After sending Jiang Feng to detention last night, Xia Dongxue received multiple calls on her way home. Beyond the police chief’s, several big shots reached out—all about Jiang Feng. She didn’t know how they got her number. Normally, she’d be flattered; such attention could boost her career. But last night, exhausted, and now, after a hot shower cleared her mind, those calls stirred unease.
The big shots uniformly urged her to drop Jiang Feng’s case for other duties—an odd request. Odder still: no call from the Jiang family. Even if Jiang Feng was a wastrel, he was a Jiang. Their silence, while others fixated on him, signaled danger. Someone might be pushing her aside to strike at Jiang Feng in the station.
Realizing this, her heart jolted. She loathed Jiang Feng, but he was her arrest—subject to law, not vigilantes. Skipping breakfast, she threw on her uniform and sped to the station.
Lu Zhisen arrived early too. Spotting Xia Dongxue rushing in, he approached. “Morning, Captain Xia. Eaten yet?”
She shook her head, too rushed to chat, striding inside. Lu Zhisen followed, curious. “What’s up?”
“I’m heading to detention. Later,” Xia Dongxue said, dread gnawing at her.
Seeing her urgency, Lu Zhisen assumed a major case—until she mentioned detention. His eyes cooled. Xia Dongxue, dubbed the “female dragon” for her ruthless justice, never fretted over detainees. It had to be Jiang Feng.
His face darkened. Even if it was duty, her worry for Jiang Feng—a man—stung. His hatred deepened. “I’ll come with,” he said.
Xia Dongxue didn’t object. If her fears were right, things could get ugly. Lu Zhisen’s character was lacking, but his skills might help.
Lu Zhisen wasn’t there to assist. He’d planned to visit detention himself, lacking an excuse—Xia Dongxue’s move was perfect. Last night, he’d told the guards to nudge the cell’s thugs into “teaching” Jiang Feng a lesson. Now was his chance to gloat—and ensure no fallout from his meddling.
*****
When Jiang Feng’s gaze drifted to the two “officers” again, he noticed their swift but disjointed movements. Suspicious, he observed closer. Both hid guns in their sleeves—not odd for Li family agents, but the placement was. His eyes chilled. Unused to guns, he still saw their readiness to draw fast in a pinch.
He silently thanked his caution. At his current cultivation, a bullet would kill him. As their glances grew frequent, he acted. Rising from the bunk, he approached. “I’ll take a bun.”
“No porridge?” one asked.
Jiang Feng shook his head, reaching out. The officer eyed his hand, slowly handing over a bun. Jiang Feng focused on the man’s movements, ready to strike at any twitch. The bun landed in his palm—no reaction. He hesitated.
Their combat skills weren’t weak. He could maybe take one by surprise, but the other’s gun posed a lethal risk. Without certainty, he held back.
Pinching the bun, he smiled. “Thanks.”
“Move. Don’t block,” the officer snapped.
Jiang Feng turned, smirking. As he did, the officer lunged. Jiang Feng had waited for this. Without hesitation, he flung the hardened bun, aiming for the man’s eyes.
Caught off guard by the makeshift weapon, the officer dodged instinctively. Jiang Feng seized the moment, kicking him airborne. Instantly, he charged the second officer, who, still holding a porridge ladle, hurled it at Jiang Feng.
Jiang Feng didn’t flinch, letting it hit him, and drove a fist into the man’s chest. It happened in a blink—one kick, one punch—before either could draw.
Thud. The second officer crumpled, chest caved, writhing. Simultaneously, the first rolled, drew his gun, and fired. Jiang Feng twisted; the bullet grazed him, hitting an inmate behind. The man screamed, collapsing.
The shooter didn’t blink, aiming at Jiang Feng. “Don’t move, or I’ll kill you.”
Jiang Feng sighed bitterly. His strength was too low—despite his guard, he couldn’t outmatch two armed foes. Raising his hands, he said, “I won’t. But you shouldn’t either. Slaves should heed their master’s intent, not act rashly.”
The officer’s face twisted. “What nonsense? Think I won’t shoot?”
Jiang Feng knew they were killers—ex-special forces or assassins. They’d kill without hesitation. Not pushing further, he said, “You could, but explaining it to your boss might be tricky.”
“Shut up,” the man barked, helping his partner up. They whispered, then both aimed at Jiang Feng’s knees.
Jiang Feng smirked. He’d broken Li Yuanjue’s leg; they’d break his—a fair trade, Li family style.
A sharp cry rang out: “Who are you?”
The officers flinched, glancing back. Jiang Feng didn’t hesitate—while they turned, he rushed them.
Gunshots followed—not at him, but at Xia Dongxue and Lu Zhisen, entering behind. Lu Zhisen, eager to check his scheme, led the way. A bullet hit his chest; he fell without a chance to react.
Only one shot fired. Jiang Feng reached them, slamming fists into their necks with full force.
Thud.
Thud.
Both collapsed. Xia Dongxue, gun drawn too late, paled at the scene.
Jiang Feng glared. “What’re you standing there for? Cuff them!”
Snapping out of it, Xia Dongxue rushed over, handcuffing them. Seeing Lu Zhisen in a pool of blood, she realized the mess, dialing for backup and an ambulance.
Jiang Feng watched coldly, returning to the cell. Lu Zhisen’s fate didn’t matter—he’d planned to deal with him after release. Lu Zhisen’s bad luck saved him the effort.
The close call left him sweating. Without spotting the clues, he’d be dead. Standing over the fallen inmate, his eyes darkened with storm clouds.