Love on the Turquoise Land

With a loud "boom," Lao Dao's car was rammed into the pond amidst the reeds.

Fortunately, rural ponds are usually shallow, and the spot where the car landed was close to the shore—no more than a meter deep at most. Before the car hit the water, Lao Dao and Xing Shen had already opened the opposite door. Taking advantage of the tilt, they splashed into the water with a loud commotion.

As they entered the water, Xing Shen quietly nudged Mazha’s back. Mazha was small in stature, and under the cover of the car and the splashing water, it slipped silently into the nearby reeds, leaving only a faint ripple on the dark, glossy surface. To an untrained eye, it might have looked like a fish darting beneath.

Xiong Hei remained seated in his car, watching as the opposing vehicle tilted into the water. Two figures emerged, both looking rather disheveled. Using the car as cover, they crouched cautiously.

There was a gun in the glove compartment, but Xiong Hei didn’t reach for it. Perhaps it was instinct—he never liked using guns. Heaven had blessed him with a towering frame, iron-like jaws, and strength far beyond the ordinary, all meant for tearing and smashing everything in his path.

A gun? One bang, and it was over. No blood splatter, no satisfying crunch of bones—just dull and boring.

He opened the door and stepped out, shouting toward the pond, "Come on out! Water not cold enough for you?"

Lao Dao tensed, about to move, but Xing Shen grabbed him. "Let me handle this. Be ready."

With that, he steadied himself against the car window, stood up, and waded forward a couple of steps, feeling his way.

Xiong Hei hadn’t expected to face someone who looked like a refined "scholar." Seeing the man fumble nervously, he felt suspicious but couldn’t quite believe he was actually blind. "Hey, buddy, what’s with the sunglasses in the middle of the night?"

Xing Shen reached up and removed the sunglasses.

The car’s headlights were bright, but the man was standing in the water, his back to the darkness, making it hard to see clearly.

Xiong Hei took two steps forward and thought, Damn.

He really was blind. A normal person’s eyes had distinct whites and pupils, and even the most severe nearsightedness left some spark of life in them. But this man’s eyes were different—completely lifeless, with a faint, translucent brown film over the whites, nearly engulfing the pupils.

A blind man. A blind man couldn’t have been the one driving after him.

Xiong Hei’s guard dropped significantly as he called out to Lao Dao, still hiding behind the car, "Hey, buddy, why send a blind guy to talk to me? You planning to grow roots in that water, waiting for an invitation?"

His patience wore thin, and he strode into the water. Xing Shen raised a hand to block him, but Xiong Hei brushed him aside effortlessly, then reached for Lao Dao.

Xing Shen shouted sharply, "Mazha! Bite him!"

What the hell? There was another one lurking nearby, named "Mazha"?

Xiong Hei’s heart lurched, and he reflexively turned his head. The nearby reeds rustled, but nothing burst out.

Xing Shen and Lao Dao both felt their scalps prickle. The plan had been for Mazha to dart out at this moment, clawing and biting—whether at the head or the arm, as long as it broke skin, the job would be done.

Where was Mazha? Had something held it back?

But there was no time to waste. Lao Dao didn’t dwell on Mazha’s absence. With a roar, he lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Xiong Hei’s legs and using all his strength to yank him forward. Xiong Hei, tall and broad, was already unsteady standing in the water. Caught off guard, he toppled backward with a heavy splash.Lao Dao couldn't see, but Xing Shen's "eyes" worked better in the dark than in daylight. He could make out Mazha's form—a lighter shade than the surrounding reeds—fidgeting like an ant on a hot pan, restless yet too cowardly to dart out.

But he couldn't dwell on that now. Lao Dao and Xiong Hei were already locked in combat. Seeing Xiong Hei plunge into the water, Xing Shen shouted, "Lao Dao, hold him down!"

As he yelled, he lunged forward, pressing Xiong Hei's head back under the water just as it was about to resurface. At the same time, he bellowed, "Mazha!"

Xiong Hei roared and thrashed beneath the surface, his strength like that of a frenzied crocodile. Lao Dao, weighing nearly 180 pounds, was still managing—his bulk acting like an immovable anchor on Xiong Hei's legs. But Xing Shen struggled. He was already at a disadvantage in terms of raw strength, and worse, Xiong Hei's arms were still free.

Xiong Hei's head whipped violently from side to side, nearly throwing Xing Shen off balance, while his fists swung wildly upward. One sudden blow caught Xing Shen off guard, sending a surge of pain through his chest. A dark tide flooded his vision, and he nearly coughed up blood, involuntarily loosening his grip.

Freed, Xiong Hei's spirits lifted, but his legs remained trapped. With a snarl, he planted his hands on the pond's bottom and twisted his body violently—Lao Dao felt his hold slipping. Panicked, he drew his military dagger and plunged it into Xiong Hei's back.

Meanwhile, Xing Shen recovered and reached out again, forcing Xiong Hei's half-submerged head back underwater.

Bubbles began rising to the surface. Xing Shen panted heavily, not daring to let go.

Lao Dao's mind went blank. The body that had moments ago been as powerful as a bull gradually stilled. The hilt of the dagger suddenly burned in his hand, and he jerked back as if shocked. Under the glow of the car's headlights, he saw thick, bloody tendrils slowly spreading across the water's surface.

Xiong Hei saw it too—not as liquid, but as a darker hue blooming at the center.

He released his grip.

A freshly dead body doesn't float. The heavy mass slowly sank beneath the water.

Lao Dao shuddered, staggering back two steps before collapsing against the car. "Shen... Shen-ge, did I just kill someone?"

Xiong Hei stood up, drenched from head to toe. As he dragged himself toward the shore, each step felt leaden. He had only meant to knock the man out, to restrain him—but the line between life and death had been crossed so swiftly. In an instant, the man had gone still.

Mazha finally approached, seeming aware of his mistake. He cowered, peering nervously into the water.

Xiong Hei's temper flared. "What the hell were you doing?!" he roared.

Mazha flinched and scrambled back, only creeping closer again after a moment of hesitation.

Then it hit Xing Shen. "Where's Yan Tuo?"

Lao Dao froze. The fight had erupted so suddenly, and once it began, they'd been too absorbed to remember Yan Tuo.

He waded forward a couple of steps, scanning the distance urgently. "He got out of the car at the start. Then when the headlights came on... he vanished. He can't have gone far."

Xiong Hei said, "I'll take Mazha and search nearby. You contact Jiang Shu first..."

He gestured toward the water. "We need to clean this up fast. If anyone sees..."

Mid-sentence, he suddenly paused.He saw that behind Lao Dao, a shadow had gathered, similar in outline but larger by a full size, as if light had cast Lao Dao’s silhouette onto a wall behind him.

But this was a pond—where would a wall suddenly appear from?

Lao Dao also sensed something amiss: behind him was the sound of dripping water, not the loud splash of something breaking the surface, but the quiet trickle of water droplets falling from something that had emerged silently.

He spun around abruptly.

But it was too late.

Xing Shen watched as the shadow clenched its fists and raised them like two massive hammers, swinging left and right simultaneously toward Lao Dao’s head in the center.

A strange, dull thud echoed in his ears.

In his "vision," Lao Dao’s head was crushed between the enormous fists, barely recognizable in its original shape.

Xing Shen’s mind exploded as if the fists had struck his own skull. The next moment, he turned and ran.

Mazha, nimble as a dog, immediately followed. As he ran, he lost two ill-fitting children’s shoes. Meanwhile, Lao Dao’s body stiffened for a moment before toppling backward into the water, sending up a large splash of white foam.

Xiong Hei braced one hand against the car and reached behind his back with the other, gritting his teeth as he yanked out the military dagger. The weapon had three blood grooves, leaving triangular holes with every stab—truly vicious.

But did these two idiots really think such minor injuries could take him down? He was just playing dead.

With a flick of his wrist, Xiong Hei tossed the dagger aside and strode ashore.

After running about ten meters, Xing Shen suddenly noticed a bright light behind him and heard the roar of an engine. Turning back in alarm, he saw two especially bright spots in the light—the headlights, glaring like the eyes of a predator.

The car was charging straight toward him.

Yan Tuo hadn’t actually left. Pretending to follow orders, he had gone some distance before quietly circling back.

This was typical of him: outwardly compliant while secretly observing, gathering secrets and details bit by bit—like ants carrying crumbs, he and Lin Ling collected the inadvertent scraps of secrets dropped by Lin Xirou and her group, treasuring them as they brought them back to the safe house. There, under the cover of night or lamplight, they would dissect and analyze them meticulously.

By the time he circled back, he had missed the first half of the scene. Combined with the distance and the obstructing reeds in his line of sight, all he saw was Xing Shen suddenly sprinting madly up the riverbank while, in the center of the water, Xiong Hei’s fists—like vinegar bowls—clamped down on Lao Dao’s temples.

Yan Tuo felt a wave of nausea, as if his own head had taken the blow. The human skull was undoubtedly the hardest part of the body, but the pterion—where several cranial bones met, commonly known as the temple—was the most vulnerable. With Xiong Hei’s strength, a strike to the temple would be fatal. Even if it missed, the victim’s future… would be bleak.

As one of the "scholar" types in Xiong Hei’s eyes, educated in the modern world, Yan Tuo could never grow accustomed to such callous disregard for human life. Moreover, he felt an unspoken kinship with Lin Xirou’s enemies—perhaps because the enemy of his enemy was a friend. That was also why, after being nearly beaten to death by Banya and his crew earlier, he hadn’t harbored any particular hatred toward them.As his thoughts raced, the roar of an engine erupted—Xiong Hei's vehicle had already started moving, barreling straight toward the fleeing figure. Lin Ling's assessment of Xiong Hei as "hot-tempered and ruthless" was no exaggeration. When provoked, his animalistic instincts often overpowered reason. Most people, after being scolded over Hua Saozi's incident, wouldn’t repeat Crippled Father’s mistake. But not Xiong Hei—once enraged, he’d make the same error three or four times over.

Seizing the moment as the car sped away, Yan Tuo darted out of the reeds and waded quietly into the water.

By the faint glow of the dashboard from the half-submerged car, he could see Lao Dao’s face entirely submerged, the back of his head facing upward, his body slowly sinking, his arms occasionally twitching.

Yan Tuo slid an arm beneath him, using the water’s buoyancy to gently turn Lao Dao’s face upward before guiding him to the soft bank to rest.

Checking for breath, he detected faint signs, but he dared not do more—he wasn’t a trained medic, and head injuries weren’t something to recklessly tamper with.

Not far off, the car’s engine roared like a swarm of furious flies. Yan Tuo glanced up and suddenly spotted a pair of children’s shoes abandoned near the shore.

A child?

His heart lurched. In a few strides, he reached them, picking up one shoe and feeling inside. The shoe was new—definitely not long-discarded trash—and still faintly warm. It had been dropped recently.

A cold dread gripped him. Damn it, there’s a kid here too!

Now, watching Xiong Hei’s car in the distance—charging, braking violently, like a ravenous beast—only deepened the sense of madness.

Gritting his teeth, Yan Tuo hunched low, using the reeds for cover as he sprinted forward.

About ten meters away, he caught sight of Xing Shen narrowly rolling clear of the wheels before springing up and bolting toward a derelict earthen hut. In close quarters, the car’s bulk made it clumsy compared to a human’s agility, yet the chase remained perilous.

Xiong Hei was exhilarated, laughing and cursing loudly from the driver’s seat. Capturing the target alive no longer mattered—he wrenched the steering wheel, the headlights locking onto the fleeing figure as he gave chase.

And in the sweeping beams, Yan Tuo glimpsed a child—dressed in a bright blue-and-yellow hoodie—dashing past.

His palms grew slick with sweat, the gun grip damp in his hand. He couldn’t intervene openly. Besides, Xiong Hei was already Lin Xirou’s most formidable enforcer. Even with Yan Tuo’s help, they stood no chance.

Desperation sparked an idea. He retreated quickly, ensuring he was far enough away before crouching low, cupping his phone’s receiver, and calling Xiong Hei.

…

Xiong Hei watched Xing Shen vanish into the half-collapsed hut and smirked. He was about to floor the accelerator and plow through both man and structure when the phone beneath him rang.

Snatching it up, he saw Yan Tuo’s name flashing on the screen.

This kid should know better than to bother me now.

He answered with a swipe.

The signal was patchy, crackling with wind noise. Yan Tuo’s voice came through frantic, gasping for breath. “Xiong—Xiong-ge, I’m—I’m in trouble—”

What the hell? Xiong Hei slammed the brakes.

His first thought was sheer disgust. What a useless waste! I held off two guys, cleared a path for you, and you still managed to screw up? Lin-jie really raised a first-class loser! Then he suddenly jolted awake: Was this a scheme within a scheme, a diversionary tactic? Were they using two people to hold him back while actually targeting Yan Tuo? No wonder! He had wondered why they'd sent a blind man after him!

Dealing with people required more brainpower!

Xiong Hei urgently asked, "Which direction did you go?"

Yan Tuo replied, "East... east side..."

At this point, he quickly hung up to create the illusion of an emergency. To avoid complications, he even turned off his phone. Then he gently parted the reeds, keeping an eye on the movements ahead.

As expected, within seconds, the Grand Cherokee roared into reverse before swerving sharply and speeding off toward the east.

Yan Tuo exhaled deeply and slumped into the reeds.

At worst, he could rough himself up a bit—scrape his face, make himself look disheveled—and when he saw Xiong Hei again, he’d say he had indeed been ambushed but managed to escape on his own.

Xing Shen couldn’t quite explain why the car had initially acted like a mad beast before suddenly leaving. He only vaguely remembered hearing a brief ringtone.

He emerged from behind the earthen hut, his heart pounding wildly—the rapid rhythm wouldn’t slow down anytime soon, leaving him gasping for breath.

Mazha scurried over, dripping wet.

Xing Shen "looked" around.

This was the advantage of his eyes. During the day, he might be a disadvantaged blind man, but at night, when there was no light, most people were blind—he wasn’t.

He saw the faint silhouettes of reeds swaying gently in the heavy darkness.

Shifting his perspective, he spotted the broad pond, its surface glinting coldly.

Turning again, he noticed a pale outline of a figure rising from the sparse reeds in the distant lowland.

Someone?

Xing Shen’s heart tightened. Then he recalled the question he’d asked Lao Dao earlier: "What about that Yan Tuo?"

It couldn’t be an ordinary passerby. Anyone else would’ve fled in terror at this spectacle—no one would stick around to watch.

He whispered, "Mazha, someone’s coming."

Mazha had been "trained" to follow rules. "Someone’s coming" meant it couldn’t let itself be seen clearly: realizing its hood had fallen, it clawed at the fabric to pull it back up, carefully tucking its feet into the pant legs and retracting its hands.

Yan Tuo had no intention of lingering. He had another place to be—this mess could be left for the person who’d escaped to deal with.

He turned east, scooping up some muddy sludge along the way to smear on his clothes and legs. He snapped off a few broken reeds, rubbing their jagged edges against his cheeks and forehead.

Later, if he found a suitable spot, he’d roll on the ground and dust up his hair to make it all look convincing.

He had only walked a short distance when he heard rustling behind him. Whirling around, the sound vanished.

Out here in the wild countryside, unlike the city, the nights were much darker. Not wanting to draw attention and with his phone turned off, Yan Tuo relied on the faint moonlight to navigate.

He couldn’t see clearly.

Something felt off. Steadying himself, he pressed forward.

The sound returned—soft, faint rustling.

Gripping his gun tightly, he barked, "Who’s there?"

In the distance, Xing Shen confirmed: Yes, that was Yan Tuo’s voice. He’d never seen his face, but Jiang Baichuan had recorded plenty of interrogation footage—blind people were highly sensitive to voices. Even from afar, he could hear clearly.

He’d found the right man.

Curling two fingers to his lips, he let out a low, sharp whistle.The whistle was skillfully blown, carried by the wind so that it sounded almost indistinguishable from the wind itself, barely discernible to human ears.

Yan Tuo couldn't hold back any longer. He pressed his phone to turn it on, ready to switch on the flashlight. Just as the screen lit up, he heard a child's whimpering cry from the reeds: "Uncle?"