Chapter 557: Very Cool

A Xing turned around and walked to that chair.

Huo Huo was tied to the chair, a cloth bundle stuffed in her mouth, and her green eyes were full of terror.

She looked at A Xing, her body trembling.

A Xing crouched down and untied the ropes on her.

"Um um um!" Huo Huo struggled, trying to say something.

A Xing pulled the cloth bundle out of her mouth.

"You… you are—"

A Xing gave no answer.

She scooped Huo Huo up in one arm and rushed toward the shattered window!

She vaulted in a single bound!

The wind roared!

Falling!

Two stories of height flashed by!

A Xing held Huo Huo tightly with one hand, while the other hand grabbed the last rope at her waist—the spare rope she had tied to the roof in advance!

The rope snapped taut instantly!

The force of the fall almost dislocated her arm, but she gritted her teeth and held on!

Using the rope's buffer, she adjusted her posture, her legs slightly bent—

Below, a huge red air cushion was waiting for them.

That was a Firefighting Air Cushion.

Why was there a Firefighting Air Cushion here?

Because a fire had just "broken out" nearby.

And the fire's location was on the street beside this building.

Coincidence?

Not a coincidence.

It was arranged by A Xing.

"Bang!"

The two slammed onto the cushion, bounced a few times, then came to a steady stop.

A Xing lay on the cushion, panting heavily.

Huo Huo lay beside her, completely dazed.

After a few seconds, A Xing sat up and hoisted Huo Huo in one arm.

Then she jumped off the cushion and walked toward the end of the street.

Behind them, police cars roared past, fire trucks blared their sirens, and the crowd of onlookers packed the street.

Red lights and blue lights intertwined, casting flickering shadows on her.

Upstairs, a muffled thump came from that room.

Then a second, a third—

"Boom——!!!"

The exploding firelight illuminated half the sky, and glass shards fell like rain.

A Xing did not look back.

She kept carrying Huo Huo, step by step, into the night.

Her gray hair was lifted by the wind; nothing could be read beneath her sunglasses.

Her silhouette stretched long.

Very cool.

A Xing sat by the window, with an empty bowl and a pair of chopsticks on the table in front of her.

She had just finished a large bowl of mapo tofu ramen, and now rested her cheek on her hand, staring blankly at the hotel building outside the window.

Afternoon sunlight streamed through the glass, coating her gray hair with a warm hue.

In those hollow golden eyes, the reflected light from the hotel's glass curtain wall shimmered.

She was thinking about the plan she had just executed.

Smoke bomb, gunshots, rope descending from the roof, breaking through the window, a punch knocking down that purple‑haired woman, grabbing Huo Huo and leaping out the window, landing steadily on the Firefighting Air Cushion, then walking into the night without looking back.

The scene felt vivid, very cool.

The corner of A Xing's mouth twitched slightly.

"Not bad, let's do it that way."

She picked up a napkin from the table, wiped her mouth, crumpled the napkin into a ball and tossed it into the empty bowl.

It felt right.

She stood up, tidied her clothes—flipped the collar of her coat, rolled up her sleeves twice, exposing her slender wrists.

Then she pulled the sunglasses from her pocket and perched them on her nose.

The lenses covered her hollow eyes, instantly giving her a few more degrees of cold demeanor.

A Xing left the restaurant, stood at the doorway, and took out her phone.

"Fire department? XX Hotel is on fire, third floor, the blaze is huge, send help quickly."

Hanging up, she slipped the phone back into her pocket and strode toward the hotel.

The glass doors opened automatically, and a blast of cold air hit her.

People came and went in the lobby, and the front‑desk staff were busy with their heads down; everything was exactly like the scene in the imagination.

A Xing stopped walking.

She reached her hand into her coat—

and then froze.

She didn't have a gun.

The Handgun from her fantasy didn't exist in reality.

A Xing was silent for two seconds.

Then her hand changed direction, pulling another thing out of her bosom.

Immortal Salted Fish.

The Salted Fish, shimmering with a strange dark‑golden sheen, was held in her hand, exposed to the air of the hotel lobby.

The first to react was a middle‑aged man standing closest to her.

He was looking at his phone, then sniffed suddenly; his expression shifted from confusion to terror, then from terror to rolling his eyes white—

Thump!

He collapsed straight onto the floor, and his phone flew three meters away.

The front‑desk staff beside him looked up, about to ask "What's wrong?", when that smell rushed into her nostrils.

Her face turned green in an instant, her lips trembled twice, and before she could utter a sound she slipped softly behind the counter.

Then the running child—

Thump!

The two businesspeople chatting on the sofa—

Thump! Thump!

A family of three who had just stepped out of the elevator—

Thump! Thump! Thump!

In less than ten seconds, everyone in the lobby collapsed onto the floor, sprawled in all directions, each in a different pose.

A Xing stood where she was, holding the Salted Fish in her hand, watching everything expressionlessly.

In her imagination the scene was: gunshots rang, the crowd screamed, smoke filled the air, and amid the chaos she calmly walked toward the elevator.

In reality the scene was: once the Salted Fish appeared, everyone fainted on the spot, and the lobby was as quiet as a morgue.

A Xing lowered her head to glance at the Salted Fish in her hand, then at the "bodies" strewn across the floor, and her mouth twitched slightly.

(Forget it, never mind.)

She stepped over the bodies lying across the floor and headed toward the elevator.

The elevator doors opened.

Inside it was packed with people—seven or eight passengers and a service worker pushing a luggage cart.

They had been chatting and laughing, but the moment the doors opened, that lingering smell surged in.

Their smiles froze on their faces.

Their eyes widened.

Their lips opened, but before any sound could emerge—

Then the seven or eight people fell neatly onto the floor of the elevator.

A Xing watched the scene, silent for two seconds.

Then she retrieved the Salted Fish, stepped into the elevator, and began dragging the people inside out one by one.

After pulling the last one, the elevator was empty.

A Xing stood in the center of the elevator, nodded with satisfaction, and pressed the button for the top floor.

The elevator doors closed slowly and began to ascend.

She leaned against the elevator wall, her eyes behind dark glasses fixed on the constantly changing numbers.

Why did she know Huo Huo and that purple‑haired woman were here?

Simple: investigation.

Perspective shift.

Sha Jin lay in the center of the ruins, gazing at the dim yellow sky.

The sky was that hazy gray, sunlight piercing the dust and falling, broken into countless thin beams.

Fine grains of sand spun in the wind, landed on his face, and were quickly blown away.

The surroundings had become complete ruins.

What used to be a few ruined buildings was now nothing.

The ground was riddled with countless huge craters; the largest was over a dozen meters in diameter and deep enough to see broken water pipes beneath.

Broken bricks and tiles littered everywhere, and occasionally twisted metal frames protruded from the ruins like a giant's skeleton.

Someone unfamiliar would think a meteor had struck here.

Sha Jin clutched three Mystic Cards in his hand.

Three cards, three battles.

Each battle was a life‑or‑death gamble.