Scarface stared in disbelief at the mop handle sticking out of his chest, froze in place, then collapsed into his underlings' arms.
"Brother Knife!" The thugs crowded around him in panic.
Only the homeless man remained quietly where he was.
"Avenge Brother Knife!"
Four Tigers picked up Scarface's machete and roared from where he stood, but made no move to charge.
As though they couldn't hear Four Tigers, the underlings merely gathered around Brother Knife and began "wailing," huddling together as they wordlessly edged farther and farther away from the homeless man.
They dragged Brother Knife's corpse away with them.
Wu Fuzhang simply watched them with a frown.
A gunshot rang out.
Blood burst from the underling "crying" the loudest, and he fell beside Brother Knife.
The room instantly fell silent.
Four burly men in suits slowly emerged from deeper inside the hall, pushing an old man in a wheelchair.
The old man wiped the pistol in his hand and spoke weakly.
"Kill him."
Then he pointed at the homeless man.
There was no admiration for talent, no insincere pleasantries. Every thug shuddered as though injected with a stimulant, then hurled himself at the homeless man like a rabid dog, heedless of his own life.
The homeless man drew a deep breath.
A straight punch,
a piercing palm strike,
a shoulder chop,
ward off, roll back, press, push,
a one-inch strike,
a knee thrust,
an elbow charge.
Every movement was precise, every technique exact.
In moments, groaning men littered the floor around him.
"Get blades. Cut him down."
The old man in the wheelchair beckoned again. Two of the four suited men beside him stepped forward, picked up blades from the floor, and joined the fight.
The homeless man pulled the broken handle from Scarface's chest and blocked the two men's storm of slashes with a clattering series of blows.
Their attacks showed no regard for life. When they first entered the fray, they hacked down two of their own thugs who failed to get out of the way.
The homeless man's feet moved rapidly. He dropped the shattered stick and barely dodged their heavy slashes, holding out through footwork alone.
The old man in the wheelchair tried aiming his pistol at the homeless man for a while. Once he realized he couldn't get a clear shot, he fired twice at the useless thugs hiding off to one side.
Tiles shattered. A ricochet struck one thug in the calf, and he rolled on the floor clutching his leg in agony, not daring to make a sound.
"All of you, attack," the old man ordered weakly.
The thugs picked up their weapons again and charged alongside the two suited men.
The homeless man's escape routes were cut off, and the pressure reached its peak.
Zhang Youzhi pushed open a door on the second floor with a knife still sticking out of his chest-after pulling it out to cut the ropes, he had found blood spurting from the wound and stuck it back in.
He had cinched his belt around the bloody hole in his abdomen.
Standing upstairs, Zhang Youzhi stared dumbfounded at the chaos in the hall.
1V32 7/0/19
"Huh? It's him? What's he doing here? He's amazing."
Zhang Youzhi watched the battle and the homeless man's ferocious performance, utterly awestruck.
Blood was everywhere in the hall. The pristine white tiles had turned scarlet and sickly sweet. As Zhang Youzhi studied the battle, he soon spotted the old man in the wheelchair.
He didn't know what was happening, but the homeless man was clearly on his side. If the man hadn't suddenly barged in, he might have been stabbed to death.
Since that was the case, he would help the man before he died. As for He Min, he would save her if he could. If he couldn't, there was nothing he could do.
Zhang Youzhi pulled out the dagger, held it in a reverse grip, pressed down on his spurting shoulder wound, and crept downstairs in a crouch.
The homeless man was in a terrible position. He had never expected that, as a practitioner of ancient martial arts, he would fall to a bunch of street punks.
In his urgency, he accidentally snapped one thug's neck, snatched the machete from his hand, and hacked away in a clanging flurry, barely stabilizing the situation.
Just as he was considering how to break out, floor-to-ceiling windows on all four sides of the hall shattered with a crash. Four men rushed in, wearing black clothes, black hats, black ties, black leather shoes, black trousers, and black sunglasses, with black hair to match.
Three immediately joined the battle. Whatever they were doing, each rise and fall of a hand left another thug crumpled on the floor. Some thugs' faces and hands even sizzled with acidic liquid, like sodium chunks doused with water in a high school laboratory.
Screams erupted, instantly drowning out the groans. Seizing the chance, the homeless man chopped off a suited thug's arm and turned the tide.
The remaining man in black walked toward the old man in the wheelchair.
Zhang Youzhi had already crept behind a flowerpot at the old man's back. At the sight, a strange suspicion struck him. These four men seemed to have come for him.
Sure enough.
Their leader shouted.
"Where's Zhang Youzhi? Is he dead?"
"He's dead. Who are you?" The old man frowned at the fellow dressed as though he were attending a funeral.
"Fuck, we're too late. They're going to dock our pay." The man in black cursed angrily.
Even behind his sunglasses, it was clear that his expression was grim.
Zhang Youzhi knew that expression well. It was the same one he wore when his performance pay got docked at work.
The two sides soon separated into clearly defined camps. Drenched in blood, the homeless man stepped over bodies whose fate was uncertain and slowly approached the wheelchair like a god of war.
The remaining men surrounded the old man protectively, clutching machetes and long sticks as they faced the murderous homeless man and the four men in black.
"Where's his body?" The leader of the men in black walked toward the old man in the wheelchair.
The remaining thugs stepped forward together to block him.
"Fed it to the dogs." Sitting in his wheelchair, Master Fang lightly tapped his jade thumb ring against the pistol's casing and spoke indifferently.
"Fuck!" All four men in black cursed at once, their expressions twisting behind their sunglasses. Their rage had clearly reached its limit.
How were they supposed to collect a body that had been fed to dogs? Their pay would probably be docked into the negatives this time.
Hearing this, the homeless man's eyes also turned bloodshot. With his bloody blade resting on his shoulder, he advanced step by step.
"I think we can talk-aaagh!" Master Fang's words broke off abruptly.
Zhang Youzhi swallowed his last pill, gathered every ounce of strength, and lunged onto the wheelchair. He drove his dagger into the old man's mouth and twisted it as Scarface had done, churning tongue, teeth, and blood into a mangled mass. Blood sprayed across the floor.
"He's alive!"
Ecstatic, the four Funeral Directors sprinted straight toward Zhang Youzhi.
One suited man barely recovered his senses in time and almost cleaved Zhang Youzhi in half at the waist with his large blade. Even so, Zhang Youzhi kept hold of Master Fang's old head, churning everything his dagger could reach into pulp.
The four Funeral Directors' eyes instantly went red. They scattered Corpse-Dissolving Powder and Bone-Shattering Nails in every direction as though they cost nothing. After incapacitating a swath of men, they teamed up with the homeless man to smash straight through the last two suited men's defenses, then gathered Zhang Youzhi into their arms.
Some held his upper half, while others held his lower half.
"Brother, brother, brother, don't die! Don't die! Could you please hold out another seven hours before dying?" One Funeral Director's teeth chattered as he shakily tried to fit the two Zhang Youzhis back together.
Zhang Youzhi was already drawing breath without breathing out. His eyes were wide open and his tongue hung out, making him look as though he had died with grievances unresolved.
"Quick, quick! Adrenaline!"
One Funeral Director pulled a syringe of adrenaline from inside his clothes, then hesitated.
"Inject it! What are you waiting for?!"
"In the top half or the bottom half?"
"Both! Both! Hurry!"
"Boss, what do we do?" a rookie Funeral Director asked their leader.
"We have to keep him alive. Get him to a hospital! Hurry!"
The homeless man approached hesitantly, looking at the gruesome scene before him.
Trembling, he extended his large, rough, bloodstained hand and slowly closed Zhang Youzhi's eyes.
This act earned him the hostility of all four Funeral Directors.
"He's not dead yet! Why are you closing his eyes? Don't jinx him!" One embalmer slapped the homeless man's hand away and propped Zhang Youzhi's eyelids open again.
Zhang Youzhi: ...
Zhang Youzhi felt he ought to say something to prove he was still alive.
"I think we're in trouble."
A faint voice sounded out of nowhere, though it seemed rather familiar.
"Who was that?" All four jolted. Even the homeless man, who killed without blinking, jumped in fright.
Zhang Youzhi blinked at the five of them again.
"You're still alive?!" Delighted, the four cradled Zhang Youzhi's upper half, abandoning his lower half to one side.
"This Painkiller is practically a miracle drug. It doesn't hurt at all." Looking at his intestines wriggling out and his legs lying some distance away, Zhang Youzhi couldn't help marveling.
"Wonderful! It lasts six hours. We'll go to the hospital and keep you alive for another hour, then you can die. The four of us will collect your body afterward," the lead Funeral Director said with heartfelt sincerity.
"But will we even live that long?"
Zhang Youzhi sighed.
The hall, which had been full of sprawled bodies a moment ago, was now packed with men. At least ten of their enemies had guns.
As Crane City's largest criminal organization, which had run rampant for decades, how could they possibly have so few men?
Back when Wu Fuzhang first fought his way in, Master Fang-the criminal organization's third-in-command-had already summoned members from the other branches.
The six of them were surrounded!
6V100+
"Don't worry." The lead Funeral Director patted Zhang Youzhi's shoulder, accidentally jostling out a little more of his intestines, then frantically stuffed them back in.
"We've already asked our company's Crane City representative to seek help from the local authorities. They should be here soon."
Sure enough, while the head Funeral Director was chatting and arguing with the "second-in-command" who had surrounded them, buying time,
the people in the hall suddenly grew restless.
Outside, armed helicopters thundered closer from the distance and sealed off the airspace. Numerous light armored police vehicles drove into the area, blocking every intersection.
A series of violent explosions blasted open several parts of the hall and shattered the second-floor windows. The entire hall was left exposed on all sides.
Just like in the movies, special forces soldiers descended from above on ropes, picking off the dozen or so gun-toting fellows from their elevated positions in an instant.
Hundreds more well-trained armed soldiers rushed through every entrance with riot shields. Anyone who resisted was shot on the spot. They quickly divided the hall into several sections and surrounded everyone.
"See? The grand finale." The lead Funeral Director grinned.
Before you continue