nagpurpolice Chapter 64 Old Fang Disappears
Chapter 64 Old Fang Disappears
Fang Shuwen entered the city but didn't rush home.
I need to go and complete this demon-slaying mission first.
He pushed the cart along East Street towards the National Martial Arts Hall.
The East Street was much quieter at night than during the day, with most shops having their doors boarded up.
Only a few late-night snack stalls still had their lights on.
Fang Shuwen rode his bicycle to the entrance of the National Martial Arts Hall in no time and parked it in the courtyard.
Then, he took the sack off the back of the seat, carried it up the steps.
The lobby of the martial arts hall was much quieter than during the day.
Of the counters where customers can conduct business, only one was still lit up.
The woman sitting behind the counter wasn't the same one from earlier in the day; instead, an old man in a gray cloth jacket was looking down at a newspaper.
"Here you go, turn in the task."
Fang Shuwen placed the sack on the counter with a dull thud.
The old man raised his eyelids and glanced at him, then looked at the burlap sack, slowly put down the newspaper in his hand, and adjusted his reading glasses.
"What mission?"
"That dog demon from Qinglang Mountain Village."
The old man paused for a moment, then looked at Fang Shuwen again, this time much more carefully.
"You killed him all by yourself?"
"Um."
The old man didn't say anything more. He walked around from behind the counter, squatted down, and untied the sack.
The dog demon's corpse had shrunk considerably, looking like a mangy dog that had lost its fur, but its twisted face still retained the ferocity it had before death.
The old man looked at it over and over again, then pried open the dog's mouth to examine its teeth, and finally touched the dog demon's chest.
"Yes, that's it, that's right."
"A level D mutant, not yet fully transformed into a demon. You're lucky to have run into such an easy target on your first mission."
He stood up, went back behind the counter, and pulled out a thick register.
"Fang Shuwen, right? The Mingjin martial artist, the one who just got certified?"
"right."
The old man wrote a few strokes in the register, then counted out a stack of silver dollars and a small cloth bag from the drawer and pushed them in front of Fang Shuwen.
"One hundred silver dollars, three pieces of mysterious jade. Count them."
Fang Shuwen didn't count the silver dollars, but picked them up and weighed them in his hand; the weight matched.
He opened the cloth bag again, and three pieces of strange jade lay inside. Their quality was average, somewhat inferior to the ones he had bought before.
Thanks.
He stuffed the silver coins and the mysterious jade into his bag, then turned and left the martial arts hall.
The night grew even darker.
Fang Shuwen pushed his bicycle back to East Street.
In a corner, he took out three strange jade pieces from his backpack.
Without hesitation, I held it in my hand and absorbed it.
[Foreign energy detected. Absorb?]
The three pieces of mysterious jade turned into three clumps of grayish-white powder, which fell softly from between their fingers.
The skill points jumped from 47 to 59.
"Three pieces of strange jade, a total of 12 skill points. Not bad, better than nothing."
Fang Shuwen dusted off his hands, pushed his bicycle onto the road, and rode towards the Zhao residence.
......
"Huh? The bookstore is still lit up?"
Passing through East Street again, Fang Shuwen saw the bookstore still lit up in the distance.
Fang Shuwen subconsciously squeezed the brakes, and the bicycle slowed down.
The dim light shone through the glass window, casting a long shadow of the sycamore tree by the door.
He glanced through the window; the area behind the counter was empty, no one was there.
They probably left for something and forgot to turn off the light.
Without thinking much, he pushed off with his foot and continued riding forward.
Halfway through the ride, his back suddenly tensed up.
A feeling of being watched arises spontaneously.
He didn't look back and kept riding forward.
The footsteps behind me were neither hurried nor slow, always maintaining a distance of about ten steps.
Not a passerby.
Who would walk down this dead end in the middle of the night?
Fang Shuwen sneered inwardly, then stepped on the bicycle and propelled it forward a short distance.
At the end of the alley ahead is a corner, and beyond that is an open space with no obstructions on either side, perfect for getting things done.
He had just turned the corner when the footsteps behind him suddenly quickened.
It's not walking, it's running.
And they ran very fast; the soles of their shoes struck the bluestone slabs like drums.
Fang Shuwen leaned the bicycle against the wall and turned around.
Under the moonlight
A dark figure darted out from around the corner.
The man was in his early forties, with a square face, thick eyebrows, and a black mole on his chin.
He was wearing a gray-black short jacket with the cuffs tightly tied, and his waist was bulging as if he had a gun.
He stopped seven or eight steps away from Fang Shuwen, looked him up and down, and curled his lips downwards.
"You're Fang Shuwen?"
The voice was hoarse, clearly not the original voice.
Fang Shuwen didn't reply, but glanced at his cuff.
The wolf's head, embroidered in black thread, wasn't very noticeable in the moonlight, but he still recognized it.
The Wild Wolf Gang.
"Your father is in our hands. If you know what's good for you, you'll have to come and make the trip."
Fang Shuwen stopped in his tracks.
He stared at the person opposite him, his gaze gradually turning cold.
"What did you say?"
When the man saw that he reacted, he grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth.
"I'm telling you, your father, Old Fang, is in our hands."
He took out a strip of cloth from his pocket, unfolded it, and waved it in the moonlight.
It was a grayish-blue sleeve, the edges of which were frayed, and there was a dark stain on the cuff, which looked like an oil stain or a blood stain.
Fang Shuwen recognized it.
That was the jacket that Lao Fang often wore. The oil stains on the cuffs were from when he ate roast chicken last time. Lao Fang couldn't bear to wash them, saying that leaving them would make the food more flavorful.
His fist clenched so tightly that his knuckles cracked with a dull thud.
"What did you do to him?"
"Nothing much, just invited him for a cup of tea."
The man put the strip of cloth back into his pocket.
"Our gang leader wants to see you, but he's afraid you won't come, so he'll have to invite your father over first. If you obediently come with us, we guarantee your father won't lose a single hair."
Fang Shuwen remained silent.
I was pondering the veracity of this matter.
However, before Fang Shuwen could finish thinking it through, the person continued speaking.
"How about this, meet me at the old wharf before 10 o'clock tomorrow."
After saying this last sentence, the person turned and left, their steps quick and hurried, even faster than when they had arrived.
Fang Shuwen frowned.
The other party's swift departure made him think that Lao Fang might actually have been "invited" away.
Fang Shuwen thought for a moment, then picked up the bicycle, got on, and sped up.
.......
The back gate of the Zhao residence.
Fang Shuwen leaned his bicycle against the wall and climbed over it into the yard.
The courtyard was pitch black; the kitchen light had long been out, and even Hu Da's house was dark.
He tiptoed to his house and pushed the door open.
It was pitch black inside.
He took out a match and struck one.
The dim yellow flame flickered twice, illuminating half the room.
On Lao Fang's bed, the quilt was folded neatly, and the pillow was placed on top of the quilt, just as he had folded it when he got up in the morning.
No one has slept in it.
Fang Shuwen's heart sank.
Old Fang has indeed disappeared.