Chapter Thirty-Four: Ambushed

There were four vehicles following behind, all black modified cars. Their original model seemed to be Cadillac, each starting at two hundred thousand apiece. After modifications, the price would surely be much higher. To dispatch four such cars for pursuit—what an extravagant move.

“Let the truck and the old man’s car from the Mo family go ahead; we’ll guard the rear,” An Feng said immediately, as he was in the front passenger seat.

Cold Blood nodded at once, gradually slowing down until he bumped into the cars behind. Those pursuing vehicles, seeing someone intentionally fall back and collide, were startled—perhaps their nerves weren’t steeled enough—and they retreated in a panic, causing the last two cars to bump back a meter.

Cold Blood sneered at their recklessness; did they not even check who he was before daring to play with their lives?

This battle couldn’t involve firearms, so their cars were the only weapons allowed. Unless the other side fired or drew a blade first, using force would violate the rules. Defensive maneuvers, however, were permissible so long as the regulations were followed.

Whether the wind had picked up or the cars’ acceleration made it seem so, the two double-collided vehicles were truly unfortunate—their headlights smashed, two passengers struck their heads on the dashboard and bled a little, yet they remained fierce in their pursuit.

Mo Lan and her companions weren’t injured for now, but they’d gone from the most advantageous position to the worst. Seeing the two cars ahead driving smoothly, An Feng finally felt a measure of relief.

The two cars closely behind tried to overtake, but Cold Blood had to weave left and right, preventing them. His speed remained steady—neither advancing nor retreating—but if the vehicles behind rammed them, the worst injuries would be theirs.

“Should we try to lure them away, or what?” An Feng started to strategize, since they’d be approaching three forked roads in about a thousand meters.

Mo Lan and Qian Yin’s brows were tightly furrowed—four pursuing vehicles, enough to cover each road with one.

“Shall we get out and send them home?” Cold Blood offered, having no better solution for now; unfortunately, he didn’t have much of the narcotic incense left.

“Is there any of that stuff left? If we get out and confront them, just scatter it—if the wind blows their way, we have a good chance, don’t we?” Qian Yin’s eyes brightened at the idea; if necessary, she could use a fan to direct it.

She searched the seat, remembering there should be two fans on board. Though the air conditioning meant fans weren’t needed for cooling, these fans were weapons.

“Only three packets left—I’d hoped to save some for later. Looks like we’ll need to return to Nanjing for a bulk purchase,” Cold Blood said, handing the packets to Qian Yin.

“Mo Lan, call your grandfather, tell him to accelerate and get away quickly. In about five hundred meters, we’ll park sideways and block the road. Make it look like the car lost control, not like you did it on purpose. Understood?” Qian Yin revealed her plan and urged them to act quickly.

Mo Lan immediately called the old Mo master.

“Grandfather, please speed up and leave—we’re about to stop. If you can take a detour, do so; if you’re fast enough, take the shortcut.”

“Are you all safe? You must come back unharmed!” The old master listened anxiously as soon as he answered.

“Mm,” Mo Lan replied, then hung up, exchanging a glance with her companions.

The two cars ahead sped forward, while the pursuers grew impatient, eager to catch up. But Cold Blood’s car kept weaving, making it impossible for them to get close.

The driver in black cursed, “Damn it.”

“Should we just ram that car off the road?” the man in the passenger seat suggested, blood trickling down his forehead, clearly in pain.

The driver shook his head; their car was too powerful. If they rammed, they might send the vehicle flying, but the people inside were key figures. The orders were only to kill An Feng and Mo Fan, not the others.

The passenger was anxious and furious, but powerless.

They reached the five hundred meter mark; An Feng slowed, then made a sharp turn, parking the car sideways across the road. As soon as the vehicle stopped, the four got out.

The four pursuing cars hadn’t expected this blockade and tried to reverse, but it was too late. The sudden braking sent their front-seat passengers crashing forward again.

This time, even the drivers were badly injured, and everyone’s rage boiled over. One by one, they got out, ready for a brawl.

Counting them, there were sixteen people—was this to be a gang fight?

They formed two rows, eight in each, taking up much of the road. Luckily it was night, and traffic was sparse. Had it been daytime, cars would have crashed right into them.

Qian Yin, while still in the car, had stuffed the three medicine packets into her companions’ hands. She grabbed her fans, ready for action—the wind was blowing toward their adversaries; even heaven favored them.

The three opened the packets as their opponents charged forward—it was the perfect moment.

Qian Yin moved quietly behind them, wielding two fans and spinning them rapidly, like a tornado. Though not as fast as a real twister, the wind was sufficient.

The powder flew forward, propelled by the fans. The advancing men were startled, but had no time to stop; they inhaled, and one by one, collapsed.

Ten fell instantly, while four remained standing—their willpower was impressive.

“Do you think there’s any need for further action?” Cold Blood sneered at the four, confident that even the strongest resolve couldn’t withstand the powder for long. The stuff was outstanding—he mentally resolved to buy it in bulk.

“You—!” One man opened his mouth, then immediately dropped. That was the price of being unable to keep quiet.

Qian Yin stopped fanning; she judged that most of the powder had dispersed, and none would linger on her allies, so she could finish.

The remaining three struggled, but couldn’t last long—their minds weren’t calm enough; one-on-one, they’d never win.

“Three, two, one,” Cold Blood calmly counted.

Just as he reached “one,” there was a thud—three men fell simultaneously.

Witnessing this, the four quickly got back in the car and took the nearest road back to the city.

As for the fallen, if someone came to tidy them up, so be it. If not, they’d have to await tomorrow and risk being run over.