Chapter 305

Before, they stood on the side of the rejects, the downtrodden waste; from now on, they would stand on the side... clutching the rope of Fate, strangling others.

With the first one picking a side comes the second, with the second comes the third, and then it couldn't stop.

This kind of thing is like dominoes; push down the first one, and the rest follow in inevitable succession.

Guan Zhong threw himself forward with reckless abandon, and the other "Wang Cong"s, in an instant, also seemed to be driven by some irresistible force.

One couldn't tell if the brain commanded the body or the body hijacked the brain; in short, they suddenly seemed to undergo a collective Awakening, rushing together in a frantic scramble toward that tottering broken door, squeezing, shoving... to kill Zhao Ga.

Feng Mu naturally wouldn't naively believe they had truly Awakened completely — becoming a Wang Cong isn't that easy — but today was a positive start; they had taken the crucial first step on the road to becoming the next Wang Cong.

The subsequent process might still involve repetition, and would require several courses of treatment to consolidate; that would depend on Feng Mu's methods.

Gong Qi was the first to burst through the door; hearing the footsteps chasing up behind him, he suddenly felt a pressing urgency as if his butt were on fire, and his pace abruptly quickened.

"Besides Junior Brother, no one here can snatch my head kill."

Gong Qi let out a cold laugh; his arm seemed to lengthen out of thin air, five fingers exuding a foul, evil wind.

Zhao Ga was horrified and lost color; the moment the door was smashed open just now, he had already born thoughts of retreat, but being called out by his real name by Feng Mu, his feet seemed pinned by a fixation spell — wanting to withdraw but not daring to, wanting to flee but not daring to.

Hesitation means defeat!

By the time he felt the evil wind in his face and tried to flee in panic, he would have to ask Gong Qi if he agreed.

Zhao Ga rapidly withdrew backward, his head instinctively shrinking back; simultaneously, he mobilized his Qi and Blood with all his strength, both arms swinging horizontally, his clothing instantly exploding into fragments under this force, revealing the dense, pitch-black iron rings on his arms.

Zhao Ga violently shook both arms; the iron rings vibrated intensely in response, emitting a muffled hum.

Gong Qi's pupils shrank slightly into snake pupils; his probing five fingers struck that circle of iron rings, and the clothing rippled out in layers.

If it were Senior Brother Li Bashan here, he wouldn't care about these; a single simple palm strike would shake the opponent's iron rings along with the arm into meat paste.

But Gong Qi naturally couldn't be compared to that freak of a Senior Brother; moreover, he didn't follow Li Bashan's type of wide-open, overpowering hegemonic path.

His martial arts path was like his person — taking the sinister, vicious route; every move and style secretly contained cunning and lethality, making one unable to guard against it.

Clashing head-on wasn't to his liking; even if he had full confidence to crush those iron rings with one claw, he wouldn't do it that way; Gong Qi preferred overcoming hardness with softness, like a venomous python using a supple body and venomous fangs to toy with dead prey.

Only to see Gong Qi, like a drifting thread, suddenly retract his fingers, dodging Zhao Ga's smashing iron arm.

His toes lightly tapped the ground, like a swaying snake tail, tracing a half-arc on the ground, silently circling behind Zhao Ga.

Zhao Ga's reaction wasn't slow either; his right arm changed from horizontal to vertical, five fingers hooking inward, waist twisting to generate force, driving the shoulder and arm to swing sideways together; as he rotated, iron rings encircled his arm, like a battering ram whistling forth.

Hum—

The air rippled with visible ripples.

Gong Qi lightly tapped his toes, his figure retreating three steps in succession; his retreat direction was quite deliberate — looking closely, it seemed to dodge Zhao Ga's attack, yet also seemed to lure the latter into pulling away from the distance to Guan Zhong and the others.

Zhao Ga grinned fiercely, right arm smashing vertically, left arm driving horizontally, one right one left, one horizontal one vertical, stirring up two streams of black wind, biting madly forward.

The white-painted wall was bored through with holes; the brick wall scattered debris like tofu; for a moment, black and white intertwined, shockingly beautiful.

Dust danced in the air; inevitably a few grains drilled into Zhao Ga's eyes; he instinctively blinked.

In just that 0.1 second, he felt the originally hazy white fog seemingly slow down; his entire field of vision abruptly became clear; the sweat droplets flying off his arms, each one seemed to reflect a crystalline trajectory.

Everything became so clear, clear enough to almost see every wisp of air flow, to the point that the human face before him also turned into... air!

Gone?

Alarm bells screamed in Zhao Ga's heart; he shifted his eyes, and from the corner of his vision caught sight of a ghastly pale palm silently sweeping in, like a venomous snake suddenly springing from the grass — by the time you see it, its flickering snake tongue is already licking your throat.

Zhao Ga could no longer withdraw his arm in time; he gritted his teeth hard, slanting a kick.

But Gong Qi seemed to have anticipated it; his feet didn't even touch the ground, his person like a ghostly shadow closing into Zhao Ga's chest, at a bizarre, tricky angle making the side kick miss.

Then, Gong Qi's arm raised slightly, cuff and palm together lightly resting on Zhao Ga's throat.

This movement was exceptionally gentle, not using much force, as if a tuft of cotton floated over, or like the delicate teasing and caressing between lovers.

Zhao Ga didn't even feel the slightest pain; he only felt that palm lightly touch, then immediately leave, leaving behind an indescribable numb sensation.

"Junior Brother, dead or alive?"

"Senior Brother as you wish!"

"Hehe—"

This was a snippet of dialogue Zhao Ga heard by his ear; the two speakers' tones were both gentle, one warm, one yin-soft, just like a couple of brothers discussing what dishes to eat for dinner.

But Zhao Ga stared wide-eyed in fury; where was any food before him? There was only a bout of dizzying, headless corpse.

In the rotating field of view, scorching hot liquid splashed on his face; a sound like a ball falling to the ground came by his ear; Zhao Ga tried to turn his neck, but strangely his neck wouldn't move at all; he stiffly rolled his eyes, staring straight at a finger dripping with black blood.

That finger was pale as paper, veins like withered dead wood; Qi and Blood exuded a sinister poisonous intent.

Withered Wood Defeated Grass Palm.

Yin Blood Finger.

What a sinister, vicious martial path.

Guan Zhong hurried as fast as he could, but still couldn't get in on the attack; he bent down, hatefully clutching the hair on the ground, lifting it like pulling weeds.

Zhao Ga suddenly realized, thinking: "Who says there's no food on the table? Isn't my head sitting on someone else's table?"

One thought born, ten thousand thoughts turn to ash; life force utterly extinguished.

"What do you want a head for?" Feng Mu looked at Guan Zhong returning with a head; his smile was still peaceful, but his tone carried a hard-to-detect deep meaning.

Guan Zhong lightly raised the head in his hand, his gaze serious and determined; he explained:

"There are many people downstairs; moving a whole corpse is too conspicuous, but if I only bring a head, I can easily hide it in my clothes and quietly bring it back to the Prison for you."

The corner of Feng Mu's mouth curved up slightly, a trace of approval flashing in his eyes, yet he still pretended not to know and asked:

"Then, why bring a head back to the Prison?"

Guan Zhong answered without hesitation: "This man murdered Gong Lao and forged a suicide note; clearly he's connected to the Security Bureau riot. Bringing his head back, you can report completion to the Prison Warden."

Feng Mu's gaze swept over the others around him, discovering they were all silently nodding, quite agreeing with Guan Zhong's idea.

Feng Mu showed a gratified expression, feeling the treatment course to help reconstruct them might be shortened a lot; they're all quite promising patients.

Feng Mu smiled: "The man's dead; throw the head to the Patrol Bureau, take a photo, just retrieve his phone."

Guan Zhong let out an "oh," tossed the head aside, posed it properly, and snapped a precise photo.

After taking the picture, Guan Zhong showed plenty of initiative searching the phone; he frowned and said, "There's nothing in the phone, the call logs have been wiped clean."

Feng Mu was not surprised by this; he responded indifferently, "No matter, just make a call."

Guan Zhong froze for a moment, unable to react at once: "Me call? Who do I call?"

Guan Zhong paused slightly, asking with some puzzlement: "Me call? Who do I call?"

Feng Mu's smile grew even more radiant; his gaze swept across everyone and finally settled on Guan Zhong, and he laughed delightedly:

"Naturally, call the person you miss the most!"

End of Chapter