Chapter 83: The One-Eyed Dragon Crone (Part One)

On the other end of the line, upon receiving this news, Fang Jing’s enchanting, delicate face clouded with a look of grave concern. Hanging up, she immediately relayed the information to the chief. She believed that the more the police knew about their adversaries, the better their chances of minimizing casualties. Moreover, it would prevent them from blindly grasping at straws and enable them to focus on what truly mattered.

...

The supreme commander of this operation, upon receiving the update, instantly reorganized the pursuit, directing attention toward capturing the Cyclops Nun, Li Hu, and other members of the Hungry Wolves Mercenary Group. These dangerous individuals were the instigators of the entire detention center incident—they could not be allowed to escape.

That night, the entire city of H echoed with wailing sirens. Countless police vehicles raced through the streets in pursuit of the fugitives. Drones of various sizes swept low through the city, searching for members of the Hungry Wolves Mercenaries.

On a certain road in H City, a police checkpoint lay ahead. Several vehicles waited in line, inching toward inspection. Soon, it was the turn of a nine-seat minivan. The driver, a man with a thick beard and a piercing, predatory gaze, radiated a cold, menacing aura.

“Good evening. May I see your vehicle registration and driver’s license? We’re conducting a routine check,” a young officer approached and requested.

The man’s hand instinctively moved to his waist, reaching for his firearm. The officer, sensing something amiss, barked sharply, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“To hell with your inspection!” snarled the bearded man, whipping out a handgun and firing point-blank at the officer’s head. His speed was inhuman; the officer had no time to react. The bullet struck him squarely between the eyes. His gaze froze in shock, and he collapsed on the spot.

Without hesitation, the bearded man floored the accelerator. The minivan lurched forward, roaring like a wild beast as it barreled toward the barricade. Chaos erupted. Other officers scrambled to draw their weapons and opened fire on the fleeing van.

Gunshots thundered through the night. The minivan showed no signs of stopping. From the rear windows, two machine guns emerged, spitting tongues of fire and unleashing a torrent of bullets upon the checkpoint. The air was thick with the staccato rattle of automatic gunfire, as if twin dragons were spewing flame.

Bullets lashed the officers like a hailstorm. Overwhelmed by the enemy’s firepower, the police could do nothing but cower behind cover, their sidearms woefully inadequate in the face of such force.

The disparity in firepower was devastating. Once suppressed, the police could only watch as the van stormed past and vanished into the night. The scene descended into pandemonium—private vehicles frantically tried to reverse, desperate to escape the danger ahead.

A police car, which had intended to pass through the checkpoint, was forced to halt. Several officers leapt out, among them a woman whose figure was striking, her beauty both alluring and formidable—Fang Jing herself.

“What happened here?” Fang Jing strode to the checkpoint, her brows knitting as she surveyed the bullet-riddled barricades.

“We were ambushed. They had machine guns and heavy weapons,” one of the shaken officers replied.

“Which way did they escape?”

“Straight ahead!”

Without hesitation, Fang Jing sprinted toward a nearby police vehicle. Her team followed closely.

“Report to Command immediately. We’ll give chase!” Fang Jing ordered as she climbed into the cruiser. With a roar, they sped off into the night. Behind them, the checkpoint officers relayed the situation to Command and called for medical assistance.

...

Meanwhile, at the H City Police Headquarters, within the command center, a bald monk in a yellow cassock, his single eye gleaming coldly in the night air, strode purposefully toward the entrance as if measuring every step. He was none other than the Cyclops Nun.

At the entrance, two guards stopped him. “Excuse me, may I ask—” they began. But a single glance from the monk’s lone eye rooted them to the spot. It was as if a black hole swirled in that gaze, threatening to devour everything. The officers were transfixed, unable to utter another word.

The other guard, noticing something was wrong, tried to intervene, but as soon as his eyes met the monk’s, he too fell under the spell, immobilized.

Unhindered, the Cyclops Nun proceeded into the building. Any officer who attempted to question him was paralyzed by a single look, as though petrified by Medusa herself.

Before long, he reached the door to the operations hall. Inside, rows of male and female officers worked at their computers, receiving a steady stream of reports from across H City. At the front, a massive LCD screen displayed a map dotted with glaring red markers. A stern-faced, authoritative middle-aged officer was directing the ongoing manhunt.

“Deputy Chief, our officers on XX Road have come under heavy attack. It’s suspected to be the Hungry Wolves Mercenaries,” an officer reported urgently.

The deputy chief’s face hardened. “It must be them. Send my orders—mobilize all available units in the area—”

“You must not encircle the Hungry Wolves Mercenaries,” interrupted a foreign, aged voice, “or you will incur heaven’s wrath!”

The deputy chief spun around, frowning as an ominous suspicion dawned. “You’re the Cyclops Nun!”

“I am,” the monk replied, his tone devoid of joy or sorrow.

“Quick, arrest—” the deputy chief began, but the monk suddenly chanted a mysterious Buddhist mantra, a sound imbued with an almost supernatural force. Instantly, everyone in the room, including the deputy chief, froze in place, as if petrified.

If one looked closely, one might notice faint ripples of light emanating from the monk’s mouth, spreading in waves throughout the room.

The Cyclops Nun surveyed the spellbound crowd, then intoned the mantra again. He approached a dazed female officer, his scarred hand gently resting atop her head.

“Tell me Fang Jing’s badge number, and her current location,” he commanded like a prophet addressing a faithful disciple.

The officer, powerless to resist, nodded woodenly, sat down, and her fingers danced across the keyboard. In moments, Fang Jing’s details appeared on the screen.

The monk glanced at the information. “Send Fang Jing to this location,” he ordered.

With that, he strode from the command hall, leaving the roomful of petrified officers behind. At the entrance, he tapped one of the stunned officers on the head.

“Take me to pursue Fang Jing,” he said.

The officer nodded blankly and led the Cyclops Nun downstairs. They climbed into a squad car, which sped away from headquarters, sirens wailing into the night.