Sabretooth Attacks! How Dare He Touch a 749 Bureau Employee on the Payroll?

"Take it off!"

"Sing Sing, are you crazy?! What are you doing in this freezing weather?"

Cao Dahua gripped the collar of his wool coat tightly with both hands and took two steps back.

"Enough with the nonsense! Let's keep it business! That wool coat you're wearing, isn't it standard issue from the 749 Bureau?"

"I bought this with my own money!"

"That makes things even easier. It's a personal item; you voluntarily give it to your colleague to express your deep revolutionary friendship. It's completely legal and compliant."

Sing Sing took a step forward, while Cao Dahua took two steps back.

Until his back was pressed against the wall, with nowhere to retreat.

"Don't come any closer!"

"Cao Dahua, think about how many meals you've eaten from me over the years? How many cigarettes have you smoked from me? Who treated you to braised pig's trotters after you were dumped by your sister, the section chief?"

Sing Sing started to calculate the accounts. He knew Cao Dahua's weakness; the guy was concerned about his reputation and did indeed owe him a lot of favors.

A flicker of hesitation crossed Cao Dahua's face.

"That happened ten years ago..."

"It's only natural that the pig's trotters sold ten years ago are now worth the price."

This wool coat was a handmade item brought back from Thaddeus Ross by someone, and it cost him half a month's salary.

But if we don't give it to him, this kid might skin him alive today and use his skin as a coat.

Cao Dahua assessed the difference in their fighting abilities and released his grip from his collar.

Rather than getting beaten up and having your money stolen, it's better to give it away willingly and at least save face.

Three minutes later.

The Tiger of the Serious Crimes Unit, wearing a white shirt, stood shivering in the cold wind, watching helplessly as Sing Sing wrapped himself in his wool coat, buttoned it all the way up, and even took the dog-skin hat.

"Sing Sing! You're not human!"

"Thanks, bro! I'll treat you to hot pot sometime!"

Sing Sing didn't turn his head, just raised his hand and waved.

"You always say that! You've never invited me even once!"

The roar behind us was swallowed up by the wind and snow.

Sing Sing wrapped his coat tighter, left the village, and walked briskly towards Peach Mountain.

By circulating True Qi through the meridians for two cycles, the limbs feel warm and the muscles and bones feel relaxed.

The function of wool coats has changed from keeping warm to blocking the wind.

The speed has picked up.

The wooden cabin of Peach Mountain Management Station is perched alone halfway up the mountain, surrounded by snow-covered pine forests, and is unusually quiet.

Zhou Xing pushed open the door.

No one is home.

Sing Sing placed his suitcase on the bedside table and glanced at Yanjing empty bottle of beer next to his pillow.

Go out.

There were footprints in the snow, stretching towards the depths of the dense forest to the northwest.

Large stride and uniform spacing.

Sing Sing followed the footprints.

The snow in the mountains was deep and uneven, but with his True Qi abundant, he moved quite fast.

The pine branches were covered with thick snow, and occasionally chunks of snow fell.

Apart from that, it was quiet.

It's too quiet.

After walking for nearly two hours, it got dark, and we passed through a birch forest.

In the open space ahead, a burly man wearing a military green cotton-padded jacket was carrying a wild boar weighing at least 200 pounds back home.

There were three neat cuts on the wild boar's neck, and the blood had already congealed.

Wolverine.

He looked up and saw a person wearing a black woolen overcoat and a dog-skin hat walking towards him through the snow.

I was stunned for a moment.

What brings you here?

Sing Sing stopped in his tracks.

What brings you here?

The words, spoken with a strong Northeastern accent, came out of Wolverine's mouth so naturally and seamlessly.

"Old Jin..." Sing Sing opened his mouth.

"Um?"

Say it again.

"What?"

What.

Sing Sing looked up at the sky.

He went to great lengths to get him out of United States and then sent him all the way to Northeast China for recuperation.

I had hoped he would become a quiet, high-level secret agent or a reclusive master.

You've got it all figured out: a Canada wolf that's over a hundred years old has been assimilated by Director Zhao and the old men at the forest farm cooking goose in an iron pot?

Well, right now only Luo Gong and Xiao Ruan are relatively normal.

"Don't just stand there, come on, let's go inside and get something to eat. It's terribly cold outside."

Wolverine walked past him carrying a wild boar, his cotton-padded coat stained with blood and pine needles, looking exactly like an old farmer from Northeast China who had just returned from hunting.

The two returned to the cabin.

Wolverine left the wild boar outside in the snow, pushed open the door, went inside, and squatted down to light the stove.

The flames licked at the firewood, warming the room.

"Old Jin."

"Hmm." Wolverine added a thick piece of firewood to the stove, stood up, and brushed the sawdust off his hands.

Two people died down the mountain.

Wolverine turned around and looked at him. The lazy Northeast China old man's demeanor faded, and the Beast returned to his eyes.

"Five parallel incisions on the neck, deep enough to reach the bone; the trachea and esophagus were completely severed."

Sing Sing raised his right hand and gestured in mid-air.

"A single, fatal blow, with no extra wounds; the technique was extremely professional."

The only sound in the room was the crackling of the stove fire.

Wolverine looked down at his right hand, his Five Fingers slightly curled.

"Five," he said, his voice half an octave lower than before.

"Yes, you didn't do it. I know that better than anyone." Sing Sing put his hand back in his coat pocket. "You're a permanent employee of our bureau now, bathing with black bears every day. You have no motive."

Wolverine didn't reply.

There was a long silence.

The firelight cast a play of light and shadow on half of his face.

I know someone.

Sing Sing sat up straight.

"His fingernails were very long. When he killed someone... he only made a single scratch."

"Who?"

"Victor Kree... he's my brother."

Sing Sing frowned.

"Your brother? His biological brother?"

"That happened many years ago. He fought alongside me, we killed people together. Later... he grew to enjoy killing more and more. The smell of blood excited him."

"Once they start killing, they just can't stop?"

Wolverine didn't answer, but his silence was the answer.

Sing Sing leaned back in his chair, his fingers unconsciously tapping his knee.

Victor Kree, Wolverine's older brother.

He's here to see you.

"I know."

"You think you can beat him?"

Wolverine remained silent for three seconds.

"I couldn't beat him before. Now... I should be able to. I haven't seen him for many years, but he shouldn't be here."

Sing Sing nodded, took out the package of "cigars" rolled in brown paper from his briefcase, and tossed one to Wolverine.

"Have one to calm your nerves. A premium Guizhou cigar, a limited edition specially supplied by the import office."

Wolverine took it and smelled it.

"This is fucking dried tobacco."

"This is fucking dry tobacco! And the parchment paper smells like your saliva!"

"Your nose is too sensitive; you have no mystery at all."

Wolverine tossed the thing back onto the table. "Let's get down to business."

Sing Sing stopped laughing, "The important thing is that your brother has gone into the mountains. Someone died down there, and the local police have sealed off the village."

He looked at Wolverine: "Would he stop if he encountered an ordinary person?"

Wolverine didn't say anything.

The answer was written all over his face: no.

"Then we can't wait any longer. We need to find your brother before the search team enters the forest."

He turned to look at the snowy night outside the window.

Tonight, just tonight.