Chapter 122: A Rainy Night

As the three chatted and laughed, they saw Bozi rushing toward them with an anxious expression. "Brother Qiang, please, you must save my son! He is on the verge of death, and he is my only child!" The burly man’s eyes were actually brimming with tears.

"Rest assured, I will do my best!" Song Nianqiang replied. He followed Bozi quickly into a hospital room that was already packed with people. A dozen doctors in white coats had fine beads of sweat on their foreheads, whether from fear of Bozi or the anxiety of being unable to cure the patient.

Song Nianqiang reached the bedside of Cui Xiaobo, felt his forehead, and lifted his eyelids to take a look. "A knife!" It was a simple request, but at this moment, Song Nianqiang was Bozi’s only hope. Bozi followed his instructions implicitly, grabbing a machete from one of his henchmen and handing it over.

"What the hell!" Song Nianqiang was startled by the massive blade in his hand. He had intended to ask for a small knife to let a little blood from Cui Xiaobo’s forehead, but Bozi had handed him a machete—did he want him to butcher his son?

"What’s wrong?" Bozi asked, startled by Song Nianqiang’s exclamation. "Nothing! Get a few strong men to hold him down; he might struggle later, but mark my words, you must hold him tight! Do not let him get up!" Song Nianqiang gritted his teeth. Bigger was fine; it didn't matter.

He stepped up to Cui Xiaobo, pinched a fold of skin on the boy’s forehead, and sliced it open with the blade. Dark purple blood oozed from the wound, accompanied by a foul stench that caused everyone present to instinctively cover their noses.

"Woooo..."

Cui Xiaobo, who had been lying on the bed comatose, suddenly moved, emitting a series of low, guttural moans. The young men holding him were startled, but they remained diligent, not easing their grip for a second.

Soon, Cui Xiaobo began to struggle violently. Although the young men were broad and sturdy, they were nearly thrown off by his sudden, immense strength. Bozi watched in shock; his son was usually weak and frail, but now he possessed such power.

Seeing that the men were about to lose their grip, Bozi stepped in. Despite being middle-aged, he was still very strong. With his help, Cui Xiaobo was gradually suppressed, and after a brief struggle, he lay still.

"It’s done. There’s nothing else to worry about. But Bozi, remember: for the next week, he cannot eat any meat. It’s best to feed him only millet porridge. After a week, you can do whatever you want!" Song Nianqiang smiled and patted Bozi on the shoulder.

"How can I thank you? From now on, whatever you ask, even if it’s climbing a mountain of blades or plunging into a sea of fire, if I, Bozi, frown, I’m not my father’s son!" Bozi’s expression softened, and he nearly knelt, but he held back to save face in front of his subordinates.

"Haha, it’s fine. Now, hurry and release those doctors. And have you thought about how to deal with the reporters and police outside?" Song Nianqiang asked with a smile. Bozi froze; he had been so panicked that he hadn't listened to anyone, leading to this mess. Thinking about it now, he broke into a cold sweat. He had challenged the police directly; if word got out, his head would be on the chopping block.

Seeing Bozi’s worried face, Song Nianqiang leaned in and whispered a few words in his ear. Bozi’s eyes brightened, and finally, he nodded firmly and headed toward the door.

The outcome of the incident was unexpected. Bozi had the police chief brought in, and after a secret discussion, the chief left. Ten minutes later, the chief ordered a tactical assault. Under normal circumstances, a standoff of this size would have lasted over an hour, but to everyone’s astonishment, the conflict ended in just five minutes—so fast that some reporters didn't even realize what had happened.

Later, the police chief and Bozi emerged together and gave a detailed account to the dozens of reporters. It turned out to be a joint training exercise: Bozi played the villain occupying the hospital, and the police staged a hostage rescue.

Some skeptical reporters tried to interview the people inside, but the stories were uniform. They had no choice; with pressure from above, they knew their livelihoods depended on sticking to the script.

The matter was thus settled. The police chief even received an official commendation for his "diligence" in conducting simulation drills.

Cui Xiaobo woke up that same evening. Bozi was overjoyed and immensely grateful. He even considered asking Cang Ying to let him follow Song Nianqiang, but Song Nianqiang politely declined—he wasn't about to have someone following him and discovering his secrets.

When Song Nianqiang returned to the station, his clothes were nearly dry, but his skin was pale and sodden, especially his feet, where the skin could be peeled off in layers. The chief provided them with three excellent guest rooms. After a hot shower, Song Nianqiang lay on the soft bed. His mind was a mess after the day's events, but he was exhausted, and he soon drifted into a deep sleep.

That same rainy night, a villager in Xiaowang Village went out to buy supplies and spotted an old man who looked exactly like the one who had recently died. Terrified, he scrambled back home. The villagers were superstitious and believed in ghosts, so his reaction was typical.

But the night was not meant to be ordinary. The man in white who had killed the old man appeared, holding his gleaming blade. He walked through the downpour, letting the rain soak his hair and clothes. His long bangs covered one eye, and the exposed eye held a gaze of total indifference toward life—the look of a seasoned killer. Yet, the youth looked barely twenty. Where did such a gaze come from?

North of the village was a hill covered with large trees. A tragedy was unfolding there.

The man in white raised his blade high, his cold eyes sweeping over three masked figures in black. They were ninjas, their faces hidden behind black cloth. It was a mystery why ninjas from a distant island nation would appear in this remote village.

These were top-tier ninjas, trained at a great cost to their nation. They had come for a monumental mission, never expecting to encounter such a terrifying opponent in this backwater.

Though the man in white was young, they did not underestimate him. Gripping their katanas, they moved in a triangle formation toward him. Seeing them losing patience, a wicked smile curled across the man’s face.