The Self-Cultivation of a Reborn Massage Therapist

Chapter 153 Death and the Fat Receptionist (7)

Through the rain, a clear sound of footsteps approached from afar.

The leather boots stomped across the puddles, making a "tap, tap" sound that was particularly jarring in the quiet rainy night.

The sound startled the nearly lifeless, overweight receptionist. Her cloudy eyes suddenly cleared, and she instantly understood the situation before her.

Without the slightest hesitation, she used all her strength to push away Zhao Xiaochui, whose appearance had changed drastically.

Seemingly feeling that this was not enough, she suddenly pulled out the dagger stuck in her lower abdomen, and blood gushed out immediately.

She gritted her teeth, rolled over, and crawled on the ground, dragging her broken body inch by inch toward Old Man Lou.

Behind them, a shocking trail of blood meandered and spread in the rain.

The horrific scene seemed to shock the newcomers, and their footsteps came to an abrupt halt.

"Kill them!"

Old Lou's hoarse voice suddenly rang out.

He struggled to prop himself up, his bruised and swollen face looking particularly ferocious in the rain: "Both women are doomed. Things have come to this point; you have no way out."

Young Master Joe gripped the baseball bat tightly and took a step forward.

At this moment, his movements suddenly froze.

A dark figure darted out from the corner of the old shop.

Young Master Qiao squinted and carefully identified him—Old Qin, the former junk collector.

Old Qin nervously stepped in front of Young Master Qiao, forcing a fawning smile onto his wrinkled face: "Qiao'er, everyone in the neighborhood knows you're a good boy. Look at this..."

"boom!"

The baseball bat slammed down with a whooshing sound, and a flower of blood instantly bloomed on Old Qin's forehead.

The old man, who had been collecting scraps in Fatou Street for more than ten years, collapsed into the puddles without uttering a sound.

Young Master Qiao stepped over Old Qin's body expressionlessly, his leather shoes splashing dark red ripples into the blood.

He looked down at the unconscious Zhao Xiaochui, gently tapping him with a baseball bat in his palm.

During this period, the young massage therapists brought about significant changes to Fatou Street.

For the young man who drives a ghost bus, his income has increased, and the health of his elderly relatives has improved...

But people are never satisfied. Compared to the ease and ease of making a fortune every day, the little benefit they receive is utterly insignificant.

Young Master Qiao recalled his father's plan to use Zhao Xiaochui as a cash cow and a source of connections.

But as the masseur resigned from his part-time job at the Fatou branch and the appointment system went online, all the malicious hands reaching out to him were cut off at the wrist.

So what can you do with a half-level professional title and an extra few hundred or thousand yuan in monthly income?
Since you can't be used by us, then squeeze every last bit of value out of you.

How many times in a lifetime can an ordinary person have such an opportunity? Citizenship, settling down, cash rewards—these are things that illegal immigrants are willing to risk their lives for, and for Qiao, who is nearly forty and has accomplished nothing, they are an even more fatal temptation.

"go to hell!"

The baseball bat whistled through the air as it struck Zhao Xiaochui's head.

"Bang—"

With a muffled thud as his skull caved in, Zhao Xiaochui awoke in excruciating pain.

The heat was frantically draining his life force to repair his deformed skull, but he couldn't care less about that, and he wasn't surprised that the person hitting him was Young Master Qiao.

He turned his neck with difficulty, his bloodshot eyes sweeping across the open space—

The chubby receptionist is gone.

Following the shocking trail of blood on the muddy ground, he saw a wriggling figure a few meters away.

The overweight receptionist was digging her broken fingers into the ground, crawling forward inch by inch. In the trail of blood she left behind, a few bits of flesh could be vaguely seen.

Zhao Xiaochui struggled to flip over, wriggling as he chased after the fat receptionist.

"Bang~"

Another blow landed on his shoulder, and the crisp sound of his collarbone breaking was clearly audible.

Zhao Xiaochui's movements slowed down immediately, but he continued to incline forward.

Young Master Joe licked his dry lips and gripped the baseball bat tightly with both hands. This time, he aimed for the back of the head, determined to kill with a single blow.

Just as the baseball bat was raised to its highest point, a strange noise suddenly came from the sky.

"boom!"

A blue and white porcelain flowerpot hit Young Master Qiao squarely on the head.

Amidst shards of porcelain and flying dirt, the burly man, standing at 1.85 meters tall, fell straight down like a felled log, half a green leaf still in his mouth.

"Hold"

Old Lou struggled to sit up, his cloudy eyes sweeping across the second floor of the old shop—it was deserted.

Could this be a lingering effect of the beating Zhao Xiaochui gave him? He shook his buzzing head, looked at the drizzling rain falling from the sky, and wondered if flowerpots could now grow out of the clouds.
"Damn it!" Nothing's going right today. His internal energy is rapidly dissipating, and his injuries have left him weaker than an ordinary old man.

He had to run quickly.

Old Lou fumbled around on his body with his still-functioning left hand, then suddenly froze. He frantically patted every pocket on his body, cold sweat mingling with rainwater streaming into his eyes.

Suddenly, I felt a cold, metallic touch on the back of my head.

"We're doomed."

Old Lou chuckled self-deprecatingly.

The dissipation of his power also took away the vigilance he had cultivated over decades of living on the edge.

He slowly turned his head and met a pair of bright, darting eyes.

He had weathered all sorts of storms, but he had never seen anything like this before.

A four- or five-year-old child stole his firearm and is aiming it at him!
Old Lou suddenly laughed, revealing his bare gums. He looked kindly at the child and said in a hoarse voice, "The safety is off. You can pull the trigger directly."

After saying that, he thoughtfully pointed the top of his head towards the muzzle of the gun.

He knew what was going to happen next, and using his head was Old Lou's clever trick, just in case.

"Thank you," Yangyang said earnestly, pulling the trigger.

"Bang~"

Fortunately, no one was hit.

Unfortunately, the recoil caused it to slip from his grasp, and the firearm flew into the air.

Yangyang was knocked to the ground, completely dazed.

Old Lou, who was prepared, watched helplessly as it rose to its highest point, and then...
"Boom!"

It hit the boy right on the forehead.

The little guy rolled his eyes and slumped limply into the puddle.

The gun slid a long way across the wet ground before finally stopping next to three modified electric scooters.

That was the escape route for Old Man Lou and his two companions.

That was their carefully prepared escape route.

Riding these vehicles, it only takes ten minutes to reach the safe house. Afterwards, "deliverymen" will stuff them into the cargo hold, and a dozen hours later they will be able to set foot on the land of freedom they have been dreaming of.

But now.
Old Lou looked at the fat receptionist who was standing right next to him.

The woman, covered in blood, was barely clinging to life, yet she sent chills down his spine.

Driven by the instinct to survive, he began to crawl, his broken right hand limply dragging behind him, while his left hand desperately reached forward.

As for Young Master Qiao lying on the ground, and why his father didn't come as planned, he no longer cared.

"Soon. Very soon."

When his fingertips finally touched the cold metal, Old Lou breathed a long sigh of relief.

But the next second he realized something was wrong—the thing didn't move at all.

He struggled to lift his head and saw pairs of snow-white calves.

Old Lou finally gave up.

He gave a bitter smile, rolled over and lay on his back, staring blankly at the dark, low-hanging clouds in the sky.

Is the moon over there really that round?
Son, live well.

Dad, I can't help you anymore.

Old Lou closed his eyes and gritted his teeth resolutely.

"..."

Then he remembered that, along with that special tooth, all his teeth had been knocked out by Zhao Xiaochui and stuffed into his stomach.

He gave another bitter laugh, and his brain, which had been dazed from being worked up, regained a sliver of clarity.

Old Lou used his last moments of clarity to remember something more important—the mission failure signal hadn't been sent yet.

But when he reached for the hidden bag, he discovered that the signal transmitter had also vanished.

"Oh right, what about my phone?!"

Old Lou suddenly remembered that brat and trembled with anger.

Now, let alone deleting his encrypted communication records with his son, even suicide has become a luxury for him.

Whose brat is that? Stealing everything!
Old Lou was so angry that he trembled all over.

(End of this chapter)