Chapter 250 - 244: Heavy Rain, Sir

Chapter 250: Chapter 244: Heavy Rain, Sir

The sky was gloomy, and a crowd had gathered in front of the Wen Mansion.

The morning had been warm and spring-like, but the weather was fickle. Now, the sun was gone, and a wind had picked up, scattering the last of the early spring warmth. Many of the students, dressed in only one or two thin layers, were already shivering from the cold.

But no matter how cold the day or how fierce the wind, nothing could diminish the fire burning ever brighter in their eyes.

After an indeterminable wait, the large, black-lacquered gates of the Wen Mansion finally swung open slowly.

Several figures emerged from behind the gates, following a black car.

The crowd outside had been craning their necks in anticipation. The moment they caught sight of a figure in a long gown and black hat, a white scarf draped around his neck, they erupted.

"It’s Mr. Mingyi!"

"Sir!"

Countless arms waved in the air as cries surged forward like a tidal wave.

The students waved excitedly at the figure, shouting Li Mingyi’s name.

The man, the focus of countless ardent and reverent gazes, waved to the crowd on three sides. He seemed to want to say something but was quickly ushered into the car by several bodyguards in black.

"Quick! Make way! Don’t make Mr. Mingyi miss his train!"

"Excuse us, everyone, please let the car through!"

The students spontaneously parted, forming a narrow path, yet they remained pressed against the car, surging forward as it moved slowly.

Just then, a sudden commotion arose from the edge of the crowd.

In the distance, a squad of Patrol Police in uniforms and puttees, armed with live ammunition, charged forward like a pack of wolves.

It’s unknown who cried out, "Protect Mr. Mingyi!" but the entire crowd instantly surged with purpose.

The students linked arms, forming a human wall on both sides of the car. They held their heads high, glaring defiantly at the approaching Patrol Police as they marched forward.

Someone suddenly began to recite poetry. Soon, more and more voices joined in. In the end, their words became slogans that echoed to the heavens, filled with such searing passion and righteous fervor that even the cold steel of rifle muzzles seemed to recoil....

At that exact moment, an inconspicuous side door at the back of the Wen Mansion opened with a CREAK.

A middle-aged man in a black coat and hat, carrying an old leather suitcase, walked out briskly. He had an utterly unremarkable build and appearance.

The moment the man stepped over the threshold, he froze, stunned by the sight before him.

Lined up neatly in the narrow alley were dozens of rickshaws, a person standing before each one.

The one closest to him, a sturdy, dark-skinned young man with an honest face who seemed to be the leader, bowed and took half a step forward. He addressed him respectfully, "Mr. Li."

The man snapped out of his daze and asked hesitantly, "Why... so many rickshaws?"

"We’re all here to help see you off, sir."

The young man’s voice was firm. "If I can’t run anymore, they’ll take over. We won’t let your journey be delayed."

The man understood.

He set down his suitcase, straightened his clothes, and gave a deep, formal bow to the many rickshaw pullers before him.

Only then, with the young man’s help, did he get into the rickshaw.

The rickshaw seemed to have been specially made. Not only was the privacy curtain unusually sturdy and thick, but the frame was also quite large. It looked several times heavier than a normal rickshaw.

But in the dark-skinned youth’s hands, it felt as light as a feather. He lifted the shafts and set off toward the alley’s exit with a steady gait.

The other pullers lifted their own rickshaws and followed.

Upon exiting the alley, the convoy suddenly split apart. Groups of four or five rickshaws sped off in a dozen different directions.

Only a few remained, still following behind their rickshaw.

Just then, a low rumble of thunder rolled across the gloomy sky. The wind gusted, and a single, cold drop of rain drifted into the rickshaw, landing on the back of the middle-aged man’s hand.

"It’s raining..."

the man murmured, clutching his leather suitcase.

The young puller, who had been gradually picking up speed, heard him and turned his head. He revealed one side of his dark-cheeked face to the man and replied while breaking into a trot.

"Don’t you worry, sir. With so many people protecting you, this rain... it won’t fall on you."

The middle-aged man gave a slight nod, his expression complex. He couldn’t help but ask, "What’s your name?"

"My name is Ah Si."

The young puller gave a simple, honest smile, revealing a mouth full of white teeth. He then turned back around, his gaze growing resolute, and said slowly, "Hold on tight, sir.

I’m going to run. Very fast."

With that, the young puller’s muscular legs began to pump. He lowered his head and charged forward, pulling the rickshaw behind him.

At that moment, the rain that had been brewing for half the day finally fell. It smashed down upon the cold earth, pelting the black canvas roof of the rickshaw with a sharp RAT-A-TAT-TAT....

Far away, in another alley.

SCHLICK—

Tang Jing brutally yanked his scimitar from the neck of a man in black, whose eyes were wide with shock. A spray of crimson blood gushed out and spattered on the ground, only to be quickly washed away by the downpour.

SPLASH, SPLASH, SPLASH—

The rapid sound of splashing footsteps echoed on the street. Through the gray curtain of rain, a group of figures brandishing weapons could be seen approaching quickly.

In the distance, among the undulating rooftops shrouded by the heavy rain, one could faintly glimpse dark figures lying prone, aiming rifles.

Tang Jing lightly wiped away the rain trickling down from his hair and brow bones. His eyes were ice-cold. With a shudder of his shoulders, the rainwater on his body instantly exploded into a cloud of white mist.

In the next instant, his entire being shot forward, a gray blur.....

In this moment, the entire city seemed to transform into a giant chessboard shrouded in gray mist.

Countless black and white pieces, scattered across the grid of crisscrossing streets and alleys, collided silently, viciously—slaughtering and annihilating one another.

Blood mixed with rainwater, seeping silently into the ground, flowing into the dark sewers, and finally, merging with the turbid, surging waters of the Huangling River outside the city, rushing toward the sea....

........

RUSH— RUSH—

Fu Juemin stood under the eaves of a barbershop, watching the rain fall harder and harder. Thunder rumbled in the sky. It felt as if the entire world had been reduced to a vast, clamorous expanse of gray.

"Isn’t spring rain supposed to be gentle and silent?"

Fu Juemin stared at the streams of water pouring in a line from the tiled eaves and muttered to himself.

He suddenly sensed that someone behind him had been secretly watching him, so he turned around.

Inside the shop, a young man with a white towel draped over his shoulder met his gaze. The youth smiled, a little embarrassed, then shyly pulled out an old chair. "Why don’t... you all come in and get out of the rain?

You... you don’t have to get a haircut!"

Fu Juemin gave him a slight smile, then instructed the person beside him, "Kitty, go on in and get a haircut. The Young Master is treating."

Kitty met his gaze with a haunting look, then, after a moment, silently turned, pushed aside the half-curtain, and walked into the barbershop.

Fu Juemin turned back and continued to gaze at the long street before him.

After a moment of thought, he closed his eyes and slowly activated [Yao Ling].

His Perception extended outwards like invisible tentacles, quickly enveloping the entirety of Vermilion Bird Street.

He filtered out the panicked footsteps, the gasps for breath, the sound of the rain, and the ringing of bicycle bells....

Fu Juemin tried to listen to each person’s heartbeat.

The heartbeats of ordinary people were weak, while those of Martial Artists were strong. The higher their level of strength and the more abundant their Qi Blood, the more distinct the thrumming of their heart.

Each heartbeat created a ripple in Fu Juemin’s mind—some large, some small, some clear, some faint...

At this moment, the lake of Fu Juemin’s mind was like Vermilion Bird Street in the downpour. Countless "raindrops" fell upon its waterlogged surface, creating a dense pattern of splashes and ripples of all sizes....

WHOOSH—

The sound of rubbing oilcloth reached his ears.

Fu Juemin opened his eyes to see a black umbrella unfurled above his head, shielding him from the lines of rain being driven in by the wind.

Big Cat stood beside him, holding the umbrella at an angle.

Fu Juemin thought for a moment, then asked, "Where are they now?"

Big Cat’s reply was muddled by the noisy rain.

"Just passed... Samantabhadra Street."