Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Mantis Stalks the Cicada, Unaware of the Oriole Behind

In the blink of an eye, the hundred-meter stretch was traversed. When only about ten meters separated Long Fei from the three assassins, he grabbed the frenzied driver, kicked open the left door, and leapt out with him. The car, still surging forward at high speed, drew another volley from the rifle. With a thunderous crash, the little sedan flipped far into the distance. The driver, flung aside by Long Fei, landed just in time to be knocked unconscious by the impact.

Long Fei's body shot toward the three men like an arrow, so fast that faint afterimages trailed in his wake. The two gunmen, startled, threw their weapons to the ground and lunged forward. The fair-faced assassin’s smile remained as charming as ever, but his fist, slicing through the air, was aimed squarely at Long Fei’s head, while his companion unleashed a rapid series of kicks, all targeting Long Fei’s lower body.

The two killers moved with deadly coordination and ruthless precision. From their techniques alone, Long Fei could immediately judge their strength. As he'd already guessed at the school gates, these two were far superior to the bodyguards Ye Wentian had hired—at least by two ranks.

Yet such skill meant little to Long Fei. He had dealt with no fewer than ninety or a hundred so-called 'masters' like these. He was well-versed in handling assassins of this caliber. Suddenly, twisting in mid-air, Long Fei flipped upside-down and dove obliquely toward them, deftly evading the low kicks while his hands met the fair-faced assassin’s fist with unerring precision.

There was a crisp snap—the sound of bone breaking. It certainly wasn’t Long Fei’s. Before his foe could even cry out, Long Fei seized his arms, drew up his knees, and drove both of them mercilessly into the assassin’s abdomen.

The fair-faced killer’s brows knit in agony, his arms went limp, and with a single move both limbs were ruined. He curled on the ground, trembling uncontrollably, all fight gone—like a prawn twitching in its death throes.

A rush of wind behind him signaled another attack. Long Fei didn’t even need to look; he knew the second killer was upon him. With an iron-bridge backbend, his body arched like a drawn bow, evading the knife strike aimed at his nape. But this opponent was no amateur—he switched tactics in a heartbeat, slashing the blade downward toward Long Fei’s abdomen. Before the knife could reach him, however, Long Fei grabbed both the man’s legs, spun him in a wide arc, then straightened up. The assassin, thrown off balance, managed to hurl his knife at Long Fei in desperation.

Long Fei twisted aside, dodging the blade that whistled past. Then, eyes flashing coldly, he leapt high and seized the killer, driving him headfirst into the ground. With a sickening thud, the man’s skull burst, splattering brain matter in every direction.

Ye Qian stood frozen in shock at Long Fei’s prowess. She knew he was formidable, but she’d never imagined he was capable of such feats. The series of acrobatic maneuvers he’d just performed in midair left her both excited and incredulous. Wasn’t this the twenty-first century? Could such miraculous martial arts really exist? Was there truly such thing as lightness skill? But if not, how could Long Fei leap so high and change direction in midair while holding a grown man?

Ye Qian had been keeping an eye on the scar-faced driver nearby. Suddenly, her vision blurred—the man was now behind Long Fei, not far away, Desert Eagle in hand, its barrel pointed at Long Fei’s back.

“Long Fei, look out!” Ye Qian screamed in terror, but even as she cried out, the gunshot rang in her ears. Reflexively, she squeezed her eyes shut, tears flooding forth. In her mind, Long Fei was doomed. No matter how great his martial arts, he couldn’t outrun a bullet! He hadn’t even moved when the gun fired—how could he survive?

Sure enough, a dull groan followed. Ye Qian burst into tears.

“Hey, I’m not dead. What are you crying for?” Long Fei rapped on her window, a trace of amusement in his voice.

Ye Qian’s eyes snapped open. Long Fei was standing outside, smiling at her, while the scar-faced man lay sprawled in a pool of blood, his head all but pulverized, blood spreading in a wide puddle.

“You—you’re not dead?” she sobbed with relief. “Thank goodness! You scared me half to death!”

Long Fei paused, surprised by the emotion in her tears. Perhaps she wasn’t as heartless toward him as he’d thought.

“With skills as laughable as theirs, they thought they could take my life? If it were that easy, I’d have died ten years ago. How could I have survived till now?” Long Fei shot a contemptuous glance at the corpses. He wasn’t exaggerating—five years ago, he could have dispatched dozens of such assassins with ease. Since then, he’d endured even harsher training and suffering, the likes of which ordinary people could hardly imagine.

Ye Qian wanted to retort, but recalling Long Fei’s performance just now, she was at a loss for words. Killing these men had indeed required little effort from him.

“Are you hurt?” Long Fei asked, his eyes scanning her from head to toe—lingering, perhaps inevitably, on her chest. Ye Qian caught his gaze.

Ordinarily, she would have snapped at him for such a look, but today she merely blushed, turning her head aside and muttering, “I’m fine.”

“That’s good.” Long Fei turned and strode toward the fair-faced assassin.

He kicked the man hard, sneering, “Come on, friend, stop playing dead. If feigning death could save you today, you’d be dreaming.”

The assassin remained motionless. Long Fei’s expression darkened; he rolled the man over with his foot—blood, dark and purple, was oozing from every orifice. Clearly, the man had been dead for some time.

“Why didn’t you leave one alive?” Ye Qian hurried over. At the sight of the corpse’s ghastly face, she shivered and shrank back. “If we had a survivor, we could find out who’s behind all this!”

Long Fei replied in frustration, “Do you think I didn’t want to? Am I an idiot? But look—did I kill him?”

“You say it wasn’t you? I saw you kick him twice and then he stopped moving!” Ye Qian blushed, trying to defend herself.

Long Fei burst out laughing. “You really are adorably naïve! If kicking him twice on the backside was enough to kill him, he’d be made of paper. If that were the case, you’d have killed me a thousand times over by now with all your kicks!”

Ye Qian’s blush deepened; she turned away, huffing, “I’m not talking to you anymore!”

Suddenly, sirens wailed in the distance. In China, the police often only arrived after the damage was done, but to be fair, today’s response was relatively prompt.

Not only the police arrived—Ye Wentian also appeared, leading a large group of bodyguards. The contrast between the sharply dressed bodyguards in white shirts, black trousers, and ties, and the uniformed police was almost comical; it looked for all the world as if the mob and law enforcement were working side by side.

An Audi A6 led the convoy, with police cars bringing up the rear. Ye Wentian was the first out of the lead vehicle; he seized Ye Qian in a tight embrace, his worry plain to see. “Qian, thank goodness you’re all right. That’s all that matters.”

“Dad,” Ye Qian choked out, moved by his concern. True feelings reveal themselves in adversity; at times like this, one’s affections are laid bare.

Surveying the corpses and the wrecked cars, Ye Wentian could imagine how fierce the battle had been. He nodded to Long Fei before turning to address Yu Baihong, the city’s chief of police, who was busy coordinating the crime scene. “Chief Yu, I trust you’ll give me an explanation for today’s events. As a law-abiding citizen of Shanghai, I’ve contributed much to the government over the years, yet now even my family’s safety can’t be guaranteed. If this continues, I’ll have to consider returning to Beijing.”

Yu Baihong was fuming inside. These days, what could the police do? At best, they could handle minor disputes among ordinary folks, maybe crack down on gambling or vice. But against professional killers, they were out of their depth. One case might become a cold case—so be it. But this was the third or fourth time, and the targets were never ordinary people. Was Ye Wentian some nobody? If there had to be kidnappings, why couldn’t they target an average citizen instead of making it impossible for the chief of police to get a good night’s sleep?

Yu Baihong knew full well he couldn’t handle this case, nor could he solve it, but he couldn’t say so outright. Still, he suspected Ye Wentian understood that too. So all he could do was resort to platitudes: “Mr. Ye, please don’t say that. Shanghai’s public safety is among the best in the country. As police chief, I apologize for this kidnapping incident, but I’ll assign my best officers to solve the case swiftly. Please, just give us a little more time—we’ll give you a satisfactory answer!”

Ye Wentian pulled Yu Baihong aside and suddenly smiled. “Chief Yu, I know this is a tough situation. I wouldn’t have come to you otherwise. I appreciate your hard work. How about this—let me treat you to dinner soon. I hear your wife is in charge of the Pudong land auction—is that true? Bring her along when the time comes!”