Chapter 84: Master of Internal Martial Arts!

“Uncle Zhong…” As Xia Yubing spoke, she glanced in the direction where Lu Feng was standing, whether intentionally or not. Zhong Jianguo was the very person who had introduced Xia Yubing to the business, a man far more experienced and shrewd. He noticed her furtive look toward the wall and immediately realized someone was lurking behind it.

Lu Feng was behind the wall, observing this “Uncle Zhong,” who, instead of entering the living room, remained in the hallway while speaking. Lu Feng understood at once that this was not a man to be trifled with.

As Lu Feng weighed his options, something suddenly protruded from the hallway. His reflexes were swift: he thrust his dagger forward, only to find it had pierced a sneaker.

Almost simultaneously, a dark, cold gun barrel was aimed directly at Lu Feng’s forehead.

A gun—this was something Lu Feng had never anticipated.

“Don’t kill him!” Xia Yubing hurriedly stood up and shouted.

Zhong Jianguo, holding the pistol and still trained on Lu Feng, frowned and asked, “Who is he?”

“The one from the hundred-thousand job,” Xia Yubing replied.

“Then it’s time for delivery. Why not kill him?” Zhong Jianguo pressed.

“He can cure Keming’s eyes,” Xia Yubing explained quickly.

Zhong Jianguo eyed Lu Feng skeptically, sizing him up from head to toe. To him, Lu Feng was merely a young student. How could such a youth cure a disease that even major hospitals could not?

“You’ve been duped, haven’t you? A mere boy, barely out of school, claims he can heal?” Zhong Jianguo doubted.

“He’s a traditional medicine practitioner with Yun’an Group. I’ve confirmed it, and besides, I couldn’t beat him. He has no reason to lie to me,” said Xia Yubing.

“You couldn’t beat him?” Zhong Jianguo grew more cautious, taking half a step back with the gun still raised.

“I tried three times and was no match for him,” Xia Yubing admitted.

“Interesting!” Zhong Jianguo laughed, staring into Lu Feng’s eyes. “So, kid, who are you?”

“Before we talk, could you lower your gun?” Lu Feng replied, sidestepping the question.

“No,” Zhong Jianguo answered bluntly. He noticed the determination in Lu Feng’s eyes and warned, “With the gun in my hand, it reacts as quickly as my finger. You’d best avoid any sudden moves—my bullet will be faster than your hands and feet.”

“Is that so?” Lu Feng’s lips curled into a smile. His left hand shot out like lightning, pushing the gun upward toward the ceiling before Zhong Jianguo could pull the trigger, while simultaneously kicking out.

Zhong Jianguo was equally swift—he kicked as well. Their feet collided, both stepping back.

Zhong Jianguo immediately pressed the gun down, intending to fire, but Lu Feng’s right hand, dagger in hand, had already thrust forward, lodging the blade into the trigger gap and jamming it.

With the trigger jammed, Zhong Jianguo’s brows knitted in frustration. He twisted his body, flinging away the dagger as he spun, and delivered a side kick toward Lu Feng’s abdomen.

Lu Feng had already sensed Zhong Jianguo’s formidable strength from their previous exchange. Still, he had no intention of dodging. Harnessing his internal energy, he sidestepped the kick and formed his right hand into a sword, aiming for the acupoint on Zhong Jianguo’s left shoulder.

Zhong Jianguo had never seen such a technique, but his instincts screamed danger; he quickly raised his left arm, palm open, to block Lu Feng’s finger-sword.

With a muffled sound, the force of the finger-sword pierced through Zhong Jianguo’s palm, sending a wave of agony through him as if his hand had been impaled. He gasped in shock, “An internal martial arts master!”

“Half correct,” Lu Feng replied, transforming his fingers into a fist, following through and smashing Zhong Jianguo’s hand into his shoulder. In the same motion, he seized the pistol and stepped back, now aiming the dark barrel at Zhong Jianguo’s forehead.

Xia Yubing rushed forward, blocking Lu Feng’s aim and pleaded, “Don’t kill him! Master isn’t a bad person.”

“Is killing not bad enough? I suspect he’s lost count of the lives he’s taken,” Lu Feng rebuked sternly.

“You’re right. I’ve killed so many I truly can’t remember the number. You can kill me, but spare Little Bug and Keming,” Zhong Jianguo said.

“When you held the gun, you had no right to bargain with me. Now, with the gun in my hand, you still want to set terms?” retorted Lu Feng.

“I just never expected you to be a master of internal arts. If I’d been prepared, you might not have bested me,” Zhong Jianguo said, his neck stiff with pride.

Lu Feng’s skills were indeed formidable, but killing did not always rely on martial arts. With a gun, a single shot from afar rendered even the greatest martial artist powerless. If the bullet was supersonic, not even a legendary master could dodge a hidden shot—because the bullet would strike before the sound reached them.

“That’s precisely why I can’t let you go,” Lu Feng’s words were cold and resolute.

“No! Lu Feng, you mustn’t kill Master. If he dies, many more will suffer. He truly isn’t a bad man!” Xia Yubing interjected anxiously.

“If killers aren’t bad, then I, as a physician, must be a saint,” Lu Feng replied with a cold sneer.

“Master is…” Xia Yubing tried to explain.

“Little Bug, be quiet!” Zhong Jianguo barked, cutting her off.

“Master…”

“Not another word!” Zhong Jianguo ordered, his gaze fixed on Lu Feng. “You can kill me, but please spare Little Bug. My wallet is hers; she needs to handle something for me.”

“Enough with the melodrama. It turns my stomach,” Lu Feng scoffed. “I’ll give you a chance. If you can convince me you won’t seek revenge, I might let you go.”

Zhong Jianguo declared in a booming voice, “A true man stands tall and speaks with honor. We have no real enmity; I admit defeat and will never trouble you again.”

Lu Feng shook his head. “Such promises hold no weight.”

Suddenly, Xia Yubing reached into Zhong Jianguo’s inner pocket and tore out an object, holding it before Lu Feng. “Master is a soldier. His words are his bond!”

Lu Feng frowned at the item in her hand—a shoulder insignia, with one stripe and three stars, marking him as a captain. It was sewn into the lining of Zhong Jianguo’s jacket, clear evidence of its value to him. Yet, the situation didn’t quite add up.

“How does a soldier become a killer?” Lu Feng pressed, brows furrowed.

Zhong Jianguo’s expression shifted, stormy and uncertain. After a long silence, he finally said, “I can only tell you I was once a special forces operative in a secret unit. The pistol in your hand is a military-issue Model 92, the weapon used during my service. There’s a terrible secret inside me—I can never reveal it. If it ever comes out, everyone aware of it will die.”

Lu Feng glanced at the pistol in his hand, beginning to believe Zhong Jianguo. The gun was indeed a Model 92, and a soldier would not retire with his weapon unless his departure was anything but ordinary.

Moreover, what convinced Lu Feng further was that the pistol was, in fact, not loaded.