You got your marriage certificate and then abandoned me? I'll feed the richest woman in the wor

That cast iron frying pan covered in black grease.

It tumbled twice in mid-air.

Clang.

It landed solidly on the bluestone pavement, producing a dull metallic echo.

In the very center of the bottom of the pot, there is a clearly discernible deep, curved pit.

It fits the shape of the scarred face's skull perfectly.

Chen Yuan turned around.

His deep, cold gaze swept over the petite figure behind him.

It completely transformed into a pool of warm spring water.

He took long strides, stepping over the tall, thin man on the ground who was still twitching unconsciously.

He walked up to Shen Wanzhou.

Shen Wanzhou remained in the same position, tightly gripping the back of his trench coat.

Those beautiful peach blossom eyes were wide open.

My gaze went past Chen Yuan's broad shoulders.

He stared intently at the three international thieves on the ground who had been fierce and menacing just a moment ago, but now looked like they wouldn't even recognize their own mothers.

She was not afraid.

Even my breathing became steady.

Those delicate, white hands that were gripping the fabric slowly loosened their grip.

He then took the opportunity to probe forward.

She wrapped her arms around Chen Yuan's lean waist.

She pressed her cheek against his chest, greedily inhaling the clean, crisp scent of soap.

"Were you scared?"

Chen Yuan's deep, mellow voice rang out above him, carrying an unyielding indulgence.

His large hand naturally covered the back of her head, gently stroking her soft, long hair.

"no."

Shen Wanzhou's voice was muffled, yet it revealed an undisguised pride.

"I just think... you look way cooler holding a frying pan than a briefcase."

A low chuckle escaped Chen Yuan's throat.

The vibrations in the chest cavity were transmitted through the skin that was pressed together.

He pulled a pack of disinfectant wipes from his pocket.

Tear open the packaging.

He took out a wet wipe and gently wiped away the fine sweat that had formed on Shen Wanzhou's forehead from her earlier tension.

Waaah—waaah—!

Just as the two were enjoying the tenderness that followed the crisis, oblivious to everyone else.

The urgent, piercing sound of police sirens rang out simultaneously from several intersections in the Grand Bazaar.

The flashing red and blue lights tore through the last rays of the evening sun in Istanbul.

Four heavy riot control vehicles painted with Turkish special police markings.

With a drift, it completely blocked the exit of this narrow dead-end alley.

The car door was pulled open with a "whoosh".

A dozen or so fully armed Turkish special police officers, wearing bulletproof vests and carrying tactical rifles.

They resembled a pack of black panthers on high alert.

Maintaining a standard cross-cover formation, they crouched low and quickly advanced into the alley.

"Don't move! Drop your weapons! Hands over your head!"

The police chief, Amir, holding a Glock pistol, shouted at the top of his lungs in alternating Turkish and English.

Sweat dripped down the edge of his helmet from his forehead.

Five minutes ago.

They received the highest-level red alert from the Grand Bazaar monitoring center.

Surveillance footage shows that the three had been on Interpol's Red Notice list for three years.

A core member of the "Flying Gang" suspected of multiple transnational jewelry robberies and serial murders.

It actually appeared in this tourist-heavy area.

And they cornered a seemingly unarmed Asian couple in a dead end.

On his way there, Amir had even mentally prepared himself to collect the bodies of the unfortunate couple.

They were even prepared to call in counter-terrorism snipers for support at any time.

After all, these three desperados had the blood of many European tycoons on their hands.

however.

When the SWAT officers' tactical flashlight beams swept into the dark alley.

Amir stood there with his mouth agape, just about to give the order to kill.

It got stuck in my throat.

His eyes widened as he stared intently at the unbelievable scene before him through the goggles of his bulletproof mask.

There was no blood and gore as I had imagined.

There were no tourists lying in pools of blood, wailing in despair.

In this cobblestone alleyway filled with the smell of mildew.

The Asian man who should have been kidnapped and murdered.

He was holding the petite girl in his arms with one arm.

In his other hand, he held a white wet wipe.

Slow and deliberate, with movements as gentle as if polishing a rare treasure.

He wiped the sweat from the girl's forehead.

And less than two meters away from his feet.

Those three Class A wanted criminals who caused headaches for police in many European countries, and were so difficult to even leave a bullet behind.

At this moment, they looked like three dead snakes whose bones had been removed.

He lay sprawled like a rag doll in the oil-stained puddle.

The tall, thin man, nicknamed "Bone Razor," had severely collapsed facial bones.

His mouth was spewing out bloody, broken teeth.

The deputy, nicknamed "the meat grinder," had his jaw dislocated, was foaming at the mouth, and his body was still twitching occasionally.

And the most ruthless of them all, the scarred-faced boss who had taken several lives.

A huge bluish-purple bulge appeared on the top of his head.

Its eyes rolled back, and it had completely lost all vital signs.

What the hell is going on?

Amir's hand holding the gun trembled uncontrollably.

The dozen or so special police officers behind him also seemed to be frozen in place.

They stood frozen in place.

The beam of the tactical flashlight swept across the three gruesome bodies on the ground.

"Sir, these people..."

A young SWAT officer swallowed hard, his voice trembling.

"It looks like the suspect in the photo that headquarters just sent out..."

Amir took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down.

He slowly lowered the gun in his hand and signaled his men to lift the alert.

She strode up to the tall, imposing Chinese man.

His gaze was wary yet filled with deep awe as he looked Chen Yuan up and down.

There were no wounds, no bloodstains.

Not even a drop of mud or water got on his black casual trench coat.

"Hello, sir."

Amir switched to his most polite English, his tone revealing a cautious probing.

"I am Sheriff Amir, who is in charge of this neighborhood."

"Excuse me... what just happened here? Are these people you...?"

Chen Yuan casually tossed the used wet wipes into the trash can next to him.

He shielded Shen Wanzhou by his side.

His deep eyes swept over the sheriff with indifference.

There was no panic when facing the police, nor any boasting after defeating a powerful enemy.

"It's nothing, just a few petty thieves trying to rob me."

Chen Yuan's voice was deep and steady, as if he were recounting a trivial matter in his life.

"They brought knives, so I took some appropriate defensive measures."

Amir glanced at the three sharp military daggers and butterfly knives on the ground.

Let's take a look at these three international thugs who were almost beaten into a vegetative state.

The corner of his mouth twitched uncontrollably twice.

Is this what you call proper self-defense?

This was clearly a one-sided, one-sided, and utterly crushing massacre!

"Excuse me, sir, what weapon did you use to subdue them?"

Amir couldn't help but press for more information.

He didn't see any guns or even any decent self-defense equipment at the scene.

Chen Yuan remained silent.

He simply raised his chin slightly, gesturing to the object on the bluestone slab three meters away.

Amir followed his gaze.

The beam of the tactical flashlight was focused on that dark mass.

It was a cast iron frying pan, the kind you can find everywhere at local Turkish food stalls, used for making flatbread.

The bottom of the pot was covered with black, old grease.

But at this moment, right in the center of that heavy cast iron pot.

A clearly discernible, rounded, deep pit had been carved out.

The curve of this deep pit perfectly matches the shape of the skull of the scarred man next to it.

Amir felt a chill run down his spine and up to the back of his head.

A tingling sensation ran down my scalp.

Using a blunt-edged frying pan, in a few seconds.

It smashed through the defenses of a seasoned and ruthless bandit, even denting the iron frame.

How terrifying explosive power, speed, and precise muscle control does that require?

This kind of power is simply beyond the limits that humans can easily reach.

"This...you did this?"

Amir's throat tightened, and his voice became dry and hoarse.

"Are you... are you an instructor for the Chinese special forces? Or a top mercenary for an international security company?"

He could only think of these two possibilities.

Only then can we explain this illogical scene before us.

Chen Yuan straightened the cuffs of his shirt.

He pulled Shen Wanzhou closer to his arms to prevent her from getting dirty on the ground.

"Neither."

He looked at the sheriff, whose face was filled with shock, and spoke in a calm tone without a trace of emotion.

"I'm just my wife's personal chef."

"I just grabbed a kitchen utensil on the spur of the moment, it's just a habitual action."

chef?!

These two words were like a heavy hammer blow, striking Aisha and all the special police officers squarely on the head.

They stared dumbfounded at the Chinese man whose suit wasn't even wrinkled.

My worldview was shattered at that moment.

The sheriff in charge stared at the completely deformed cast iron frying pan, swallowed hard, and roared into the walkie-talkie, "My God! These A-level wanted criminals were wiped out by a Chinese cook with a frying pan?!"