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Chapter 55

Wei Chong let Han Guan take it. Chen Fu only had a small one left in his hand. He pushed the bullet and loaded it, feeling a little glad in his heart: fortunately, Han Guan’s magazine had been exhausted. If Wei Chong fell into the other party’s hands and dealt with him in turn, it would really be enough for him to drink a pot. Approaching the door, Chen Fu called out again, “Han Guan?” Still silent. Chen Fu’s heart was tense, and he rushed into the door, raising the muzzle of the gun, ready to fire at any time. 

 

What he saw inside the door made his scalp go cold, both shocking and weird. The house was a mess, the usual configuration of the abandoned machine well room: a water pump that had long since decayed, a water pipe full of dust, and a lot of brick chips fallen on the ground, which was the debris brought down by the bullets on the wall. In the clearing, there was a pool of blood. 

 

In the corner of the wall, there was a well, which was usually an abandoned well room. Either the gate was locked, or the wellhead was plugged to prevent children from falling into it while playing or poultry from entering it by mistake. The well was spread out by the wooden planks that had been used to cover the wellhead a moment ago. But now, the plank had been lifted, and most of Han Guan’s body had not entered the well; only the shoulders above were exposed outside the well. His head was lowered, and his two arms were pulled out, like Sadako who was about to climb out in the classic horror movie “Midnight Bell.” 

 

Other than that, he didn’t see a second person. Chen Fu scolded in his heart, “There is no one hiding in this well room.” There was a small air window in the high place, but no one had ever come out. There was no doubt that the woman was under the well. He was cautious, approaching step by step. In the end, he cared about Han Guan: “Brother? Brother!” 

 

As a ground owl, he had confidence: no matter how seriously injured, he would not die, and he could still hum. Sure enough, Han Guan’s body seemed to stir, and a vague and weird hiss came out from his throat. 

 

It was really terrible. Chen Fu stepped closer, but his body leaned back as much as he could, and at the same time, he glanced at the well. He couldn’t see it; the mouth of the well was generally relatively small, and now this brightness, plus it was in the house, made it hard to see clearly. He had the intention to put two shots on his head but was afraid of hitting Han Guan. 

 

Chen Fu silently recited “1, 2, 3” in his heart, roared angrily, grabbed the back of Han Guan’s neck and collar, and suddenly carried him out. At the same time, the muzzle of the gun was facing the well, and it was slammed continuously. The ground owl was already powerful, and Chen Fu was medium and strong, so it was not a problem to carry hundreds of catties. But even so, he still felt that the weight in his hands was a little strange… 

 

It was too late. Just the moment he took out Han Guan, a figure emerged from under Han Guan’s body. He didn’t even see the person’s appearance clearly when he noticed a cold light coming toward his throat. Chen Fu knew that something was wrong, and he let go of Han Guan while simultaneously pointing the muzzle back. But before he could pull the trigger, he felt the center of his palm blown by the wind and a burst of coldness. In the next second, half of his palm, the gun, and the few fingers holding the gun had all flown out, knocked on the side of the well, and then fell straight into the well. 

 

Nie Jiuluo slammed into the ground, feeling extremely annoyed in her heart. She was originally attached to Han Guan’s body and borrowed from him, and as soon as Chen Fu let go, she also fell. The tip of the knife inevitably lost its accuracy—the perfect opportunity to kill Chen Fu in a few seconds was gone. 

 

She had experience: once she couldn’t sneak attack and hit with one hit, the subsequent duel would be extremely difficult. Chen Fu was originally a fierce dog, and now he had become a manic mad dog. Chen Fu’s eyelids twitched as he looked at the mouth of the well in disbelief. The gun and half of his palm had already gone down the well, and two fingers had fallen on the side of the well. 

 

Myself… lost palms? The pain came a little later. Chen Fu’s left hand wrapped half of his right hand, his face extremely distorted, and he howled in pain. He hit his head against the wall, producing a clanging sound. There was another burst of wild rubbing, and when he raised his head again, his forehead was blurred with flesh and blood. There were several blood paths cutting across his face, making him look extraordinarily fierce and vicious. 

 

This was a special stimulus, a crazy revival. Nie Jiuluo gritted her teeth and stood up, tightening the belt of her coat. This coat was usually worn open for the sake of looking good, but now it didn’t work. She tied it tightly; it should be bandaged. She couldn’t see it; as long as she didn’t see it, she could treat herself as if she was not hurt. 

 

Her legs trembled a little, and the pain gradually blurred, but she could hear the sound of blood dripping at her feet. She had no doubt that as long as the bite in her mouth was vented, she would immediately fall down—so she couldn’t vent. The strong enemy was present, and if she leaked, she would die. 

 

She couldn’t die. She had begged Jiang Baichuan for a happy life at the age of eight, worked hard all the way to build, and now it had gradually become a scale. It was very likely to climb to the top again. Lao Cai said she had hope to open a touring exhibition. She couldn’t let this thing be buried; whoever buried her, she would bury whoever—today, either she walks out, or they both die. Anyway, he couldn’t get out. 

 

Chen Fu’s eyes were split, and he yelled at Han Guan, “Brother?” He saw the bloody hole in Han Guan’s throat, but he wasn’t too worried. It was a big injury, yes; it would be fine if it recovered in a month or two. 

 

He raised his eyes to look at Nie Jiuluo. “Who are you?” Nie Jiuluo didn’t say anything; now every bit of strength was precious. She didn’t have the strength to speak. Chen Fu suddenly felt something: “What are you so… The Entangler?”

 

Now, there was no such thing as a Thorn Army, just an ancient legend. Nie Jiuluo pressed her palm against the hilt of the knife, her mind buzzing—likely from too much blood loss—her vision blackening momentarily. She had to steady herself against the bar; Chen Fu was taller, making it difficult for her to strike at his head. Her only option was to aim for his spine and circle behind him.

 

Chen Fu, losing patience as Nie Jiuluo remained silent, let out a roar and reached for the crowbar resting against the wall. He had forgotten that his right hand was useless, leaving him grabbing at nothing. Seizing the moment, Nie Jiuluo darted toward his waist, grabbing it with one arm while pulling out a dagger with the other.

 

Chen Fu, not one to be easily taken down, sensed the danger. He grabbed Nie Jiuluo’s waist with both hands and, using his strength, hoisted her entire body off the ground, slamming her into the opposite wall.

 

Nie Jiuluo’s vision darkened again as her body crashed into the wall and crumpled to the floor. Pain filled her chest, her vision blurred with stars mixed with blood, and her once-tied hair fell loose around her face. Dazed, she saw Chen Fu grab a steel water pump pipe with his left hand and prepare to strike her head.

 

The water pump pipe, made of alloy steel, was undoubtedly heavy. On instinct, Nie Jiuluo jerked her head to the side just as the pipe whizzed past her ear and smashed into the ground, leaving a bowl-sized dent in the cement floor and causing her ears to ring.

 

Chen Fu, his eyes wild with rage, lifted the pipe to strike again.

 

If she were beaten to death with that pipe, it would be a terrible way to die. Summoning all her strength, Nie Jiuluo rolled to the side to avoid the blow. The movement sent a sharp wave of pain through her abdomen, as if her internal organs were in turmoil. Yet she couldn’t fully escape. The pipe slammed down, pinning a large chunk of her hair to the ground, yanking her scalp painfully, stopping her from completing the roll.

 

Unable to roll further, Nie Jiuluo twisted back and plunged her dagger into Chen Fu’s right foot. The blade sank deep, right through the shoe’s sole.

 

Chen Fu howled in pain, staggering backward. Normally, a knife in the foot would keep someone from retreating, but Nie Jiuluo’s dagger was sharp. As he stepped back, the blade slid clean through, leaving Chen Fu momentarily stunned. He collapsed, clutching his bleeding foot, screaming in agony.

 

Blood seeped from his shoe and dripped onto the ground.

 

Nie Jiuluo lay on her back, chuckling faintly, but the laughter quickly died—she had no energy left.

 

The machine well room had no ceiling, just exposed wooden beams, ugly and rough. As she lay there, Nie Jiuluo imagined how she had envisioned her death: under normal circumstances, she’d live past a hundred, free of illness, passing peacefully in her sleep, in a luxurious villa by the sea or in the mountains, under sunny skies, surrounded by blooming flowers.

 

She never imagined it would be like this.

 

She closed her eyes, a faint tear sliding down her cheek, blending with the blood on her face.

 

A shadow loomed over her—it was Chen Fu, dragging his injured foot toward her. One leg dragged behind him, leaving bloody footprints with each step. But despite his slow pace, he eventually reached her, lifting his foot and stomping on her arm.

 

Nie Jiuluo’s vision blurred, only able to make out a huge, grotesque figure swaying in her blood-tinted sight.

 

Chen Fu bent over, panting, grabbing her arm with his left hand and cursing, “You filthy…”

 

With a grunt, he yanked hard.

 

There was a loud crack.

 

Nie Jiuluo’s body tensed, the sound almost pulling her soul from her body. The searing pain reactivated her numbed nerves, and she screamed in agony, instinctively driving her knee into Chen Fu’s crotch.

 

Whether or not his lineage was destroyed, Chen Fu’s recovery abilities were astounding; he’d only be out of commission for a few months at most.

 

Nie Jiuluo slumped back to the ground, her breath shallow and labored. Chen Fu writhed in pain nearby, perhaps still screaming—she could no longer tell.

 

She was exhausted.

 

Nie Jiuluo slowly closed her eyes.

 

But her rest didn’t last long; she was jolted awake by a sharp tug on her scalp. Opening her eyes slightly, she saw the ceiling beams swaying, as if in an earthquake.

 

It wasn’t an earthquake. It was Chen Fu, dragging her by the hair. Despite the pain radiating from her scalp, hundreds of strands of hair rooted in her flesh, her body was pulled toward the well.

 

Chen Fu, grinning, muttered as he stuffed her body, along with her mangled arm, into the well, “You’re gonna drown slowly
 rot down there
 stink in there
”

 

The well was deep, at least 40 meters, narrow at the opening, and pitch-black below. She had glimpsed the dark water earlier, stagnant and reeking of years of decay.

 

Nie Jiuluo was almost folded in half and stuffed in; the only thing to be thankful for was that her head was facing up. There was a little friction between her body and the wall of the well, preventing her from sliding down immediately, but she couldn’t hold back. Her body slipped into the black, like a filthy rag soaked in blood, destined to be buried with the rancid well.

 

Fingers weakly picked at the wall of the well but did not climb. She saw Chen Fu’s ugly face getting farther away from her. Chen Fu still thought she was not going down fast enough. He gasped as he touched the pump body component by the well. The pump body was much heavier than the pump pipe, and he was seriously injured; he couldn’t hold it up with one hand, so he used his bald hand and slowly lifted it up.

 

Nie Jiuluo felt that she should close her eyes, but she didn’t. She opened her eyes to see. She didn’t give up until the moment her skull shattered and her wheezing stopped. Then, just like watching a movie, Chen Fu and the pump body were suddenly overturned by something, leaving her with an unobstructed wellhead that allowed her to see the light.

 

She heard the heavy pump smash to the ground, heard the fighting, and heard the thump. In the end, all was quiet. Immediately afterward, another figure appeared at the mouth of the well. She saw Yan Tuo lean down, stretch out his hand to pull her, and shout, “Miss Nie.”

 

He couldn’t pull her up. As soon as she relaxed her grip, she slid down again. Nie Jiuluo’s eyes closed once more; her upper and lower eyelids were like a pair of butterfly wings battered by a rainstorm, and she couldn’t open them anymore. Vaguely, she thought: he came so quickly. He probably didn’t rush back after receiving the message “Reed Swing.” Before that, he must have gone back to the car and turned around.

 

Nie Jiuluo wanted to vent her breath to the end. She felt that the suffering was over, and she could finally rest. However, that still wasn’t the case. She felt like she had entered a black cocoon; the heavens and the earth were shaking, her body up and down, and pain scattered everywhere—sometimes it hurt here, sometimes there.

 

Suddenly, she heard Yan Tuo call her: “Miss Nie? Miss Nie?” Nie Jiuluo unconsciously responded, “Huh?” Her voice was low, no different from moaning. She felt that she was lying in Yan Tuo’s arms, very warm. He wore only a thin shirt under his coat. Her head and face leaned against the shirt, which smelled good, freshly washed, and through the fabric, she felt his body temperature and heartbeat.

 

Both his body temperature and heartbeat radiated vigorous vitality—so vigorous that it made her a little jealous. Yan Tuo lowered his head and whispered, “Miss Nie, your life is in your hands. I can’t help you now; no one can help you. You’re going to have to carry it for another half hour. After half an hour, you’ll be fine. Do you hear? Half an hour.”

 

Half an hour? What is half an hour? Nie Jiuluo’s consciousness scattered into countless pieces again, each fragment growing wings and flying away. Amidst this chaotic fluttering, Yan Tuo’s words pierced her ears like a magical sound, echoing continuously. Half an hour. Carry it for another half an hour.

 

Lu Xian usually couldn’t play with Ah Peng and his group, but after saving Tian Xiang the night before, he worked hard. In the afternoon, Ah Peng came to ask him if he wanted to do an oil massage together, emphasizing that it was definitely not emotional—just an authentic massage. As a medical student, Lu Xian understood the benefits of massage very well, and it was inevitable he would be tempted. After briefly placing Tian Xiang, he happily joined the group waiting for the elevator.

 

When the elevator reached the third floor, there was a clanging sound, and the two elevator doors slowly opened to both sides. The elevator wasn’t empty; there was a person standing inside—Yan Tuo. He dragged a suitcase behind him.

3


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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. XĂș FĂș: 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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