Reborn in the 60s, I hunt to support my family and even seduce the village beauty.

Chang Kun's gaze fell on the Japanese-looking man, and he suddenly froze.

The system detected that the man's entire body was surging with blood-red light.

It wasn't just a little bit, but an overwhelming sea of ​​blood, so thick it was impossible to see through, as if you were being pulled out of a sea of ​​blood.

He had seen thieves, human traffickers, and even murderers marked with red crime symbols in their senses, but he had never seen such intense bloodshed.

How many people must have been killed?!

Chang Kun's hands clenched unconsciously.

Cheng Min noticed his unusual behavior, followed his gaze, and asked softly, "What's wrong?"

Chang Kun didn't answer, his eyes fixed on the tuft of hair.

The group of people walked over, chatting and laughing, as if they were talking about the scenery they had just seen. The leader, a man with a small mustache, glanced over and lingered on Chang Kun's face for a moment before looking away as if he had something on his mind.

Pass by.

Chang Kun's feet seemed to be nailed to the ground, unable to move.

Bloodshed, a torrent of bloodshed.

Countless images flashed through his mind: mass graves, bacterial experiments, live dissections, babies impaled on bayonets...

By the time he came to his senses, the pedestrian had already walked more than ten steps away.

"Chang Kun?" Chang Kun tugged at his sleeve. "What's wrong?"

Chang Kun took a deep breath and was about to chase after him.

"What are you doing?" Cheng Min grabbed him.

Chang Kun didn't turn around, his voice deep: "Stay here, don't move, I'll go ask."

"What do you want to ask?"

Chang Kun paused.

What should we ask him? Should we ask him if he's a Japanese soldier? Should we ask him if he's killed any Chinese people? Should we ask him where the overwhelming aura of blood on his body came from?

What could he say?

Cheng Min walked around to stand in front of him, looked into his eyes, and was startled.

Those eyes were frighteningly cold, like an icebox in winter.

"Chang Kun..." Cheng Min grasped his hand, "What's wrong with you?"

Chang Kun closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and decided he couldn't let that person slip away like that.

He broke free from Cheng Min's grasp and walked quickly.

The pedestrians also saw him, and their laughter gradually subsided.

Several of the entourage looked over warily, and one of the young men, dressed in a gray Zhongshan suit, stepped forward half a step, blocking Chang Kun from the group of Japanese.

"Comrade, is something the matter?"

Chang Kun ignored him, his eyes fixed on the little mustache.

The man with the mustache also looked at him, a polite smile on his face, but his eyes were calm, as still as a pool of water.

Chang Kun walked closer and stopped.

A short, stocky Japanese man, one of the man with the small mustache's entourage, stepped forward and said in broken Chinese, "What are you doing here?"

Chang Kun's gaze passed over him, still fixed on the little mustache.

"Are you Japanese?"

Before the man with the small mustache could speak, the young man in the gray Zhongshan suit frowned: "Comrade, this is Mr. Okamura from the Sino-Japanese People's Friendship Delegation. He's here in Nanjing for a friendly visit. What brings you here?"

Goodwill delegation?

Okamura!

Chang Kun's fists clenched so tightly they cracked, a truly ironic sight.

Gangcun seemed to sense something, and the polite smile on his face disappeared, replaced by a scrutinizing gaze as he looked Chang Kun up and down.

The air seemed to freeze.

The tourists nearby noticed something was wrong and all looked over.

Chang Kun didn't move, his eyes still fixed on the little mustache.

The man in the gray Zhongshan suit took another step forward, his voice turning cold: "Comrade, please be mindful of your conduct. This is a foreign affairs activity; do not obstruct official business."

Chang Kun glanced at him.

He was in his early twenties, young and upright, wearing a brand-new Zhongshan suit with a badge pinned to his left breast. He looked like he had just started working and was at the most serious and disciplined stage of his life.

Behind him stood two young men dressed similarly, their hands already on their hips—where guns were tucked.

Chang Kun took a deep breath.

My eyes closed, then opened again.

Gangcun was still looking at him, with a hint of amusement in his eyes, as if he were looking at an interesting thing.

Chang Kun twitched his fingers.

He could shoot that little Japanese soldier dead at any moment.

With a single, decisive strike, he could hit wherever he wanted at this distance.

But then what?

In full view of everyone, in front of several guards, they beat to death a leader of a "China-Japan Friendship Delegation"?

Chang Kun suddenly smiled, took a step back, and stood next to Cheng Min.

The man in the gray Mao suit breathed a sigh of relief, but his hands were still on his waist.

"Comrade," Chang Kun said calmly, looking at him, "which department received your delegation?"

The man in the gray Mao suit frowned: "Foreign Affairs Office, what's wrong?"

Chang Kun nodded, said nothing more, and pulled Chang Kun away.

Behind me came a string of Japanese words, along with the explanation from the man in the gray Zhongshan suit.

Cheng Min was pulled along by him, completely bewildered: "Chang Kun, what's wrong? Do you know that person?"

"I don't know him."

"and you……"

"Don't ask anymore."

Cheng Min opened her mouth, then closed it again.

The two walked all the way to Bo'ai Square before Chang Kun stopped.

He stood there and glanced back in the direction of the shrine.

The pedestrians had disappeared; they had probably gone down the mountain via another route.

Cheng Min stood beside him, watching him cautiously.

Chang Kun remained silent for a long time. He had originally planned to just stroll around Nanjing and then continue south, but he never expected to encounter such a thing.

But since we've run into each other, God is going to use him to deal with it. That little Japanese devil has such a thick aura of blood on him, shooting him dead is too lenient.

"Let's go." Chang Kun squeezed Cheng Min's small hand. "I'll take you to eat salted duck. Nanjing's salted duck is pretty good."

Chang Kun took her hand and walked towards the bus stop.

"Xiao Min".

"Um?"

"I might have to take care of some things in the next couple of days."

Cheng Min looked at him, waiting for him to continue.

Chang Kun shook his head: "Forget it, let's eat the duck first."

Cheng Min looked at his profile, her heart pounding.

Chang Kun's face has been gloomy ever since he came down from the ancestral hall, and he hasn't recovered yet.

In all the time I've known him, I've never seen him like this before. It wasn't anger, but rather a suppressed, resentful silence.

The bus swayed and bumped its way back, with Cheng Min sitting next to him. She could feel the muscles in his arms were constantly tense.

"Chang Kun, just now... was that a Japanese person?"

Chang Kun remained silent, tacitly agreeing.

Cheng Min gripped his hand tightly, remained silent for a moment, and then said, "You... don't be impulsive. Those people have guards; they're from the Foreign Affairs Office. If you rush up and hit them, no matter what, you'll be in the wrong."

She looked up and met Chang Kun's eyes.

"I know you're angry, but we're in a strange place, and we don't know anyone here. We're here to find someone, not to fight."

She paused, her eyes slightly red.

"What will I do if something happens to you?"

Chang Kun was stunned, then reached out and pulled her into his arms.

"I understand, don't worry." He rested his chin on Cheng Min's forehead. "Do you still want some salted duck?"

"Hmph! Of course I'll eat it!"