【Host!!!】
【Shut up.】
The sharp, terrified electronic cry and the young man’s utterly calm voice echoed through his mind almost simultaneously.
As Song Liang raised his head, the knife point was already before his eyes.
Without hesitation, he planted one foot against the floor and tipped backward.
The margin was measured in millimeters.
The blade slid down just in front of his throat, skimmed his chest, and finally sliced through the rope binding him.
Liang Ziyu’s expression faltered.
He realized something was wrong, but it was already too late.
Song Liang broke free. As he rose from the chair, he planted his left hand on the floor, drove his right knee upward, and slammed it into Liang Ziyu’s chest.
They were barely an inch apart. The entire sequence happened in a flash.
Liang Ziyu had nowhere to dodge. Nor had he imagined that a pretty boy with a broken arm could deliver such a devastating blow.
He went straight down.
Agony gripped his chest like a hand crushing the breath from his lungs, spreading through his body like a spiderweb.
Before he could even make a sound, a vicious axe kick came down at him.
He rolled aside immediately.
Before he could get up, another kick swept toward him.
He raised his arms to protect his head, but the impact sent him flying sideways.
“Young Master!!!”
His men finally reacted, rushing forward in alarm.
Liang Ziyu coughed violently, spitting out blood.
His eyes were bloodshot. The whole thing seemed absurd.
One brief exchange, and a man with a broken arm had beaten the heir of the Xinglong Society until he coughed blood.
Utterly absurd.
Slowly, he looked at the young man ahead.
Song Liang was still a mess. His light-colored jacket was spattered with blood from the crash.
His face was as clear and fresh as a college student’s, but a knife wound on his cheek had stained his features red.
His eyes were cold and imperious, as though he had no idea what fear meant.
There was even an almost absolute indifference in them.
Liang Ziyu’s heart raced. His chest throbbed, his breathing rapid and feverish. All the blood in his body seemed to rush to his head.
“Interesting.”
He wiped the bloody foam from his mouth and fixed Song Liang with a sinister stare.
“Was this part of the plan too? Keeping an expert like you around, pretending to be a pretty little pet, then striking me down?”
“No.”
Song Liang lifted his chin slightly, wiped the blood from his face, and said casually, “Strictly a personal grudge.”
“Good. Then we’ll meet again once your arm heals.”
“I don’t like leaving things for next time.”
“Too bad.”
Holding his chest, Liang Ziyu slowly retreated. His gaze was complicated, tinged with interest.
“You’ll have to wait.”
Two Xinglong Society men immediately drew their guns and blocked Song Liang’s path. The others escorted Liang Ziyu outside.
Song Liang was flesh and blood, after all.
Injured flesh and blood, at that.
He wasn’t about to challenge two handguns head-on. He simply stood calmly and watched Liang Ziyu leave with his men.
Yet even standing there expressionlessly, he made the two men aiming at him break out in cold sweats.
Terrifying.
He had kicked their boss into coughing blood in just a few moves—while tied up, with one arm broken.
That speed. That explosive power.
Almost nobody had managed to react.
If their boss hadn’t dodged the axe kick himself, they might have had no acceptable explanation to give when they returned.
What fucking pretty boy?
He was a lethal weapon.
As the footsteps outside receded, the two men exchanged a glance and began retreating together.
Neither dared shift his aim.
Their guns stayed trained straight ahead, terrified that this young man might suddenly charge and cripple them with a kick.
Only after backing through the doorway did they hurry away.
The instant they disappeared, Song Liang walked to the window.
3085 startled.
【W-What… what are you doing?】
Crash!
Song Liang smashed the glass with his elbow, braced one hand on the sill, and vaulted onto it.
He lowered his eyes to the empty street below.
After three or four seconds, Liang Ziyu appeared from the left, surrounded by his men.
Song Liang’s lips curved.
3085’s mind crashed.
The next instant, Song Liang leaped from the third floor.
【I’m begging you!!!】
That desperate cry neither shook his resolve nor stopped his fall.
Below, a sudden chill ran down Liang Ziyu’s back.
Instincts honed through years of life-or-death encounters warned him of danger.
He jerked his head up.
A man was falling from above, straight toward him.
“!!!”
For an instant, Liang Ziyu’s mind went blank.
He even forgot to move.
He could only watch the figure hurtle down and slam him into the ground with tremendous force.
The pain in his chest intensified.
For a moment, he felt as though his soul had flown out of his body, then been dragged back.
He opened his eyes.
Someone was standing on his chest.
The man had a clean, beautiful face, now flecked with blood. His eyes were lowered, the lifted ends of his brows tracing a cold, sharp line.
His black eyes were utterly still.
His right arm hung at his side, his clothes torn and filthy.
“I told you. I don’t like leaving things for next time.”
He heard the young man say it.
That hoarse, calm voice slipped into his ears like strands of freezing rain.
A drop of blood landed between his brows.
His heart missed a beat.
Then everything went black, and he heard nothing more.
Liang Ziyu’s men were frozen in terror.
They stared at their boss, knocked unconscious and pinned beneath someone’s foot, unable to believe what had happened.
The police sirens sounded as though they came from another world.
It took a long time for the men to react.
Song Liang wiped away the blood running down his neck and looked up.
Rows of stunned eyes met his.
The officers from Linhai’s municipal police stood dumbfounded.
They would never forget the sight from two seconds earlier: a man jumping from the third floor right before their eyes and bringing Liang Ziyu down with him.
“Strong” didn’t begin to cover it.
Neither did “ruthless.”
Zheng Xin was equally stunned.
She had seen plenty in her career, but never anything quite like this.
Amid the deathly silence, Song Liang looked at the tallest figure standing at the front.
The man was staring back in shock.
His handsome, steady face had lost its composure. His dark-green eyes looked a little like they had on the night they first met at Yalong Bay.
Still astonishingly beautiful.
Song Liang swallowed the blood rising in his throat.
Slowly, he said, “You’re half a minute late.”
As the final words left his mouth, alarms for his body’s vital signs rang through his mind, mingled with sniffling sobs.
Before he could make out what they were saying, his consciousness vanished.
He sank into darkness.
Dimly, he heard someone calling his name.
The voice seemed to come from somewhere vast and empty, far away.
Calling him to wake up.
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