.

Mo Lan rushed forward to help Old Master Mo up and ripped the tape from his mouth. He immediately let out a pig-like shriek. "It hurts! It hurts so much!" The sheer volume of his wailing startled the last surviving killer so badly that he dropped his knife and collapsed to the ground.

Qian Yin laughed. It had nothing to do with her; she was only responsible for dragging the captive, and she hadn't killed these men herself, so the police couldn't blame her. She retracted her whip and stood beside Mo Lan, watching the old man’s pathetic display of agony with a sense of satisfaction.

A man without a brain, she thought. Mo Lan was his daughter—could he not see that? He was so partial to Mo Fan, never once considering Mo Lan; he deserved this suffering.

An Feng shot the final survivor, sending him to hell. Since they had committed so many atrocities, paying with their lives was only justice for those they had killed.

Noticing the wounds on Old Master Mo’s leg and the additional injuries from being dragged by Qian Yin, An Feng saw the blood flowing freely. He immediately lifted the old man into the passenger seat, buckled him in, and got into the car. Qian Yin and Mo Lan quickly followed. As they drove away, they left behind the scent of blood and a field of corpses.

"It hurts! Someone stop the pain!" Old Master Mo’s eyes were red, and he bellowed in a panic, thinking only of himself rather than Mo Fan.

An Feng drove as fast as he could toward the Mo estate. His future father-in-law’s incessant screaming was a distraction, but out of respect for Mo Lan, he remained silent.

Mo Lan was deeply worried about her father, but his frantic shouting only added to her inner turmoil.

Qian Yin reached out to hold Mo Lan’s hand in comfort, while listening to the man’s wails with a sense of grim satisfaction. If she were the one injured, she doubted this selfish man would show her any concern.

"Old Master Mo, I suggest you stop screaming. It’s affecting our mood. Besides, the more you thrash and scream, the faster you bleed, and the faster you’ll die." Qian Yin, feeling sleepy, gave him a cold reminder.

Upon hearing this, Mo Lan realized her misplaced worry and nodded, falling silent. She looked at Qian Yin, who had closed her eyes, gently let go of her hand, and drifted off to sleep as well.

Old Master Mo, hearing the warning, felt both furious and pained. He bit his tongue, forcing himself to stay quiet and still. The agony was intense, and his face turned a deep, flushed red—comparable to a high fever or a baboon’s backside.

An Feng, having heard Qian Yin’s remark, couldn't help but give her a mental thumbs-up. That was well said. The old Qian Yin had returned.

The night was naturally quiet, and the car traveled alone along the road. Inside, there was no sound save for the pained sobbing of the old man; the two in the back seat had already fallen asleep.

An Feng slowed the car down. It wasn't to appease Old Master Mo, but to ensure he didn't disturb the two sleeping women. By comparison, Old Master Mo simply did not matter.