Siheyuan (traditional courtyard house): Don't touch my parents!

"Hero, spare my life! Hero, spare my life!" He dared not draw his gun to resist, and just kept kowtowing and begging for mercy. His forehead hit the snow with a dull thud, and his temple quickly turned red.

He Yuzhu stared at him coldly, his eyes like a frozen pool, devoid of any warmth, as if he were looking at a piece of rotten wood about to be discarded.

The bayonet in his hand slowly pressed against the man's throat, the blood droplets on the tip of the blade gleaming dark red in the snow.

"He usually acts as an accomplice to the Japanese, harming countless innocent people and cutting off their livelihoods." His voice was low, yet it pierced the air like an icicle.

"Today is the day you pay for your sins."

The traitor trembled violently as if he were being shaken, his body curled up in a ball under his tattered cotton-padded coat, like a mouse whose tail had been stepped on.

His face was as pale as old white paper used for pasting windows, and even his lips were bluish-gray, without a trace of blood.

Sweat mixed with melted snow dripped down his chin, creating small craters in the snow that were quickly covered by fresh snow.

However, when he realized that the person who attacked him was just a teenager—who hadn't grown up yet and whose face still had a childish look, a fierce glint suddenly flashed in his eyes, like a mad dog that had been stepped on.

He suddenly raised his leg and kicked He Yuzhu hard in the abdomen with all his might, the tip of his shoe carrying the chill of the tattered cotton pants.

He Yuzhu easily dodged the sneak attack by turning his body to the side, his waist twisting as nimbly as a willow branch, while simultaneously pressing down on his wrist holding the bayonet.

The sharp tip of the knife instantly sliced ​​through the skin of the other person's jaw, leaving a thin line of blood. Tiny beads of blood immediately seeped from the wound and flowed down the chin.

"Ah—!" The traitor let out a piercing scream of pain, his voice trembling with sobs, like a rooster being strangled.

"Good man, I know I was wrong! I'll never do it again! Please spare my life!" His face was covered in snot and tears, and he looked extremely disheveled. The front of his cotton-padded jacket was soaked with tears.

He Yuzhu frowned in disgust, his nose twitching slightly as if he had smelled something rotten.

"A dog can't change its nature of eating shit." His voice was extremely low, yet every word was as clear as an ice pick piercing the air, carrying an undeniable coldness.

"Go down and apologize properly to all the people you've harmed."

The bayonet began to advance inch by inch, the movement so slow it was almost suffocating, and with each inch it went in, you could hear the faint sound of the blade cutting through flesh.

"Ahhh—have mercy! Have mercy—" The extreme fear and pain intertwined, causing the traitor to lose control of his bladder on the spot, his pants were soaked, and the stench of blood mixed with the stench of filth rushed into his nostrils, making He Yuzhu turn his head away.

He Yuzhu quickened the thrusting speed. "Pfft." The entire blade was submerged in the other man's throat, with only a small part of the hilt sticking out, swaying slightly with the slight tremor of his wrist.

The traitor made two strange, soft "clucking" sounds from his throat, like a punctured balloon leaking air. His eyes were wide open, almost bulging out, and his pupils reflected He Yuzhu's cold, hard face.

Then he stopped breathing completely, his body went limp, and the blood on the snow slowly spread out, forming a dark red flower.

He Yuzhu walked up to the traitor who had been knocked down by the grenade, squatted down, aimed at his chest, and delivered a steady stab to ensure that he was completely dead.

Then he began to clean up the mess methodically, his movements as swift as if he were doing something he knew very well—the corpse, the bicycle, the gun, the bayonet, were all put into the system's built-in storage space, not even leaving behind the spent cartridges on the ground.

Only pools of blood, not yet congealed, remained on the ground, spreading out in dark red stains against the white snow, like crushed red plum blossoms, appearing particularly glaring and conspicuous.

Could it be that no one in this alley heard anything? That's impossible; even the dog in the neighboring yard barked twice.

In this chaotic world, it's always better to avoid trouble than to get involved in something else; nobody wants to get into trouble. Anyone who rashly meddles in other people's business might lose their life in the next moment, without even anyone to collect their body.

He Yuzhu didn't have time to carefully clean up the bloodstains; the snow was still falling and would soon cover most of them. He had to leave immediately, or he would be in trouble when the night patrol came.

He quickly retreated from this bloody place, his steps light yet swift, like a startled rabbit darting into the night.

He ran for two blocks before stopping, leaning against the wall and panting heavily. His chest heaved like a bellows, and the white mist he exhaled gathered and dispersed in front of his eyes.

His consciousness sank into the system space and scanned the area, his gaze landing on the few confiscated bicycles—each bicycle's handlebars were still covered in mud, and the seats were somewhat cold.

One of them was a women's bicycle without a frame. It was small and the size was just right for his current height to ride. The brakes were still working, but the tires were a bit flat.

After taking out the bike, he nimbly straddled it, adjusted the seat height, and secretly breathed a sigh of relief: who would want to walk when they can ride a bike? In this freezing weather, it's too much of a hardship to walk on foot alone; my feet are almost numb with cold.

In this freezing weather, traveling on foot alone is too much of a hardship. The cold wind seeps into his collar, making him shiver. Riding a bicycle at least provides some protection from the wind.

About twenty minutes later, at the entrance of a small alley outside the fake police station, He Yuzhu hid himself in the heavy shadows at the base of a wall, his back pressed against the cold brick wall, trying to minimize his silhouette.

His gaze was fixed on the heavy door of the police station, where a faded "Maintain Public Order" sign was still pasted on the door, its edges curled up.

There were no police officers patrolling the entrance; only a street lamp stood alone, its light dim and yellowish, as if covered with a layer of dust.

A dim, yellowish light shone from the guard booth, its shade covered in a thin layer of dust. The policeman on duty huddled by the stove, his neck hunched, clutching a chipped teacup in his hand, showing no intention of coming out to check anything.

He held his breath and tried to control it with his mind—a method he had figured out that could make the corpse move "on its own." And indeed, it succeeded without the slightest hesitation.

The bodies were stripped down to their shorts and loincloths, the fabric stained with blood, clinging to their bodies in the cold wind, making them look particularly wretched.

The only body of the rickshaw driver remained untouched, probably because his clothes were too tattered and unlike those of Japanese soldiers, so no one bothered to strip him of his clothes.

The man was wearing a tattered cotton-padded jacket covered in patches, with shiny cuffs and old cotton batting peeking out from the collar. He didn't look like a Japanese soldier attire at all; he looked more like a rickshaw puller.