Chapter Fourteen: The Ambush

Still holed up in the small outbuilding, Gao Fuyu and Liu Zhen had until now only heard the monstrous roars, howls, and the clamor from inside the main house. When they saw Liang Jing blasted through the wall, coughing blood as he struggled to sit up in the courtyard, their mouths fell open in shock—was this what a superhuman martial artist looked like? Even now, they hadn’t fully grasped what had become of the world, or perhaps hadn’t realized at all that it had changed so drastically.

Those who can’t keep pace with the times are doomed to perish.

After Liang Jing had rescued them from the bathroom, under Gao Fuyu’s pleading, the two had prepared to embark on another desperate fight for survival. But before long, monsters besieged them again; this time, there were more, and they were even larger. Barely able to wrap themselves in sheets, they fled madly from their room, eventually ending up in the small hut out back. By some miracle, they’d avoided the monsters, but the terror had left them shattered.

Had Liang Jing known their mindset had not changed in the slightest, he would have only shaken his head with a bitter smile. These two were beyond saving; surviving this long was a miracle in itself.

But Liang Jing had no time to concern himself with them. With grave injuries making even the least movement agony, he could hardly spare a thought for the world beyond.

After a while, he managed to steady himself, wiping the blood from his mouth. He checked his wounds—at least five ribs broken, his organs battered, and he couldn’t be sure whether any had ruptured. This was dire. Normally, it would take months to recover from such trauma. If his plan succeeded, though—if he managed to kill the golden boss, the Caucasian dog—then all this would be worth it.

No matter. He needed to check on his prey. Forcing himself upright under the incredulous stares of Gao Fuyu and Liu Zhen, he staggered toward the main hall.

Inside, the Caucasian dog was still struggling, but Liang Jing dared not approach too closely. The last blow had nearly killed him; to suffer another would be fatal.

...

“Shh... Is Liang Jing inside?” Jing Hui stood on the street outside the iron gate, holding a finger to his lips for silence as he spoke through the window to Gao Fuyu and Liu Zhen.

“Yes, he’s inside, fighting the monster right now,” Gao Fuyu replied, glancing nervously at Hong Bin, who stood behind Jing Hui wielding a machete.

“What do you think? Should we take care of those two inside?” Jing Hui stepped aside, a cold, black dagger in his right hand. He drew his left hand across his neck in a slashing gesture and whispered to Hong Bin.

“Yeah, that’s best. If Liang Jing gets spooked and jumps out the window, things could get tricky.” For some reason, Hong Bin felt a chill watching Jing Hui’s cold detachment. How could a neighbor and housemate be so utterly ruthless, killing without a flicker of guilt or emotion? Hong Bin almost felt that Jing Hui was the real gangster here and he himself just a hired hand.

A muffled gasp.

Gao Fuyu and Liu Zhen’s mouths were covered, their eyes wide with disbelief. Even as they died, they were full of questions—why kill us? Why?

Jing Hui’s face remained expressionless as he wiped the bloodied knife on Gao Fuyu’s body. Hong Bin felt his hair stand on end—this guy was truly sinister. Shaking his head, he forced the thought aside. Now was the time to find Liang Jing.

...

At last, the monstrous Caucasian dog’s struggles slackened and ceased. Its brain, already mangled, was now thoroughly corroded; its limbs trembled violently, then stiffened. In its deep, mutated eyes—one of which had been shattered and then regenerated during its evolution—a final flash of unwillingness and helplessness gleamed before they glazed over.

As a mass of white spirit light surged from the golden boss-level Caucasian dog and flowed into Liang Jing, he was stunned. This beast truly lived up to its title. Instantly, Liang Jing felt his body strengthening by leaps and bounds—his speed and power surging. The strength he’d struggled to gain now soared; before long, he felt his body was at least four times what it had been before the apocalypse—eight times that of an ordinary person—and still growing.

Just then—

A chill shot down Liang Jing’s spine.

Trouble!

Ignoring his wounds, he stamped his feet with explosive force, instinctively hurling himself over a section of wall.

Bang! Bang bang bang—

He felt his body struck several times, his left arm going numb.

Damn! He was still a step too slow—his left arm had been shot. A dark malice welled up in him, soon replaced by seething rage.

Pressing his back to the wall, Liang Jing took a deep breath, forcing down the fury in his mind. Examining himself, he saw that although three bullets had hit his torso, the warrior’s leather armor had absorbed their force. On his superhuman physique, they left only three dents, not even breaking the skin. Only his unarmored left arm had been wounded.

Rage flared in Liang Jing’s eyes, but at least he hadn’t been shot in the head. That would have been the end.

He’d been careless, allowing his enemies to get so close without realizing it. Had his reflexes not been so sharp, his strength so great, and his armor so sturdy, he might have been killed if a round had struck his head.

The gunfire outside fell silent. With his heightened perception, Liang Jing could sense his adversaries’ every move within the house without even looking. For now, they seemed inactive.

A voice rang out: “Ha! Liang Jing, you mangy dog, still alive? After taking so many bullets, let’s see how you die! Heh, remember Hei Zi and Da Shu? I’m here for revenge. No one who messes with me, Hong Bin, ever gets away with it! Ha ha…”

A cold gleam flashed in Liang Jing’s eyes, but he ignored Hong Bin’s taunts. Gripping his dagger, he dug the bullet out of his wounded arm. With his enhanced physique, the bullets hadn’t penetrated deeply, and he carved the scorched flesh away as well. Instantly, the white spirit light within him gathered at the wound, staunching the bleeding and knitting the flesh with visible speed. The spot where the Caucasian dog’s tail had struck him also healed rapidly—his whole body recovering at astonishing speed.

This was the effect of the white spirit light gained from killing the golden boss.

Watching his wounds close, Liang Jing’s eyes brightened. He realized that the energy within him couldn’t be wasted; otherwise, its strengthening effect would soon dissipate. Better to take a risk and finish off his enemies while he still had it.

As time passed, Liang Jing sensed that his body was like a vessel, now nearly full. The white spirit light from slain monsters was having less and less effect; moreover, much of it seemed to dissipate into the air, never fully absorbed.

Still, the power of this spirit light was undeniable. The energy from the golden boss alone had increased his strength by severalfold. After reaching his limit, any excess would simply vanish if unused.

Liang Jing didn’t know what the white spirit light truly was. He thought of it as “experience”—a force that enhanced his body, healed wounds, and eased fatigue.

Suddenly, the house fell quiet. Hong Bin had finished his tirade and entered, perhaps to confirm whether Liang Jing was dead, for he’d seen his remarkable agility earlier.

Meanwhile, Jing Hui had slipped away to the iron gate, peeking inside. Trusting his instincts, he kept his distance, sensing danger from Liang Jing and choosing to flee if anything went wrong.

Liang Jing could sense his opponent’s cautious approach. The footsteps were light, the man keeping away from the wall where Liang Jing hid, approaching from the side to get a look at him.

If only he had a ranged attack! Throwing objects with accuracy was unreliable—last time, he’d killed a mutant mosquito by sheer luck, not skill. Now, though he could sense his enemy’s position, he had no effective means of attack.

He grabbed three bricks and hurled them into the hall. Then, in a blur, he vaulted from behind the wall, a heavy chunk of masonry in hand. With a tremendous contraction of his muscles, he flung it at his foe.

Thud! Thud! Thud! Bang!

Hong Bin’s attention was drawn by the three flying bricks. As he turned, a larger one hurtled toward him. Instinctively, he dodged aside.

At that instant, Liang Jing struck like a leopard—his superhuman body exploding with speed. He charged his enemy head-on, gambling that Hong Bin would have no time to fire, and even if he did, he’d almost certainly aim for the chest or abdomen rather than the head.

But Liang Jing overestimated his foe. Hong Bin, still dodging the masonry, had no chance to react before Liang Jing was upon him.

With a roar, Liang Jing’s right arm shot out, his whole body’s momentum behind it like a cannonball, fueled by the rage and shock of having nearly been killed by an ambush.

In midair, Liang Jing glimpsed a familiar figure darting past the iron gate—Jing Hui.

Hong Bin never even managed to fire. As his face twisted in panic, Liang Jing’s fist crashed into his skull. Blood poured from his eyes, nose, mouth, and ears; his eyeball bulged from its socket, and a huge dent caved in his face. Red and white matter oozed from the shattered bone.

Not even a scream escaped Hong Bin. His body convulsed once, then went limp.

Finally, Liang Jing examined his attacker—dark-skinned, a telltale scar on his neck. Was this not the infamous gang leader, Hong Bin?

Could it be? That fleeting figure at the gate—Jing Hui?

Jing Hui, Hong Bin, Liu Nengtian, Guo Qingyu, and the two gangsters he’d killed before—these names wove together in Liang Jing’s mind. Only they, with their deep-seated grudges, would seek vengeance so determinedly.

Now he understood—they were all in it together. He’d been too careless, too soft-hearted, never imagining retribution would come so swiftly and brutally. Jing Hui had fled—no doubt his involvement in the ambush made him uneasy.

He couldn’t let Jing Hui escape!

Snatching up the pistol and the loot dropped by the golden boss, Liang Jing also stowed the complete corpse of the Caucasian dog in his inventory.

He raced after Jing Hui. Passing the iron gate, he saw the bodies of Gao Fuyu and Liu Zhen, still fresh, blood streaming from their throats.

They’d been murdered. To kill two people at once without making a sound would require at least two assailants—Jing Hui had to be involved. Liang Jing’s pace quickened.

A blaze of fury filled his chest. Now everything was clear. Never had he imagined Jing Hui capable of such depravity—slaughtering even innocent housemates without hesitation. Did they truly harbor such hatred for him? Was there any need to kill indiscriminately? Gao Fuyu and Liu Zhen may have been unpleasant, but they were hardly evil. Perhaps, in Jing Hui’s mind, guilt or conscience simply didn’t exist.

Jing Hui, fleeing, glanced back. Shocked by Liang Jing’s inhuman speed—several times his own—he turned even paler. If this continued, he’d be dead for sure.

Damn, this guy’s a monster—he can’t even be killed by bullets. If only he hadn’t gotten involved; Guo Qingyu had duped him into this mess. They had no idea Liang Jing hadn’t used his full strength in the supermarket; how could Guo Qingyu know how powerful he really was?

Jing Hui was ruthless and decisive, making a beeline for the river—his only chance of escape.

He wouldn’t beg Liang Jing for mercy. After all, Liang Jing had already killed Hong Bin, Liu Nengtian, Hei Zi, and Da Shu—what was one more? Besides, Jing Hui had just helped kill Gao Fuyu and Liu Zhen, playing a shameful role in their deaths. If Liang Jing caught him, his fate was sealed.

Qingshui Bay lived up to its name—not only was the surrounding province crisscrossed with rivers, but the waterways here were dense as well. Not far ahead, a sizable river led straight to Xieyang Lake.

Only this river could now save Jing Hui. If he could make it into the water, he doubted Liang Jing would risk facing mutated creatures lurking within just to hunt him down. There were surely many such monsters in the river—perhaps even more than on land—and a human’s combat ability was greatly diminished in water.

Chasing after him, Liang Jing realized Jing Hui’s plan. At this rate, he’d never catch him before he reached the river, especially after wasting time killing Hong Bin and gathering loot. With no ranged attacks, he was helpless.

Drawing closer to the river, a smile flickered across Jing Hui’s swollen, pallid face. Once in the water, he’d have a chance; even if the river was teeming with mutated life, it was better than certain death.

Where there’s hope, one cannot give up.

Seeing how close Jing Hui was to the river, Liang Jing pushed his speed to the utmost, swift as the wind. But the distance was too short; there was no time to close the gap. In frustration, he hurled his dagger at Jing Hui.

As expected, the dagger missed.

He’d known it would; how he longed for the flying daggers of wuxia legends!

Watching Jing Hui plunge into the river, Liang Jing could only sigh, pick up his dagger, and turn back.

...

This ambush had been a harsh lesson. Liang Jing realized he’d grown far too complacent, too relaxed, losing all sense of vigilance. Perhaps, ever since gaining the “system” and increasing his strength, he’d become overconfident—forgetting what kind of world he now lived in.

What if his enemies had better aim and shot him in the head? He dared not imagine. Luck might save him once or twice, but no one is lucky forever.