Chapter 4: The Disappeared

Screech!

The piercing roar was like a madman laughing as he scraped his long fingernails across a blackboard stained with dark green ink.

Everyone who heard it couldn't help but cover their ears, the indescribable ache making their faces twist in agony.

Mo Yan, however, could only gape, his expression filled with bewilderment and existential doubt.

Just as he was about to close his eyes in despair, an iron bed frame descended with an unstoppable force, blocking his view like a mountain falling from the sky.

No matter how cunning the invisible assassin's calculations, no matter how skilled his blade, once again he was foiled—pecked in the eye by a wild goose, rammed in the leg by a wild boar!

Yes, the salted fish forgotten by all emerged at the final moment, wielding some unknown strength, overturning the entire hospital bed and shielding them from the lethal strike!

It was as miraculous as a last-second three-pointer from across the court, as game-changing as the black dragon's decisive move on a chessboard!

A sliver of hope tore through what should have been a fatal deadlock—the timing uncanny, the angle exquisite, even Mo Yan couldn't help but want to cheer.

Mu Yu’s face was cold and hard at that moment. Of course, it wasn’t the same breakthrough as Mo Yan’s, suddenly unlocking his inner channels in a crisis.

Rather, it was the composure of a general before a collapsing mountain, as he stared unflinchingly at the black blade that had pierced through the bed and now hovered close to his cheek.

Was this the gift of the goddess of fate?

He dared not move—it was all Mo Yan could do not to let his legs buckle in terror.

Were it not for the restraints binding his arms and legs, were it not for the trembling blade that could slice his face with a twitch, he would have collapsed onto the floor as a pile of jelly.

Who knew how he dared to do such a thing—this act of heroism, saving not a beauty but a handsome man, had truly happened to him!

At that moment, the roles reversed—the unseen swordsman lost all vision.

Though Mo Yan could not see his adversary, the opening hacked into the bed by that fierce blade became the critical breach.

Without hesitation, Mo Yan dropped his short knife, twisted awkwardly, and drew his heavily modified .50 GI-caliber firearm from his waist.

This globally renowned pistol, after research institute upgrades, could leave a terrifying wound within fifty meters with even a graze.

Some suffering from “firepower insufficiency syndrome” even used hollow mercury bullets—internationally banned and infamous for their cruelty!

But since the investigation squad usually dealt with monsters and ruthless criminals, Mo Yan felt nothing amiss—in fact, he wished he could use even stronger force.

Deafening gunfire thundered beside Mu Yu’s ear, leaving him dizzy and disoriented.

Mo Yan emptied the entire magazine in less than two seconds, aiming at the opening.

Mu Yu saw only flashes of fire, smelled the acrid stench of gunpowder—what? Sound? Was there sound? Wasn’t that an earthquake?

Mo Yan gritted his teeth and pushed Mu Yu and the bed off himself.

Luckily his arms were far stronger than average, or he might never have managed.

Mu Yu looked only a little more robust than a normal man, but Mo Yan felt as though he were pushing a bear fattened for winter!

Having barely escaped death, Mo Yan showed no hint of joy, only vigilance.

Swiftly, he slid a fresh magazine into the gun and chambered a round, then, gun in one hand and Mu Yu’s collar in the other, he dragged both Mu Yu and the bed to the ward door.

Mu Yu, pressed beneath the bed, felt his handsome face being squashed out of shape.

But he dared not utter a sound, biting his lip for fear of distracting Mo Yan.

“Cut the rest yourself.”

Mo Yan picked up the short knife from the floor, sliced through a restraint ring, then tossed it aside.

His gaze never settled there, but instead swept the ward, searching every inch.

“Damn, big bro, be careful!”

Mu Yu watched the blade slide perilously close to his pulse and blanched, unable to keep from complaining.

Mo Yan ignored him, brows furrowed.

Nine pitch-black holes stared from the ceiling—the research department’s quality meant a jam was as likely as seeing Superman fly past your airplane window.

Too clean.

Though the ward had suffered a violent clash and looked as if an RPG had hit it, not a single intact spot remained.

Yet Mo Yan saw no red or any other liquid.

Impossible.

Even blind, he didn’t believe he could miss, nor that any living creature could outrun a bullet!

Even if someone could predict the muzzle’s position, there was a whole bed in the way—how could they anticipate what they couldn’t see?

Mu Yu, fumbling with the short knife, crawled out from beneath the bed, his face contorted in pain.

Was this a hospital ward or a battlefield in Syria? Since waking, Mu Yu had survived two knife fights and a shooting.

If Mo Yan now pulled out a stack of explosives from his pocket and suggested blowing the place sky-high, Mu Yu wouldn’t even be surprised.

But the oppressive atmosphere of the room stunned him.

One man stared ahead, face cold and calm, gun steady with not a tremor.

The other crouched low, blade concealed, like a leopard ready to pounce and tear out a throat.

This was a clash between masters!

Mu Yu couldn’t help but click his tongue in admiration, trying to shrink behind Mo Yan while brandishing his short knife and contorting his face, hoping to bolster Mo Yan’s presence.

Yet, though Mu Yu’s face was aching from the effort, the two figures remained locked like statues, unmoving.

Surely this was a contest of aura between experts—wasn’t it always written this way in novels?

When two masters faced off, they would hold their blades, searching for weakness. Whoever moved first would expose a flaw and be cut down.

So, like in “Rurouni Kenshin,” the protagonist always crouched, poised for action—art does imitate reality!

Mu Yu’s pupils suddenly contracted as he noticed Mo Yan’s gun hand tremble.

Big bro! You’ve exposed a weakness!

No, Mu Yu’s expression turned grave—if the opponent seized this instant and lunged, big bro wouldn’t withstand it.

Now was the time for the sidekick to shine!

Sorry, it might not fit the master’s style, but I’ll be the villainous brawler!

Then Mo Yan saw a figure burst out from behind him like a mad dog.

The speed nearly exceeded his vision—a black blur flashed past, startling Mo Yan enough to nearly fire, but he managed to hold back just in time.

Otherwise, the villainous brawler would have been shot by his own boss.

Bang!

In Mu Yu and Mo Yan’s view, a plain short knife flew straight from Mu Yu’s hand.

It sliced through the air, swift and fierce—worthy of a legendary blade in any novel, three parts style, seven parts spirit.

Then, with a crisp shatter of glass, it vanished somewhere unknown.

Mu Yu froze in his throwing pose.

He felt he’d lost all the face he could lose in a lifetime—though he knew his aim was poor, this miss was absurd.

It veered wildly, missing not only the man but even his coat tails.

Why not just fight hand-to-hand, knowing he couldn’t throw straight? Ridiculous! Someone like Mu Yu, who always followed his instincts, would never make such an unwise decision.

Mu—From-the-Heart—Yu retreated quietly behind the boss, just as he’d started.

“...Did he escape through the window?”

Mo Yan was baffled by Mu Yu’s antics, guessing Mu Yu must have noticed details he’d missed and launched a surprise attack.

Mu Yu cautiously peeked over the boss’s shoulder, perplexed.

“No, he’s still crouched over there. I saw your hand tremble, so I tried to disrupt him for you.”

Hmm, I definitely didn’t miss—Mu Yu added silently.

“You can see him?”

Mo Yan turned, astonished, meeting Mu Yu’s equally surprised gaze.

“You can’t see him?”

Shing!

A faint sound like rain falling echoed as a blade was drawn, filling the ward with sudden murderous intent and seeming to lower the temperature.

Mo Yan whirled around, but saw not a trace of movement, only gritting his teeth and firing in a fan-shaped pattern.

Eight shell casings clattered to the floor.

The last bullet was his trump card—if even a drop of blood splashed, Mo Yan would rush forward and bury it in the enemy’s skull!

Strangely, even after the barrel cooled, the ward remained silent.

No blood, no attack, as if only Mo Yan and Mu Yu existed—the blade’s song was but a figment.

Mo Yan stared ahead, reloading as he spoke.

“Can you see where he is?”

Mu Yu had been startled, watching Mo Yan fire eight shots—quick, but that aim…

It was as bad as his own, which felt oddly comforting.

“He’s just crouched behind the curtain. That old thief is wearing hospital clothes—must have been lurking here for ages. Truly a black-hearted villain.”

“Big bro, we don’t need to play fair. You guard him here, I’ll go call for backup.”

“If not, lend me your phone and I’ll call the police! This is the modern world—we’ll get dozens of guns and let him taste the power of technology!”

“...Did you forget I’m a cop? Stop talking nonsense and just point out where he is.”

Mo Yan couldn’t help but laugh at Mu Yu’s desire to run—the number of times he’d been speechless today surpassed the total of the past twenty years.

“He’s right there. You really can’t see him?”

Mu Yu was baffled—such a big man, right there. Anyone with eyes should notice, yet he obediently pointed out the direction.