After my divorce at thirty, I developed an intelligence network.

Gong Yuelong didn't pursue; he stood still and pointed to the bleeding wound on his leg:

"The blood groove on the scraper looks nice, but it doesn't actually pierce deep. If you really wanted to kill me, you should have taken a hit from me earlier, moved the knife upwards, and stabbed me in the kidney. You didn't dare."

The old cat lay on the ground, its face covered in blood and mud, panting heavily, glaring at Gong Yuelong.

"You disagree?"

"When you lunged forward, you shifted your weight too far forward. Your right arm is useless, so your balance was already off. If I had blocked with a horizontal clamp, you would probably have taken the opportunity to strike from below."

"A wounded leg makes someone easier to control; this is a common tactic you use in kidnappings, not murder."

The old cat's pupils contracted.

"besides,"

"When you hold a knife, your little finger is habitually curled up. But when you really kill someone, your fingers are clenched tightly, and the force is concentrated at the tip of the blade."

You held back your strength, were you planning to change your move after you succeeded?

Or... haven't you even realized it yourself? You've long lost that ruthless, reckless spirit you had when you wiped out your entire family back then?

"You...bullshit!" Old Cat squeezed out the words through clenched teeth, his eyes bloodshot.

"Whether it's bullshit or not, you know perfectly well."

Gong Yuelong stood up and wiped the blood from his arm.

Wu Jinshui sent you here because he thinks your old knife can still draw blood.

But he didn't consider that if a knife is left out for too long, it will rust and become dull.

I never imagined that I had not only hammers here, but also whetstones, specifically for sharpening rusty iron sheets like yours that you think are sharp.

The old cat was trembling all over, whether from pain, anger, or... something else, it was hard to tell.

The other person's words hit him right where he least wanted to think.

Over the years, he's been hiding and on the run, taking on mostly dirty work involving intimidation, kidnapping, and cleaning up his own ranks. He rarely gets to handle the tough cases that require real skills and a life-or-death struggle.

Is it for protection? Or... does he also feel that his knife isn't as sharp as it used to be?

"You were able to succeed eight years ago because you took advantage of the night, caught people off guard, and were ruthless enough to strike."

Gong Yuelong's voice continued to come.

"And now? They're swaggering in, thinking the rain will cover everything up?"

Chen Mao, you're not the same fugitive you used to be.

You've become Wu Jinshui's dog, used to obeying orders, taking money, and doing dirty work that can't be done in public.

A dog's bite hurts, but it can't kill a wolf.

The old cat clenched its teeth so hard that its gums almost bled.

He wanted to retort, to say that when he killed someone, you were still carrying bricks on the construction site!

But it felt like something was blocking my throat, and I couldn't utter a single word.

Because what the other person said... was damn right in part.

Even if you really stab me to death tonight,

Gong Yuelong gave him one last look, then turned and walked back to the table, picked up the pipe wrench,

"Where can we go after we step out of this door? Would Wu Jinshui protect an exposed wanted criminal?"

Who pays for your mother's weekly dialysis? Fu Mingde is casting his net; guess who he'll snatch first?

He paused.

"The thought that you could exchange murder for a peaceful life is long gone."

What sustains you now is just a bit of your stubbornness and your mother's temper.

"I've dealt with the ferocity. That attitude... are you counting on Wu Jinshui? Or are you hoping to try another approach?"

The old cat lay motionless on the ground, its forehead pressed against the blood-stained cement.

The rain was pounding against the window, like countless invisible hands pounding anxiously.

The room was filled only with heavy, oppressive breathing and a deathly silence after a certain belief had collapsed.

The old cat lay motionless in the mud like a tattered sack.

Gong Yuelong straightened up and slammed the pipe wrench onto the table with a bang.

He looked down at himself: a cut on his arm, a few punctures on his leg, and his vest was soaked through with sweat and rain, clinging tightly to his body.

I was breathing heavily, my heart was pounding so hard it was making my eardrums pop.

He walked to the wall, turned on the tap, and leaned in to let the cold water splash onto his face and neck.

After rinsing for a little over half a minute, he straightened up, wiped his face, and sat down on the edge of the bed.

The room was a complete mess.

The table was overturned, the ashtray was broken, and the black triangular scraper fell to the ground at his feet.

He looked at his hands; his knuckles were red from the impact and parry, and they were trembling slightly.

It's not fear, it's a physiological reaction after using too much force.

did not expect.

These three words popped into his mind.

I never imagined that back then, in order to win over that proud and arrogant ex-wife, I would prove that I wasn't just a lowly construction worker.

I gritted my teeth and studied boxing for two years, hiring a private coach, hitting the punching bag, and practicing footwork. I sweated more than I did on a construction site.

In the end, he got divorced, and he didn't make a name for himself in boxing, but he ended up with a body that was more resistant to beatings than the average person and an instinct to know where to hit for the most pain.

What I never expected was that later on, while working on the construction site, I would inevitably get into fights with other people over work and sand and gravel.

With that little bit of boxing background and the haphazard fighting techniques he learned on construction sites, he gradually developed his own style.

Later, he offended people, was cornered in an alley, and even risked his life to fight someone with a knife.

Each time I survive, I gain more injuries and develop more ruthlessness and caution in my heart.

Until recently, I obtained that [intelligence system], which not only provides information, but also occasionally flashes some energy flow routes and power techniques for close combat, seemingly some kind of auxiliary calculation.

Every night in the courtyard where he disassembled characters, he pondered the vague hints given by the system while simultaneously reassembling and reorganizing his past experiences.

How to punch more efficiently, how to deflect force when hit, how to use whatever is at hand as a weapon in a confined space... I practiced until my whole body ached, but I still went to work as usual the next day.

He thought it was just a precaution, to have more resources to protect himself.

Unexpectedly, today, these odds and ends, not exactly presentable items, along with some pre-prepared protective gear,

The system's information analysis, along with more predictions about the behavior of people like Lao Mao, actually saved his life and even brought down a wanted criminal who had been on the run for many years.

It's neither martial arts nor magic.

It's the instinct for survival, lessons learned through blood and sweat, targeted preparation, plus a little... luck.

He bent down and picked up the triangular scraper from the ground. The blade was black, and there was still some of his own blood on it in the blood trough.

He weighed it in his hand.

Just then—

"Clang!"

The door was kicked open from the outside! The wooden door slammed against the wall with a loud bang.

The sound of hurried footsteps rushed into the yard in an instant, splashing and making a loud noise in the muddy water.

Several beams of strong flashlight beams pierced through the rain and darkness, sweeping wildly into the room, striking Gong Yuelong, and then quickly sweeping over the old cat lying paralyzed on the ground.

"Don't move! Police!"

"Hands up! Against the wall!"

When Old Wang led his men in, his eyes quickly scanned the room.

Seeing the old cat sprawled in the mud, seeing Gong Yuelong covered in bruises, seeing the mess everywhere...

Everything was exactly as he had anticipated after receiving the emergency signal and rushing to the scene.

"Control the scene! Ambulance!" Old Wang's voice was crisp and decisive, without the slightest hesitation.

Several officers immediately took action. Two officers quickly stepped forward to check on and subdue the unconscious cat, then professionally searched and handcuffed it.

Old Wang strode over to Old Cat, squatted down, and shone his flashlight up close to the face covered in blood and mud, focusing on the scar from the brow bone to the corner of the mouth.

His gaze was calm as he carefully examined the situation for a few seconds before speaking to the officer beside him:

"Facial features, especially the old scar from the left eyebrow to the corner of the mouth, closely match those of the suspect, Chen Mao. This is clearly documented."

He seemed to be confirming something already known, rather than making a shocking discovery.

But to the young police officers nearby who were unaware of the plan, these words were like a thunderclap!