Chapter 22: Senior

The Fire Cloud Cthulhu was not a man to be trifled with. A cold smirk played on his lips as he dodged, his hands lashing out at one of the men. A sudden, powerful suction force erupted from his palms. Before the gunman could react, he was yanked forward, the Cthulhu’s hand clamping firmly onto the back of his neck.

"Too noisy!"

With a sharp twist of his wrist, the Cthulhu snapped the man’s neck, and the assailant slumped lifelessly to the floor.

"Get him! Everyone, get him!" the second-in-command of the Xiaoyao Pavilion roared in a frenzy.

A group of security guards, armed with guns and blades, swarmed toward him. But the Fire Cloud Cthulhu moved like the wind, his figure flickering and elusive. How could they hope to pin him down? Bullets whistled through the air for several moments, yet not even a corner of his clothing was touched; instead, many more of the guards fell at his hands.

Li Maosheng, standing on the second-floor landing, looked on with a face as dark as a storm cloud, his hawk-like eyes burning with rage.

"Call the police station!"

His second-in-command hesitated for a second, then gritted his teeth and made the call. Within minutes, the shrill sound of sirens wailed outside the lobby.

Hearing the commotion, the Fire Cloud Cthulhu let out a boisterous laugh. With a sudden burst of energy from his palms, he swept up the debris of shattered tables and chairs, turning them into a hail of deadly projectiles that scattered the mob surrounding him.

As the guards scrambled for cover, he laughed once more, his form dissolving into a blur as he dashed toward the main entrance. By the time the guards recovered and opened fire, he was nowhere to be seen.

Just as the gunfire ceased and the men prepared to give chase, a squad of heavily armed police officers flooded through the doors. They stood on the steps, weapons drawn, keeping everyone below under control. Li Maosheng’s expression grew even colder, his hands trembling slightly at his sides.

Moments later, a tall, stern-faced man with an imposing air of authority strode into the hall.

"Hands up, everyone!"

At his command, the officers swarmed the floor, surrounding the crowd.

"Inspector Li, why trouble yourself with such a trivial matter?" Li Maosheng forced a smile and hurried down from the second floor to greet him.

"Trivial? Do you consider loss of life a trivial matter?"

"Forgive my poor choice of words, Inspector Li. I meant no offense."

"Hmph. What happened here?" Inspector Li nodded coldly, brushing the comment aside.

Li Maosheng gave a brief account of the incident and invited the Inspector inside to discuss it further.

"No need for that. Zhao Long, Zhang Hu, you two handle this matter with Boss Li." The Inspector turned to his subordinates. "Lawful and compliant business is the only path to success, and it is precisely what our police station is here to protect. You understand me, Boss Li?"

"I understand, I understand!"

"As long as you understand!"

Inspector Li’s stern face softened into a faint, barely perceptible smile of satisfaction. With that, he turned and led his entourage out of the Xiaoyao Pavilion. The remaining officers, under the guidance of the two deputies, began to disperse the crowd. Li Maosheng remained standing to the side, his face dark and silent.

Zhao Rui and Yang Fan had never witnessed such a scene. When the police finally cleared them out of the pavilion, they were so eager to leave that they wished they had extra legs to run faster. This had been a real, life-or-death gunfight right before their eyes!

Once they were clear of the building, Yang Fan wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, his voice trembling. "What rotten luck, running into something like this!"

"Hey, why are you so quiet?" Seeing Zhao Rui lost in thought, Yang Fan glanced at him and frowned. "What are you thinking about?"

Zhao Rui finally snapped back to reality. "I’m wondering just how high that old man’s martial arts level really is."

"Martial arts? Oh, right, I almost forgot. That man is definitely a Grandmaster, no doubt about it. He was incredible. I’ve lived this long and it’s the first time I’ve seen a Grandmaster in action!"

"Yeah."

"You don't want to become a Grandmaster yourself, do you? Pfft, never mind, I’m sure you’ll make it. My future wealth and status are counting on you."

As they chatted, they hopped on their motorcycle and sped away from the scene of the trouble. The Xiaoyao Pavilion sat in the heart of the city's busiest district; who would have expected someone to openly storm the place? And the attitude of the police only deepened the mystery—they hadn't acted like they were investigating a crime, but rather like they were there to claim credit or display their power. As for capturing the "Fire Cloud Cthulhu," they had been entirely perfunctory.

This world, it seemed, was far from simple. Zhao Rui sat on the back of the bike, clutching Yang Fan’s flabby waist, deep in thought.

"Screech!"

Just as he was lost in contemplation, Yang Fan slammed on the brakes. Zhao Rui’s reflexes were sharp; he instinctively tightened his grip on Yang Fan’s waist to steady himself.

"Ouch!"

The pinch made Yang Fan wince and groan, but the sound cut off abruptly, as if something had clamped over his mouth.

"What is it?" Zhao Rui asked curiously.

"He... he!" Yang Fan pointed shakily toward the front.

Zhao Rui leaned forward and immediately locked eyes with a face both familiar and strange.

"Fire Cloud Cthulhu!"

Zhao Rui’s hair stood on end, and cold sweat broke out across his skin. Ahead of them, sitting in a rickshaw, the Fire Cloud Cthulhu was lounging with his legs crossed, picking his teeth with what looked like a toothpick. Yang Fan’s panicked shout had undoubtedly reached him—a Grandmaster’s hearing was not something an ordinary person could fathom.

The Fire Cloud Cthulhu glanced at them and offered a chilling, enigmatic smile. The rickshaw moved quickly, and in the blink of an eye, it vanished from sight.

"We’re done for, we’re done for! We’ve been targeted by a serial killer! What do we do? What do we do?" Yang Fan’s legs were shaking uncontrollably.

Zhao Rui wasn't trembling, but he was on edge, his brow furrowed. "Let’s go!" he urged, signaling Yang Fan to leave. Surely, a powerhouse of that caliber wouldn't care about two nobodies like them. After all, there were plenty of other people present at the pavilion.

"The two of you seem to recognize me?"

A magnetic, familiar voice suddenly thundered from right behind them.

"No, no, we don't!" Yang Fan didn't even dare to look back.

"Oh?" The man clearly didn't believe him.

Zhao Rui, sitting in the back, was closer to the speaker. He could clearly feel the hot breath emanating from the man, carrying a faint, musty odor typical of a disheveled person.

"Senior, we saw you at the Xiaoyao Pavilion earlier!" Zhao Rui knew that at this point, running was useless, so he took a gamble and spoke plainly.

"Xiaoyao Pavilion? Tell me about it."

Zhao Rui paused, then recounted the entire incident from start to finish.

"Interesting," the man said, his tone laced with mockery.

Zhao Rui and Yang Fan didn't dare to respond, waiting in silence for the man to say more. Two minutes passed, and there was no sound. Zhao Rui turned his head, but there was no one behind them.

A chill ran down his spine. He was, at the very least, a fourth-tier professional martial artist, yet he hadn't heard a single sound as the man came and went. Was this the true gap between an ordinary fighter and a Grandmaster?