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Chapter 47

Jiang Baichuan felt as if he were flying through the clouds, his soul lost, as he was dragged back through the window and slammed onto the ground. The noise below was a chaotic mix of victorious whistles and strange laughter. Someone yelled, “Where’s the old man? Got him? Bring him down, bring him down!”

 

Two men responded, reaching out to grab Jiang Baichuan by the collar. With a roar, they dragged him down the stairs as if he were a sack of potatoes—one step after another. His body repeatedly hit the hard stairs, sending waves of dull pain up from his tailbone. His vision blurred, his teeth clattered together painfully with each impact, and just when he thought it would never stop, his body finally came to a halt. They had dragged him into place, and the men let go.

 

Jiang Baichuan exhaled deeply and looked up. 

 

There were many people around, their shadows swaying under the glaring lights, which seemed a thousand times brighter than usual. He had to shield his eyes with his hand. After a moment, he lowered it and took in the scene more clearly.

 

Xing Shen stood in front of him, but the group that had started with more now only had eight people remaining. They were scattered, forced to kneel with their hands on their heads. There was a distance of about half a meter between each person. They had clearly been dragged out of bed, wearing a mishmash of clothes—some in pajamas, others in just their underwear. A few, who had the habit of sleeping naked, stood there completely exposed.

 

It was the middle of the night, the coldest hour, and everyone’s lips were blue, their bodies trembling from the cold. Some had crooked noses, swollen faces, or black eyes. As Jiang Baichuan was dragged over, the others glanced at him. Some gazes were blank and confused, others filled with despair, realizing the gravity of the situation. A few stared at him with resentment, probably blaming him for their current predicament, cursing him in their minds for being incompetent and poorly prepared.

 

When Jiang Baichuan saw the raiders, he understood why his group had fallen so easily. 

 

It wasn’t just that these men were large and imposing; they all carried guns.

 

Jiang Baichuan’s side also had weapons, mostly homemade hunting rifles. A few even had handguns, hidden away privately. The younger generation only knew that guns were banned in China, but they didn’t realize that strict enforcement only began in 1996. In the years that followed, many firearms were confiscated.

 

But in a vast forest, there are always birds who refuse to follow the rules. Jiang Baichuan was one of those stubborn individuals. His reasoning was simple: if no one else had weapons, he would have the upper hand. In case of trouble, he would have something to rely on. Plus, living in remote areas, it was always wise to have a few guns for safety.

 

However, the guns in the raiders’ hands were clearly smuggled in from illegal channels. They gleamed in the dim light, and there were at least seven or eight of them, each equipped with silencers. 

 

Who could resist against that kind of firepower? It was no wonder Jiang Baichuan’s men had surrendered so easily. No one would dare fight back with their bare hands against such a force.

 

Jiang Baichuan’s thoughts suddenly flashed back to something Nie Jiuluo had once said—

 

“Yan Tuo’s family made their fortune generations ago…”

 

Jiang Baichuan felt as though his soul had been lost, and he was dragged back into the window, thrown harshly onto the ground. The noise below was chaotic, filled with victorious whistles and strange laughter. Someone yelled, “Where’s the old man? Bring him down!”

 

Two men answered, grabbing Jiang Baichuan by the back of his collar, dragging him down the stairs like cattle. With each step, his body thumped painfully, his back hitting the stairs while his teeth clattered. Dazed and aching, he was finally dropped at the bottom as the men let him go.

 

Jiang Baichuan, momentarily relieved, looked up. A crowd loomed before him, shadows swaying under blinding lights. He squinted, using his hand to shield his eyes. After a few moments, the scene became clearer.

 

Xing Shen stood nearby with only eight men remaining by his side, and the seven others were squatting with their heads in their hands, spaced half a meter apart. All had been dragged from their beds—some in pajamas, others in just their pants. A few, with the habit of sleeping naked, were simply without clothes. It was the coldest part of the night; their lips were blue, bodies trembling from the chill. Some of them had crooked noses, swollen faces, and blackened eyes.

 

Seeing Jiang Baichuan being dragged in, the men turned their eyes to him. Some looked at him with confusion, others in despair, and a few with bitter resentment. Perhaps they cursed him inwardly, thinking he was incompetent and had misled them, dragging them into this mess.

 

Looking at the group of attackers, Jiang Baichuan quickly realized why his side was so defenseless. These men were not only tall and burly, but they also carried guns—real weapons, not makeshift ones.

 

Jiang Baichuan’s side had guns too, mostly homemade hunting rifles and some handguns they had managed to hide. Many younger people only knew that guns were banned in China, but didn’t know that strict enforcement only started in 1996. Years of confiscation followed, but in remote areas, a few bold individuals, like Jiang Baichuan, still held onto theirs. His logic was simple: better to have guns for protection than be caught unarmed in times of trouble.

 

However, the guns the attackers carried were clearly smuggled, gleaming in the light, some equipped with silencers. Faced with such firepower, resistance was futile—there was no option but to surrender.

 

Jiang Baichuan suddenly recalled what Nie Jiuluo had once said: “Yan Tuo’s father made his fortune back in the days when the laws weren’t as strict, and the underworld hadn’t yet been fully eradicated.”

 

He remembered now—Yan’s family rose to power before law enforcement was well-established. Their influence grew in those lawless times, and people like them didn’t care much for rules.

 

Jiang Baichuan smiled bitterly. When Nie Er suggested letting things go, he should have listened. Instead, he had hesitated, hoping to redeem his lame father and the others. Now, not only had he failed, but more lives were on the line—perhaps more than just the people he could see.

 

A shiver ran down his spine.

 

Suddenly, a large bench was brought before him, set down with a loud bang. A towering figure with a bandage wrapped around his head sat down. His massive presence was intimidating—standing, he looked like a mountain; sitting, he was still half of one.

 

This man was none other than Xiong Hei.

 

Xiong Hei was particularly pleased with himself today.

 

For a long time, he had been ridiculed by Lin Xirou for being “brainless” and “just big with no substance.” Every attempt he made had backfired. Whether it was his failed attack on Hua’s sister-in-law or his blunder with heavy drugs, it had cemented the idea that he was all muscle and no brains.

 

But this time was different—this time, Xiong Hei felt that he had finally redeemed himself.

 

Last night, he had searched all over for Yan Tuo, combing through every possible location, but to no avail. Frustrated, he returned to the scene of the incident, holding onto a slim hope. Even if Yan Tuo wasn’t there, perhaps someone else still lingered.

 

As his car neared the reeds, he noticed flashing police lights and a chaotic scene. An ambulance was on site. Xiong Hei knew it was time to be cautious—Lin Xirou had instructed him to avoid the area, so he stepped on the gas and drove past as if he were merely passing by.

 

As he drove, Xiong Hei’s mind raced, trying to think of a way to salvage the situation. Then it hit him—there were too many people in the reeds and too many cars. Even with an ambulance, it shouldn’t have been this busy. Perhaps the injured person’s family had shown up, and there was still a chance to track them down.

 

Without hesitation, Xiong Hei called Ah Peng, who was based in the city and could mobilize quickly. He instructed Ah Peng to deploy a few men to stake out hospitals in the county. They were to look for any ambulances arriving with head-injured patients and take note of their accompanying relatives, cars, and license plates. Xiong Hei emphasized discretion, urging them to gather information without arousing suspicion.

 

Shortly after setting this plan into motion, Xiong Hei received the news: the injured person had been transferred to Xi’an for further treatment. Two relatives had accompanied the patient.

 

Xi’an—it was perfect. Xi’an was Xiong Hei’s territory, much easier to control than Shihe. There, he could intercept the car and the people involved. With this new development, Xiong Hei felt victorious, leaving behind his original pursuit of Yan Tuo. It no longer mattered—his focus had shifted, and the future looked bright for his ambitions.

 

When he reported to Lin Xirou, she was more cautious. She scolded him but offered strategic advice: don’t make a move on the relatives too soon. Wait until they were settled in the hospital and had reported back to their contacts. That way, there wouldn’t be any suspicion if they couldn’t be reached immediately.

 

The raid concluded, and Xiong Hei began to take stock of the situation. Surveying the scene, he realized someone was missing. “Where’s the blind guy?” he asked.

 

One of his men responded, “He jumped out the window and ran. A car picked him up.”

 

Xiong Hei smirked. If the blind man had escaped, they could always catch him later—it wouldn’t be difficult. Confident in his control, he dialed Lin Xirou’s number and waited for her to listen in on the scene.

 

Looking at the circle of men still squatting, Xiong Hei asked, “Who’s the leader here? Someone with the surname Jiang?”

 

No one answered.

 

Jiang Baichuan’s discomfort grew as he noticed the men around him, all silent and watching. Xiong Hei, feeling unsettled by the lack of response, casually pointed at two men from the group. “These two,” he said, “drag them out and blindfold one of them.” The order was swiftly executed—one man was pulled away, while the other had a pair of jeans thrown over his head, covering him completely.

 

Xiong Hei then addressed the remaining man. “You first,” he said, pointing. “If you’re the one named Jiang, you should identify yourself. If the two of you give different answers, one of you will be executed, and we’ll move on to the next group.”

 

The man, visibly shaken, shuddered at the threat. Jiang Baichuan sighed inwardly, puzzled by the situation. He realized Xiong Hei’s intentions were not just about revenge for Yan Tuo but something deeper.

 

To clarify, Jiang Baichuan spoke up, “Don’t worry about pointing fingers. I am Jiang Baichuan. I’ve been in this game for a long time, from the early days when things were rough. Ask me whatever you need to know. Don’t trouble these others who are just doing their job for money.”

 

He stood up from the ground, feeling the awkwardness of his bare feet and the pajama pants that had slipped above his knee. Jiang Baichuan adjusted his clothing, smoothing his disheveled hair. “Ask me directly,” he added. “I don’t want to make things difficult for these minor players.”

 

Xiong Hei was about to respond when Lin Xirou’s voice came through his earpiece, instructing him, “Stop playing games. Just ask what you need to know.”

 

Clearing his throat, Xiong Hei asked, “You’ve been down for nine years?”

 

Jiang Baichuan’s heart sank at the question. It became clear that this was not just about Yan Tuo’s imprisonment but a deeper inquiry. He hadn’t expected to revisit the beginnings of his career after all these years.

 

“Yes,” he confirmed, “I’ve been out of the game for nearly thirty years. Those younger than thirty wouldn’t know much about it. My father’s gone, and now it’s all in your hands.”

 

Xiong Hei, somewhat dismissive, waved his hand to signal his men to move Panya and others to another room. The hall now felt eerily quiet with just Xiong Hei, Jiang Baichuan, and an armed guard left.

 

Jiang Baichuan, feeling the chill, pointed to a nearby chair. “May I sit down? I’m old, and my legs are weak. Also, can I get a piece of clothing? It’s snowing outside, and I’m freezing.”

 

Before Xiong Hei could respond, Lin Xirou’s voice came through the earpiece again, “Give him what he needs.”

 

Xiong Hei nodded and gestured for Jiang Baichuan to sit. A chair was dragged over, and a down jacket was brought in and draped over Jiang Baichuan. While the jacket warmed his upper half, his lower half remained cold. He refrained from asking for pants, not wanting to further irritate Xiong Hei.

 

Xiong Hei finally addressed Jiang Baichuan, “Do you know why your father’s leg was injured?”

 

Jiang Baichuan, now somewhat more composed and warm, replied, “Yes, I know.”

 

Xiong Hei awaited further details, sensing that the answers to his questions might reveal more about Jiang Baichuan’s past and the current situation.

 

“Let’s get specific,” Xiong Hei demanded, his tone brooking no argument.

 

Jiang Baichuan, unsure of how much the other party knew, hesitated but eventually spoke honestly. “In ninety-one, we went underground to hunt owls. We picked a sunny day, but it ended up raining every day. The dense trees made everything look like night.”

 

Xiong Hei remained silent, but Lin Xirou’s breathing through the headphones became noticeably slower.

 

“We searched for more than ten days, nearly reaching the edge of the Black and White Stream, and found nothing. We were about to give up, but we were unwilling to. The lame father, in particular, was determined. He wanted to make money and go back to marry his daughter-in-law.”

 

“So even when we were resting, he kept searching,” Jiang Baichuan continued. “He had a hunting gun and an awl for leatherwork. One day, we were tired and playing cards, while the lame father went deeper into the mountains. There had been no movement for days, so we relaxed our vigilance and let him search. Suddenly, we heard his screams.”

 

“We rushed towards the sound and saw him on the ground, kicking something and stabbing it with the awl. We tried to intimidate whatever was scaring him with a gun, and the shadow fled. By the time we reached him, he had been attacked by what looked like a monkey—similar to the one in the booklet. He was knocked unconscious, and his leg was severely scratched, almost to the bone.”

 

“People questioned if it was a ground owl, but it was too rainy to see anything. The lame father was desperate and decided to cut off his own leg to avoid being found. It was a brutal scene, still vivid in my memory.”

 

Xiong Hei’s eyes narrowed. “And the ground owl? Is it still alive after thirty years?”

 

Jiang Baichuan took a deep breath, sensing he still had some leverage. “It’s alive and well, in a very safe place.”

 

Xiong Hei’s frustration grew, but Lin Xirou’s calm voice instructed him to continue asking. 

 

Xiong Hei pressed on. “I’ve heard you have some skilled people: Crazy Knife Nie Er, Rabid Dog Xing Shen, and Ghost Hand Yu Rong. Tell me about them.”

 

Jiang Baichuan remained silent, content that Xing Shen had escaped and Yu Rong had joined the group. He knew little about Nie Er.

 

“Yu Rong is a beast trainer who once performed a dangerous stunt with a crocodile in Thailand. He’s not hard to find. But who is Nie Er? It seems to be a code name.”

 

Jiang Baichuan confirmed, “Yes, Nie Er’s identity is secret. This is a tradition of the head army. The Mad Knife, who killed the owl, is never revealed to avoid any trouble.”

 

Xiong Hei sneered. “Stop talking in circles. Who is the Mad Knife?”

 

Jiang Baichuan stayed silent.

 

Xiong Hei turned to Lin Xirou. “Should I break a bone for him?”

 

Lin Xirou’s response was concise: “Break it.”

 

Without hesitation, Xiong Hei raised his gun and fired. The muffled sound barely registered with Jiang Baichuan before he felt a searing pain. He looked down to see blood gushing from his right foot; his toes, including the big toe, were shattered.

 

Jiang Baichuan screamed in agony, falling from the chair and rolling on the floor, his blood staining the area around him.

 

Xiong Hei’s voice was harsh. “Still not talking?”

 

He then called out, “Bring someone out!” As the door burst open, a terrified man carrying only pants stumbled into the room, witnessing Jiang Baichuan’s bloodied state. Overwhelmed, the man tried to crawl back, but Xiong Hei kicked him and aimed his gun at his throat.

 

Jiang Baichuan, desperate, cried out, “I’ll talk! I’ll talk! There’s no need for this!”

 

Xiong Hei put away his gun and walked back to Jiang Baichuan. “What do you have to say?”

 

Jiang Baichuan’s hands were smeared with blood, and his face, contorted in pain, had tears and blood mixed together. He was too disoriented to notice Xiong Hei approaching, muttering repeatedly, “I said, I said.”

 

Xiong Hei, growing impatient, used the gun’s muzzle to slap Jiang Baichuan’s face. “Then speak.”

 

Jiang Baichuan gasped for breath, his voice barely audible and broken. “Crazy Knife… Nie Er, you’ve forgotten. He’s been… smashed. He’s not awake now, and has been sent… to Xi’an.”


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An Owl Rising From The Green Soil

An Owl Rising From The Green Soil

Love On The Turquoise Land (Drama)
Score 8.0
Status: Ongoing Type: , Author: , Artist: Released: 2020 Native Language: Chinese
Over two thousand years ago on a deep night, Xu Fu* set sail to the eastern seas in a treasure ship to search for immortality, but few people knew that at the same time, a group of black-turban soldiers secretly entered the vast and dense Nanbao forest… A millennium later, the dark legend continues to slowly grow in the shadows. Xú Fú: Qin dynasty court necromancer and was tasked by Qin Shi Huang to look for the elixir of life between 219 BC and 210 BC. He never returned after departing on his second mission in 210 BC.

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