We agreed on the twelve zodiac animals, but you've transformed into the Monkey King?

Cold sweat poured down the assassin's forehead.

"Press it!" Wen Xiao spread his arms wide, facing the dark muzzle of the gun.

Driven by extreme fear, the assassin pulled the trigger of his pistol, attempting to disable Wen Xiao's mobility first.

At that very moment—

A drop of warm, bloody liquid fell silently from mid-air, landing right on Panpan's upturned cheek.

Panpan subconsciously raised her head.

Through the dim, swaying gas lamp, and across the two-story height difference between life and death, her gaze collided with a pitch-black shadow.

There, there was a pair of bloodshot eyes.

Panpan's breathing stopped.

The sounds of the entire world ceased abruptly at that moment, plunging into a vacuum.

She opened her eyes wide in shock, her pupils trembling violently.

What a face it was! A stray bullet had torn a piece of flesh from its left cheek, the edges of which were rolled up in a ghastly white.

Blood smeared his eyebrows and eyes, dripping down his chin.

How could it be him?

How could it be him?!

The young police officer who would crawl under the table to save his life at the sound of gunfire now seemed like a demon who had crawled back from the deepest hell, hanging over her head without warning.

Panpan's mouth hung open, but no sound came out. Warm tears streamed down her face like beads from a broken string. Shock and disbelief finally transformed into heart-wrenching pain.

Meng Huai looked at her.

Silent as heavy iron, it plummeted silently, yet with immense force, from the two-story-high overhead crane!

The weight of over 100 pounds was entirely concentrated on the tip of the samurai sword, which was held upside down.

"Pfft—Crack!"

A sickening cracking sound. The katana pierced the assassin's left scapula with devastating force, severing the arm that was holding the detonator!

The assassin let out a beast-like scream. The top assassin made a final, desperate counterattack. He drew his dagger with his right hand, and without even looking, plunged it into Meng Huai's back!

"Thud!" The short knife pierced Meng Huai's side waist to the hilt.

"Meng Huai—!" Panpan finally screamed in anguish, struggling to stand up.

The assassin grinned maliciously as he gripped the hilt of his knife, his wrist poised to twist and wring.

A pale hand reached out from behind his head without warning and gently touched his chin and the back of his head.

"Crack." A muffled sound, like stepping on a dry twig.

The assassin's face was twisted behind his back.

Wen Xiao expressionlessly released his grip, letting the corpse slump against the iron grille.

Meng Huai leaned against the railing, panting heavily. He glanced down at the knife at his waist but didn't dare to draw it.

He forced himself to stand upright and slowly made his way down the iron ladder. His shoes were soaked in blood, and his footsteps on the concrete ladder made a sticky "splat" sound.

Panpan knelt beside the printing press.

She couldn't make a sound. It felt like her throat was blocked with shards of glass; she could only utter broken, breathy sounds.

Meng Huai moved in front of her and knelt down on one knee somewhat slowly. He took out a folding knife from his pocket and used it to untie the thick hemp rope binding Panpan's wrist.

Panpan scrambled over and used her hands to tightly cover the bloody hole in Meng Huai's waist that was gushing blood.

Black ink and red blood mingled together, trickling down between her fingers.

It can't be stopped, it's simply impossible to stop it.

"Where's the doctor... I need a doctor!" Panpan looked around desperately, her voice broken and incoherent. "Someone go get a doctor... Save him... I need a doctor—!"

What national righteousness, what new ideas—all were swept away at this moment by the blood on her hands. She was just an ordinary girl who had watched helplessly as her beloved was about to die.

Meng Huai watched her cry. He instinctively reached out to wipe her tears, but as his hand reached halfway up, in the dim light of the gas lamp, he saw that his own hands were covered in blood.

He paused for a moment and withdrew his hand.

"Don't cry..." Meng Huai gasped in pain, but a sly, ingratiating smile, the kind he used when he struck up a conversation with her on the street corner, appeared on his lips.

"Tap, tap."

The dull sound of leather shoes approached.

"Get out of the way." Wen Xiao walked up to the two of them, her voice cold and hard.

Panpan stared blankly up at the sky, her face covered in tears. Before she could react, Wen Xiao reached out and shoved her trembling hands away.

Wen Xiao half-squatted down and picked up a piece of coarse burlap used to tie newspapers from the ground. He glanced at the knife at Meng Huai's waist, and without saying a word, skillfully wrapped the burlap around Meng Huai's waist.

He gripped both ends of the strip of cloth tightly with both hands, binding the cloth and the hilt of the dagger together in a square knot.

This tightening action pressed down the rolled-up flesh, immediately stopping most of the bleeding from the cut.

After Wen Xiao finished doing all this, he stood up, took out the half-smoked cigarette from his pocket, and put it in his mouth.

"The knife avoided the spleen. He won't die."

Then he reached into his pocket and felt around, but didn't find any matches.

Wen Xiao lowered his eyelids, his gaze sweeping over Panpan, who was still clinging tightly to Meng Huai, before finally landing on Meng Huai's pale face.

He lifted his foot and kicked Meng Huai's ankle. "That's enough."

A sneer tugged at his pale face:

"Don't push your luck and lie in a woman's arms pretending to be dead. Get up and light my cigarette."

……

Late at night, on Hankou Road, in the editor-in-chief's office of the Shenbao newspaper.

Wen Xiao slumped into the large leather swivel chair, reached for the crank phone on the table, and expertly cranked it twice.

"Connecting to the French Concession, the apartment on Avenue Joffre." Wen Xiao's voice sounded tired.

After a brief dial tone, the phone was answered almost on the very first ring.

"Sound of laughter?!"

On the other end of the line, Shelly's voice trembled: "Are you crazy?! I've called every source in the police station and still can't find you! Where are you? Do you know what Zhang Sulin spread that the Black Dragon Society is looking for you all over the place?!... Hey, say something?!"

Wen Xiao leaned back in his chair, listening to the woman's rapid breathing on the other end of the phone, and couldn't help but smile. He reached for the silver cigarette case on his desk with one hand and finally lit the half-smoked cigarette.

"Cough... Don't shout, it's deafening." Wen Xiao exhaled a puff of white smoke, his voice gentle. "Don't worry, you won't die."

Hearing his steady breathing on the other end of the phone, I breathed a long sigh of relief.

The faint mechanical rumble in the background noise traveled through the receiver.

"……etc."

The woman's voice changed tone after a brief pause.

"The dedicated frequency band on Hankou Road, and the sound of the dual-axis rotary printing press on the ground floor..." Shelly's tone turned cold. "Wen Xiao, you weren't even in the police station dungeon keeping order; you were at the Shenbao building?!"

Wen Xiao paused, his fingers holding the cigarette still.

"Miss Xue, isn't it tiring to think so fast in the middle of the night?"

"Well, Detective Wen, you've really gotten to it." Shelly, her thoughts exposed, suddenly became serious and sarcastic. "Do you know that because of your 'traitor' guise, three core partners of the Jiangzhe Consortium have been calling my mansion non-stop, demanding to cut ties with me! Two of my businesses were just smashed to rubble this afternoon."

She gritted her teeth and said, "You'd better give me a satisfactory explanation right now, or I'll deduct this loss from your funeral savings!"

"The explanation is already printed in lead type." Wen Xiao leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the formatted proof of Zhang Sulin's crimes on the table. "Bring money to Hankou Road at eight o'clock tomorrow morning to take over."

He lowered his voice and emphasized, "Remember, don't touch a single penny from Jardine Matheson's accounts. I want your, Miss Xue's, clean, personal savings."

"A clean stash of money? You certainly know how to order people around." A disdainful snort came from the receiver.

"I understand. Don't die in the filth of this newspaper office. Detective Wen, the smell of blood on you will lower my standing."

"Click".

The call was abruptly ended, leaving only a cold busy tone.

Wen Xiao put down the receiver, tilted his head back, and exhaled a thick cloud of white smoke toward the ceiling.

It's almost bright.