Tracing the crude perimeter wall, Jing Lan found another small path, which appeared to lead into a nascent commercial street still under construction.
Jing Lan found it somewhat amusing that such a remote scenic area was bustling with the construction of a commercial street, though it hardly mattered now.
He silently thanked the zombie apocalypse; otherwise, in a few months, this place might have become a notorious spot for tour groups to fleece tourists and coerce them into shopping.
The street was considerably narrower here, and instead of walls, a net of fishing line had been strung back and forth across it.
Naturally, it posed no real barrier; one simply needed to press down the fishing line gently and step through.
However, as Jing Lan tugged at a line, something within the array seemed to snap with a distinct ‘bang.’
Startled, he executed a forward roll, darting inside the fishing line network, fearing it might be connected to a dart trap.
Yet, from the net’s side, only a metallic jingle, like a cluster of bells, resonated.
‘Just a sound trap, then?’
It seemed the trap setter was rather benevolent.
Jing Lan couldn’t help but inwardly chastise his own recklessness, perhaps having let his guard down slightly due to the overly gentle warning at the previous wooden mechanism.
The triggered jingle wasn’t particularly loud; it likely wouldn’t be audible beyond fifty meters.
Still, if this mechanism held any purpose, then surely a patrol would have heard it, and that person would undoubtedly be nearby.
Grasping this, Jing Lan immediately pricked up his ears, attempting to discern any nearby sounds, but the vicinity remained utterly silent, devoid of any footsteps.
‘No one on patrol? No,’ Jing Lan thought, preferring to believe that the person was simply maintaining absolute silence.
Lowering his body, he swiftly took cover behind a pile of lumber by the roadside.
He casually picked up a small stone and tossed it into a clump of mugwort across the street.
Almost precisely two seconds later, a figure emerged from around the corner of a house ahead, moving with utterly no sound of footsteps, and apparently clutching a gun.
“Whoever you are, come out with your hands up and submit to inspection.”
It was the voice of an adult woman.
“Friend behind those weeds, come out with your hands up.
Let’s talk, and then we can take you to our camp.”
The armed individual, still making no sound, slowly approached the clump of mugwort where Jing Lan had thrown the stone.
“Don’t be afraid.
We won’t harm those who mean no ill.”
Although he had misled the patrol with a stone thrown to the opposite side, even the faint sound of its landing had been detected.
Jing Lan realized that a silent escape was now impossible.
‘Could this armed woman possibly be barefoot? Regardless, my own sneakers are incapable of such quiet movement,’ he mused.
‘Should I just run?
It’s not out of the question that everyone in this potentially shady group kills without batting an eye.
This woman might just turn and fire a shot.’
‘Therefore, the safest course of action would, of course, be to simply throw a flying knife and kill her.’
His snug, thin cotton trench coat would ensure the throw was nearly silent.
However, this thought was dismissed in an an instant.
He could not risk forfeiting all possibilities of cooperating with this group for the sake of absolute safety in the present moment.
The seaplane, for all he knew, might well be under their control.
Once more, he picked up a small stone and hurled it towards the mugwort.
The moment the stone landed, he sprang out.
As the woman’s attention was drawn by the sound of the stone, and she subsequently registered a disturbance behind her, Jing Lan had already swiftly closed the distance, pressing his knife against her neck.
“Who are you people?” Jing Lan questioned in a low voice.
The woman, however, seemed unfazed.
Her body remained still for half a second before she suddenly twisted with surprising agility, driving her elbow into Jing Lan’s armpit.
Her upper body abruptly shifted, narrowly evading the threatening blade, and her gun instinctively pointed backward.
Yet, before she could complete the maneuver, she felt a jarring, heavy blow to her lower body.
Immediately losing her balance, she was then forcefully pressed to the ground by her neck.
“Itai!” the woman blurted out in Japanese, unable to suppress it.
“An otaku, then?” Jing Lan tilted his head.
“I’m a ninja!” the woman retorted indignantly.
“And I’m a magical girl who’s turned into a boy.”
“I really am!” The woman began to panic, her gun clattering to the ground beside her.
She desperately wanted to retrieve it, but Jing Lan reached out and pushed it further away.
“A P22… that’s a military-grade handgun.
Possessing such a weapon is illegal in our country.
How did you acquire it?”
“Baka… why are you quibbling over that now?
Go ask our boss.”
Jing Lan felt that the woman was taking too long to get to the point.
She should have quickly explained her group’s situation, whether to express goodwill or to intimidate him.
‘Should I just take her gun and tell her to go fetch their boss for a talk?’
‘Seriously, why am I becoming so bold, always stirring up trouble?
Was I always this kind of person?’
However, he wouldn’t get the chance.
Distinct footsteps sounded behind him.
A somewhat aged man spoke, “Alright, young man, release her.
From your upright martial arts, I can tell you’re not an evildoer.
Come with us to the camp and let’s talk.”
Jing Lan remained still for a moment.
The old man then added, “I also have a gun.”
The old man’s voice carried an air of authority, suggesting he was a person of considerable standing.
Given the pile of bullet casings at the entrance earlier, it was likely true that this group possessed numerous firearms.
Jing Lan then released his grip and stepped aside, placing a foot on the P22 handgun the woman had dropped.
Simultaneously, a flashlight beam cut through the darkness from the old man’s direction, revealing a shrewd-looking elder in a Zhongshan suit, not overly ancient, probably in his early sixties.
The old man tucked his P22 handgun back into his clothing and offered a respectful bow.
“Young friend, you practice Southern Ground Technique Boxing, have you been training for a year?”
“My master only instructed me for two months.”
The old man nodded.
“Then you must possess some innate talent, combined with your master’s profound skill.”
The woman rose from the ground, angrily tossing her ponytail behind her head.
She was a young woman with an excellent figure.
Despite her flawless skin illuminated by the flashlight, Jing Lan estimated her age to be around twenty-six or twenty-seven.
“I know,” the woman pouted.
“That Ground Technique Boxing is also called ‘Dog Boxing,’ and those who practice it are all puppies.
Hmph.”
Neither Jing Lan nor the old man reacted to her taunt, leaving the woman to scratch her head in slight embarrassment.
“Young friend, keep the gun.
There might be malevolent spirits on the road ahead, and it can serve for self-defense.
I’ll take you to meet our boss.”
Jing Lan bent down, picked up the handgun, slipped it into his pocket, and flicked on the safety.
‘So this old geezer isn’t the ‘boss’ after all?’ Jing Lan was somewhat surprised.
This organization appeared to possess unfathomable strength, boasting not only numerous firearms but also martial arts experts.
He wondered what their purpose was in being here.
Without further ado, the three set off, the old man leading the way, with the woman trailing behind.
Along the way, the old man turned back to the woman and said, “Miss Ye, it’s best you don’t wander off alone anymore.”
“Hmph, you lot can’t even hear the bells,” she scoffed, glaring at Jing Lan.
“This doggy, however, might have sharper ears.”
‘Another one surnamed Ye?’ Jing Lan silently grumbled to himself.
‘Is this a web novel?
Next, we’ll have a few more named Lin or Lu.’
“Miss, in our country, we don’t particularly appreciate calling people dogs.
Oh, and by the way, young friend, let us introduce ourselves.
This old man’s surname is Li, Li Shuwu.
I am a bodyguard.
As for this young lady… I’ve forgotten her name, but she is a Japanese language lecturer at Yunnan University.
She’s a Japanese friend.”
The woman nodded slightly.
“Ye Yin Fengqizi.
My Chinese name is Ye Yin, which is a ridiculously convenient way to adopt a Chinese name, haha.”
Jing Lan exclaimed, somewhat surprised, “Your Chinese is excellent!”
“It’s how I make a living, teaching languages.”
“Surnamed Ye Yin… could you actually be a ninja?”
The woman let out a proud huff through her nose.
“My ancestors were.
They left behind a set of ninja scrolls, though they mostly detail simple, unextraordinary combat techniques and stealth methods.
I studied them for a while and only picked up some basic self-defense moves, techniques for concealing my presence, and recipes for some truly awful ninja food.”
“So no clones, Sharingan, or Shinra Tensei?”
“No.
Were your ancestors magical girls?
Can you use mahjong tiles as Clow Cards…”
“That, I cannot.
However, I can extract the mysterious dark essence from plants to forge the imperishable Wheels of Fate, lasting for centuries.”
Jing Lan was, in fact, describing the process of manufacturing rubber—his mother’s family business.
The Wheels of Fate were, of course, tires, which indeed do not degrade easily.
“Wow, that’s incredible.
What’s your name?…”
As the three chatted idly, their mutual wariness began to dissipate.
Soon, several bonfires appeared at the end of the road ahead, accompanied by the faint murmur of human voices.