A figure stepped in front of Zhou Ze, broad shoulders like an impregnable wall. The Fatty held one hand behind his back and slowly extended the other, beckoning the men pursuing them with a crook of his finger. "You're next."
Hope of surviving rose in Zhou Ze's eyes. Only now did he realize that the deepest-hidden expert among them was this Fatty.
That unflinching composure in the face of danger—he was the very picture of a grandmaster.
He'd read a few wuxia novels, and many of the experts in them were just like this.
The man Fatty had kneed in the face groaned a few times, then his head lolled to the side and he passed out completely. No one had expected Fatty to be a hidden expert.
For a moment, no one dared charge forward again, and the standoff continued.
Zhou Ze frowned. He noticed that Fatty kept waving the hand behind his back, looking rather anxious. A few seconds later, he finally understood: Fatty was urging them to hurry up and open the door.
Thankfully, No. 13 didn't disappoint. With a clatter, the chains came off. Just as Zhou Ze turned around, delighted, and prepared to help No. 13 open the door, a sharp whistle cut through the air.
The waiter hiding behind the others suddenly threw a flying knife. He'd picked the perfect moment. If nothing unexpected happened, it would pin Zhou Ze's hand to the door.
But what happened next left him stunned.
Someone caught the knife he'd thrown with all his might—barehanded.
Fatty looked at the knife in his hand. He'd acted entirely on instinct. Simply put, his brain hadn't had time to react, but his hand had already caught it.
He was terrified inside, but his face still wore that inscrutable smile.
It was