Chapter Forty-Two: Assault on the Police

“Hands on your head! Don’t move!”
Faced with the angry shouts of the police, Qin Yang dared not make a single careless move. After all, the two officers had already drawn their guns. He had confidence dealing with the inexperienced Yu Wei, but against two police officers trained in combat, he was far less certain; his current abilities were nowhere near the legendary level where Chinese martial arts could contend with foreign firearms. He could only squat down slowly.

The two officers exchanged glances, and Qin Yang sensed something amiss. A chilling premonition swept over him, raising every hair on his body. The moment he was fully crouched, his body coiled like a bow, then shot forth like a swift arrow. With a sharp humming sound, a gleaming black feathered arrow struck the spot where he had just stood. Instantly, a succession of arrows whistled through the air. The two officers scrambled for cover in panic, while Qin Yang quickly pulled Yang Yaxin behind a nearby vehicle. No sooner had they concealed themselves than a deadly arrow pierced through a black sedan—had it struck a person, it would surely have left a gaping wound.

Qin Yang’s mind raced. He reached up and tore off the car’s side mirror, cautiously using its reflection to observe the enemy’s movements. But as soon as he extended the mirror, an arrow shattered it instantly. Qin Yang spat, then darted out, weaving between obstacles to evade the unseen assailant’s attacks. The two officers were already cowering on the ground, too terrified to move.

He caught a glimpse of a shadow wielding a black bow, swiftly maneuvering through the darkness. Qin Yang drew a deep breath, summoning all his speed as he dashed forward, dodging the arrows that came at him in the night. Within moments, he closed the distance. As the enemy raised the bow, Qin Yang dropped low and swept his leg out in a move that cleared everything before him. The archer, startled, retreated instead of shooting, giving Qin Yang a perfect opening. His Bagua fists showed no mercy—every strike was lethal, fierce as a tiger, with hints of Xingyi boxing woven in. The blows thundered like cannon fire, driving the archer back, unable to withstand the fierce assault.

Han Muxia was one of the top ten martial artists of the Republic, famed alongside masters like Huo Yuanjia. His brother Han Mufeng, equally formidable, was the chief instructor of the Whampoa Military Academy, his combat prowess legendary. What they taught Qin Yang was not only the deadly moves of traditional martial arts, but also the early military’s most practical, lethal combat techniques. Combined with the hellish training that had granted him immense stamina and brute strength, Qin Yang fought like a one-man army; though slender, he was as formidable as a tank.

The archer was fast, but Qin Yang’s seemingly inexhaustible stamina wore him down. Qin Yang’s black eyes grew ever deeper, their gaze hinting at wailing spirits trapped within—a dual assault on mind and body few could endure. His frenzied attack quickly subdued the enemy; three punches hammered into the archer’s chest, blood spurting from his mouth, until Qin Yang seized his throat, leaving him powerless.

“Speak. Who sent you?” Qin Yang’s voice was chilling, lifeless. “Otherwise, I’ll let you suffer the pain of eighteen hells.”

“I—I…” The archer struggled to break free, but his strength was shattered, unable to muster any force. Feeling Qin Yang’s grip tighten, his body stiffened. Just as he was about to speak, a whistling sound cut through the air. Qin Yang’s eyes snapped open; he spun, but another arrow pierced his right arm. His grip loosened. The archer struck back with an elbow, rolled, grabbed his fallen weapon, and aimed at Qin Yang. “We don’t want to kill you.”

“Courting death!”

Qin Yang growled, about to advance, when a black arrow shot from the shadows, landing at his feet. Elsewhere, a man in black stepped out, holding a long bow, a shining black arrow nocked and ready, emanating menace.

Blood dripped steadily as Qin Yang panted, pain tearing through his arm where the arrow had pierced muscle. He glared coldly at the newcomer.

“Hand over the golden box. We’ll take you to the hospital for treatment,” the second man said icily.

“The golden box? So that’s what you’re after.” Qin Yang laughed darkly. “Shall I tell you? Unless I’m dead, you’ll never get it.”

“I’m curious to see just how much blood you can lose,” the man replied coldly. “I don’t doubt your fighting ability is above ours, but right now, you’re finished.”

But as soon as he finished speaking, he saw Qin Yang charge forward like a tiger descending the mountain. Qin Yang’s injured right arm moved with incredible agility, showing no sign of weakness. The two men hadn’t expected such desperation—instinctively, they tried to fire arrows, but Qin Yang’s body twisted impossibly as he sprinted. Two arrows grazed his skin, leaving moderate wounds, but before they could nock another, Qin Yang had seized the first archer, pressing the arrowhead to his throat.

“You can try,” Qin Yang said with a sinister smile. “Let’s see if your arrows are deadlier, or if my human shield is tougher.”

The other man watched coldly, his bow still trained on them.

Qin Yang sneered, slapping the hostage’s chest with his left hand. Blood spurted from the man’s mouth as Qin Yang spun him around, lifting him by the neck. The hostage’s face flushed red, staring at Qin Yang as if he were a madman—a truly naked lunatic.

“Release him, and we’ll leave,” the other man said, frowning. “I keep my word.”

“You gave me three wounds, and now you want to leave so easily? What do you take me for?” Qin Yang had shielded himself completely, peering through gaps to monitor their movements and block their arrows.

The other man narrowed his eyes. “At this range, I can guarantee we’ll all die together. Don’t doubt me.”

“And I can guarantee he’ll die in your hands, after which I’ll kill you,” Qin Yang retorted coldly. “You’re welcome to try.”

“Your woman is under threat,” the man said coldly. “I don’t want to take advantage. Give him to me, and I won’t hinder you from saving her. His wounds are enough to pay for your own.”

Qin Yang’s eyes darkened. He heard Yang Yaxin’s cry, and murderous intent surged in his gaze. He flung the hostage aside and dashed out like lightning. The other man caught his companion, stopping him from attacking in the chaos. “Don’t move. I don’t want to take advantage, and this time I can’t guarantee I’ll kill him. If he retaliates, we’ll die horribly.”

His companion hesitated, then nodded.

Meanwhile, Qin Yang had already reached the front, only to find the two police officers nowhere in sight. A heavily disguised man had seized Yang Yaxin, flanked by two others.

“Damn it, how many enemies do I have?” Qin Yang clenched his fists, his face twisted in fury.

The three men hadn’t expected the injured Qin Yang to come to the rescue—the arrow was still lodged in his right arm, blood dripping relentlessly. It was the blood-soaked survivor that posed the greatest threat. The trio swallowed nervously, exchanging glances as if seeking consensus. But Qin Yang had already lunged forward, grabbing the arm pressed against Yang Yaxin’s neck and delivering a punch that sent the attacker flying, pulling Yang Yaxin behind him. He roared like a soulless demon and charged forward, fists swinging.

“Don’t attack!” The man punched away by Qin Yang scrambled on the ground, shouting, “Let us explain!”

But Qin Yang was deaf to any explanations. He struck the man on his left, his fists raining down without resistance—the victim could only endure in agony. The remaining uninjured attacker gritted his teeth, rushed forward, and tried to restrain Qin Yang, shouting, “Young Master Qin, let us explain!”

“Courting death!”

Qin Yang bent his body, forcibly breaking the man’s hold. The attacker staggered back three or four steps, and as they regained composure, a blood-soaked, sandbag-sized fist smashed into another, knocking him down. Qin Yang stepped on his head, voice icy: “Speak. Who sent you?”

“Boss Cao sent us to test you. We never meant to hurt you,” another man cried. “Young Master Qin, don’t kill us!”

“Go back and tell that dog—bring your left hand to see me. Otherwise, even if I have to chase him to the ends of the earth, I’ll tear him to pieces. I keep my word.” Qin Yang kicked the man away, standing like the grim reaper.

The three fled in terror, helping each other as they escaped. Just then, two officers appeared from nowhere, guns trained on Qin Yang. “Qin Yang, we suspect you released ****. Get down now!”

“What are you doing!” Yang Yaxin shouted. “He’s wounded—call an ambulance!”

The officers ignored her protest, keeping their eyes fixed warily on Qin Yang. He smiled cruelly, slowly squatting down. As the two officers rushed in to handcuff him, Qin Yang struck suddenly—a swift side kick sent one flying three or four meters, crashing into a car. He then twisted the other’s gun arm, turning the weapon on the officer’s own head.

At that moment, sirens wailed loudly.

A group of officers hurried over, led by Sun Qi. Seeing the scene, Sun Qi was startled and shouted, “Qin Yang, let go—don’t do anything reckless!”