Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Yamaguchi-gumi Makes Its Move

As soon as the spirit vanished, Ma Junfeng, who’d been waiting outside, exclaimed in surprise and pushed open the door. Both inside and out, I’d seen Ma Junfeng personally arrange the wards—if the spirit escaped, it could only mean the wards were broken or I’d let it go on purpose. In any case, everyone would know things here were over.

A group hurried in. Gao Jian, seeing his brother collapsed nearby, rushed to help him up. I gave them a brief account of what had happened, mentioning the soul-devourer and the spirit. Hearing this, Wang Tingting and Ma Junfeng were startled, while Gao Jian’s three companions, unfamiliar with the terms, simply found it odd and didn’t dwell on it. I suggested Wang Tingting bring the stone and we all return to Gu Jing. Time was short; it was nearly three in the morning, and the sky had already turned gray.

Our two cars waited downstairs. It was deep in the night, and the seven of us had yet to sleep—anyone who saw us would think it strange indeed. Just as we were about to leave, three flashlight beams swept toward us.

A security guard shone his torch and barked, “Who’s there?”

Gao Jian and his friends ignored the man—such trifles meant nothing to them. But since I taught here, I didn’t want to cause a misunderstanding. I got out and waved, but since I only came a few times a month and it was so late, they didn’t recognize me. The guards shone their lights in my face, insisting we accompany them to the security office to verify our identities.

The beams roved over Wang Tingting, Ma Junfeng, and me. I tried to explain, hoping to avoid trouble, but Wang Tingting grew furious at the light on her face, snapping, “Hey! Enough with the flashlight! Haven’t you looked enough? Are you blind? Don’t you see the professor is here? How rude!”

The guard glanced at me—at first unconcerned, but seeing the men in the other car, all in suits, their faces grim and intimidating, his suspicion was aroused. He radioed the office, then eyed me warily. “It’s the middle of the night—what professor would still be in the office? Who are you people? Please come register with us.”

I was about to reply when Wang Tingting, brushing back her sleeve, glared coldly. “Who says a professor can’t be in the office at this hour?”

A short guard sneered, “A woman this feisty—what do you think this is, a marketplace for your nonsense?”

The other two laughed. One, speaking in a rough northern accent, leered, “She’s got quite the figure—if my wife looked like that, I’d be happy every night.”

Wang Tingting, formidable even years ago, had no regard for these three drunken louts. Her temper, always fiery, was barely restrained. Her father was the CEO of a major pharmaceutical group, her uncle the chief of police. She’d been spoiled all her life. If she put down three men—or thirty—her connections could smooth it over in an instant.

Seeing her expression, I knew trouble was brewing. I worked here, but felt no urge to help the guards. Gao Jian and his companions, hearing the insults, grunted heavily and threw open their car doors, ready to teach them a lesson.

But before Gao Jian could climb out, Wang Tingting had already kicked the northern guard aside. With a swift chop, she struck the short one’s neck. In a flash, both men were writhing on the ground—one clutching his neck, the other his groin.

The third guard, still confused, received three sharp slaps from Wang Tingting as she cursed, “Are you blind? Want us to register with you? Why don’t you go register at the police station!”

Ventilated, Wang Tingting dragged me into the car, calling out triumphantly, “Drive!”

Both cars sped toward the gate, the guards’ howls and radio calls fading behind us. Gao Jian’s car led the way. At the entrance, another guard, hearing the commotion, tried to stop us—but Gao Jian paid no heed, shouting, “If you value your life, stay back!”

Those blocking the way panicked and jumped aside as the cars roared past, cursing and jotting down our license plates. Gao Jian and his friends laughed uproariously in the lead.

We left the school, heading for Middle Guangzhou Avenue. Wang Tingting, cheeks puffed, still seemed unsatisfied, regretting that she’d held back. Then, thinking it over, she smiled to herself. I handed the soul, sealed in a talisman, to Ma Junfeng, instructing him to deliver it to Gu Jing.

Not ten minutes into our drive, I sensed something tailing us. Looking back, I spotted a Toyota SUV creeping behind. I couldn’t see the faces, but the glow of cigarettes inside was obvious. The feeling was familiar, as if we’d been followed since leaving the campus.

I called Gao Jian: “There’s a ghost on our tail.” By “ghost,” I meant the trailing car—a common figure of speech, like calling someone a “drunkard” or saying “what the devil.” But from my mouth, the word startled him—he thought I meant an actual ghost. He glanced back, saw the SUV, and breathed easier. “It’s them.”

“Them?” I was surprised.

“They followed us earlier, when we went to the old master’s place. I noticed them then.”

Ahead, one guard was still unconscious. The other two, sensing trouble, drew their guns. The SUV behind, realizing we’d spotted them, accelerated instead of dropping back.

Sensing danger, I warned Ma Junfeng, who floored the gas. But our car couldn’t match the SUV’s speed—they caught up in minutes. As they drew near, two windows rolled down; hands appeared, holding dark objects aimed at us.

A burst of gunfire rang out. Our back window shattered, glass raining over us. They were shooting—using silencers.

Fortunately, I’d anticipated it. As soon as I saw their hands, I pulled Wang Tingting down onto the seat. Ma Junfeng, remarkably calm, swerved and sped up, dodging bullets as he drove.

Each time Ma Junfeng turned, Gao Jian and his companions in the lead car drew their own guns and fired back, though their weapons were unsilenced, shattering the quiet night.

Caught in the crossfire, the three of us were in a tight spot, trapped between the shooters. If they shot out our tires, we’d be finished. But Ma Junfeng’s driving skills were superb—he coordinated with Gao Jian to evade both cars’ sights and avoid the bullets.

The rear windshield was riddled with holes, the trunk battered and smoking in several places. Watching the rearview mirror, Ma Junfeng spotted an intersection ahead. If we reached it, we could shake them off. Suddenly, he cursed and braked sharply, veering onto a side street. Before we knew what was happening, bullets raked the car like rain.

Wang Tingting gasped, “Submachine guns!”

Ma Junfeng ducked under the seat as the volley passed, then quickly resumed driving. Gao Jian’s car ahead slowed at the corner to cover us, letting us pass before following. Ma Junfeng gunned it.

Passing Gao Jian’s car, he called out, “Circle through Tianhe, take Tangxia back to Guangzhou Avenue.” Ma Junfeng nodded and sped off, the sounds of gunfire echoing behind us.

The fastest route to Gu Jing’s was over the flyover, about twenty minutes, but this detour would take at least ten minutes longer. I didn’t know Gao Jian’s reasoning, but trusted his local knowledge.

The firefight behind us faded. My phone rang. I glanced at the caller and answered hastily, “Who is it?”

“Ren Tianxing, the Yamaguchi-gumi is tracking you. Watch out for their markers.” It was Old Ren. So the ones chasing us were the very ones he’d warned about.

I laughed bitterly, “They’re right on our tail—why didn’t you call sooner?”

Old Ren’s voice was helpless, “I only just got the information. Where are you now? I’ll send help.”

I checked behind us—no pursuers. “We’ve shaken them off. We’ll meet in Xi’an tomorrow. Thanks for the warning.”

I hung up, mulling over the situation. Tang Xin and Gangzi should be safe—tomorrow I’d return to Xi’an to see Old Ren and the others.

I thought we’d lost the Yamaguchi-gumi, but as we neared Tangxia, two sedans suddenly flanked us from both sides, ramming into our car without a word.

The impact jolted us; I saw at least four men in each vehicle.

Ma Junfeng took a sharp ninety-degree turn, darting down an alley without hesitation. The pursuers were surprised we could maneuver so calmly and hurried to follow.

The two cars chased us relentlessly. Through the rear window, I saw them roll down the windows, guns in hand.

“Damn, they’re armed too!” I cursed.

A hail of bullets struck our trunk and doors. We kept our heads down, Wang Tingting whispering, “Who are these people?”

“Yamaguchi-gumi,” I replied, surveying the surroundings for options.

She spat, “Damn Japanese.”

Their firepower was overwhelming, pinning us down. Bullets whistled past our ears, missing us by centimeters. If I hadn’t pushed Wang Tingting’s head down, those rounds might have found their mark.

I whispered in her ear, “Don’t move!”

After three volleys, there was a brief pause—they were reloading. I shouted, “Junfeng, step on it!”

Reloading meant our chance to escape. I drew a talisman, inscribing a spell with my mind. Wang Tingting, curious, asked, “What good will that do?”

I finished the charm and flung it out the window. It floated down, landing in the middle of the road. I whispered mysteriously, “Ever heard of a blinding spell? Watch this.”

The two cars chased close behind. As the talisman took effect, I heard the sound of a collision behind us—no doubt the two cars had crashed into each other. The blinding spell was a small trick, but in this situation, nothing could be more useful.

We sped past Tangxia; with no one tailing us, I couldn’t help but feel a surge of pride. Ma Junfeng exhaled in relief. Wang Tingting fell silent, perhaps wondering how she could learn the trick herself.

But just as we thought we’d lost them, the roar of engines sounded again behind us. Wang Tingting glanced back and laughed, “So much for your blinding spell!”

Only this girl could still laugh while being hunted. I realized—the spell had failed for only one reason: there was an expert in the enemy’s car.

Ma Junfeng pushed the engine to its limits. With few cars on the road at night, we flew, but our pursuers clung to us, clearly familiar with Guangzhou’s streets.

Once more, we became moving targets. On the narrow lanes, one car’s submachine gun had raked us; now, on the wide avenue, two cars boxed us in, bullets raining down like a storm, riddling the chassis behind us with holes.