Naming Technique of the Night

Chapter 88: Art of Reaping Lives

Everything that had happened today seemed to be telling Qing Chen one thing: the outcome of a battle is decided by the “future,” never calculate based on “past” information, or it will lead to an irredeemable doom.

While Kunlun was after five criminals and Qing Chen had only seen five on the bus, the person reporting over the walkie-talkie now was announcing there were eight.

No wonder the enemy had so easily taken control of two Kunlun members; their team was growing as well.

In this world, there are so many people willing to take risks for money.

Yesterday, Lin Xiaoxiao had come to have a chat with him. Squatting on a chair, she said with a smile, “Qing Chen, when you return to the Outer World, remember never to trust anyone, as interests can change relationships dramatically. Humans are profiteers and you should never underestimate their greed. Guess who invented the base station communication equipment you and Liu Dezhu use?”

Qing Chen guessed, “A spy?”

Lin Xiaoxiao shook her head cheerfully, “No, it was invented by two stock traders from City One to avoid being caught for insider trading. You see, that’s the power of interest, it even drives the progress of technology.”

At that moment, Qing Chen suddenly felt that, perhaps, more and more people in the Outer World would be drawn into its dark side for profits.

Because too many people needed such an opportunity to change their lives.

He tucked the walkie-talkie into his pocket, then waved to Jiang Xue and walked into the night.

Jiang Xue squatted down and hugged Li Tongyun, “Were you scared just now? Are you still afraid?”

Li Tongyun thought for a moment, “I was really scared, but I wasn’t scared anymore after Brother Qing Chen patted my head.”

The little girl recalled how Qing Chen, in the darkness, had calculated and struck in one go—as if the young man were effortlessly performing some kind of art in front of the criminals.

The art of reaping lives.

…

The soles of human feet are probably the softest among most animals.

Wanting to fight barefoot is harder than one might imagine; even a small pebble on the ground can make a person wince in pain.

If there were any other possibility, Qing Chen would not want to fight barefoot.

But he had no choice.

Qing Chen was silently crouched in a loquat tree by the road, using the dense canopy to conceal his figure, and had turned the volume of the walkie-talkie down to the minimum.

From time to time, the flickering campfire in the courtyard would cast mottled shadows on him through the gaps in the leaves.

This was the best place he could remember, high in the trees and at a distance from the Yunshang Inn.

“There are 6 people in the courtyard, and there should be another one watching the back door,” Qing Chen murmured to himself; dealing with seven people was simply unrealistic, especially when the criminals were gathered together.

He looked down at the bloodstains on the soles of his feet, uncertain what state his feet would be in after tonight.

In the courtyard, Liu Dezhu sat on the ground timidly, while the leader of the criminals squatted in front of him, pressing a gun to his forehead, seemingly interrogating him about something.

The more than forty hostages were huddled together in a group, surrounded tightly by the six criminals, with no chance of escape.

To Qing Chen’s surprise, he saw one of the Kunlun members lying on his side on the ground, his forehead soaked with sweat.

The conspicuous gun wound on the member’s calf was oozing blood, which was slowly seeping out, staining the cement floor a dark purple.

Yet, despite such pain, the member’s right hand was gently placed next to his pocket, his index and middle fingers tapping out a rhythmic pattern, as if sending a message to the outside world.

Tap, tap tap.

Tap, tap, tap…

The index finger represented a short sound, tapping quickly, while the middle finger represented a long sound, tapping slowly.

It seemed like Morse code, but Qing Chen didn’t know who the message was being sent to.

Another member of his team?

Qing Chen took note of the tapping frequency and turned his attention back to the courtyard.

Then, he saw one of the criminals searching through the crowd, eventually saying something to a comrade with a smile on his face.

After speaking, he grabbed Wang Yun by the hair and pulled her out of the group.

Wang Yun struggled desperately on the ground as she was dragged toward the inn, but ultimately she was taken inside.

The classmates watched the scene with dread; Hu Xiaoniu, Zhang Tianzhen, and a few others tried to stand up several times, only to be forced down again by the cold, dark muzzle of a gun.

The uninjured Kunlun member erupted in anger but was quickly punched in the stomach by a nearby criminal. He fell back to the ground, curling up like a shrimp and sucking in cold air, unable to make any sound.

Beyond that, no one else dared to resist.

But at this moment, morality couldn’t be used to take anyone hostage; self-preservation in the face of danger is a human instinct, and the students, who had not received professional training, were right to feel fear.

What they did not know, however, was that from the outset, the assailants had no intention of leaving a single Ordinary Person behind.

Qing Chen watched everything expressionlessly, yet he did not make a move.

He found this somewhat illogical because the assailants were trained warriors.

Doing such a thing at a time like this seemed exceedingly foolish.

But clearly, they couldn’t be that foolish.

After a while, one of the assailants walked out of the hostel, patting his companion on the shoulder, “It’s your turn now.”

Upon hearing this, the students immediately shrank back in fear.

The assailant, wearing a sly grin, let his gaze wander over the crowd. The female students all lowered their heads, hoping that by doing so they would not be noticed.

However, in the next instant, the assailant’s gaze landed on Nan Gengchen!

The assailant pushed through the crowd, grabbed the frail Nan Gengchen, and started to drag him into the building.

Qing Chen stared blankly at this scene: “…”

He finally figured out something.

He couldn’t wait any longer.

He didn’t even know where the assailant was hiding by the back door, but he couldn’t wait anymore.

This was the best opportunity.

…

The Cloud-top Hostel was built against a mountain; behind it was not a flat ground, but a forest that sloped upward, along with the mountain itself.

An assailant leaned quietly against the back door, smoking a cigarette.

The Red tip of the cigarette ebbed and glowed in the darkness, and in the silence, one could even hear the hissing sound of the tobacco burning.

Unlike the assailants at the front door, he had taken out his Glock 34 equipped with a silencer early on, ready to deal with any crisis at a moment’s notice.

Suddenly, the sound of pebbles hitting the ground echoed through the darkness.

However, the assailant’s first reaction was to look in the opposite direction of the sound, his gun pointing toward where the sound came from.

No matter which side someone was on, he was ready to react quickly, which was the correct way to handle the situation.

There was no one there.

His tense muscles slowly relaxed.

The assailant discarded his cigarette and looked around calmly with his gun, trying to find the source of the pebble sound.

Just then a voice came through the walkie-talkie: “Sound off, 1.”

“2.”

“3.”

The assailant pressed the walkie-talkie and said, “4.”

In that second, his attention was on the walkie-talkie, and his concentration and hearing were somewhat dispersed.

He let go of the walkie-talkie and continued to survey his surroundings.

In an instant, the assailant’s pupils contracted sharply, but he was already being silenced by a hand covering his mouth from behind, and a cold dagger stabbed into him like Thunder from behind his waist, piercing through his spleen and lodging in his lung.

The next moment, he heard someone standing right behind him, pressing the walkie-talkie and saying, “5.”

The hand slowly released its grip, but the only sound the assailant could make was a hoarse, gasping sound.

Numbers were still being called out through the walkie-talkie.

“6.”

“7.”

“8.”

No one noticed that two of their companions had already died.