Love on the Turquoise Land

The submachine gun had been taken by Han Guan, leaving Chen Fu with only a small pistol. He chambered a round, feeling a twinge of relief: luckily, Han Guan’s magazine was already empty. If that submachine gun had fallen into the enemy’s hands and been turned against him, he’d have been in deep trouble.

Approaching the doorway, Chen Fu called out again, “Han Guan?”

Still no response.

Gritting his teeth, Chen Fu charged through the door, gun raised and ready to fire at any moment.

What he saw inside sent a chill down his spine—both shocking and eerie.

The room was a mess, typical of an abandoned pump house: a long-rotted water pump, dust-covered pipes, and scattered brick fragments on the ground, debris from where bullets had torn through the walls.

A pool of blood stained the floor.

In the corner stood a well. Usually, abandoned pump houses either had their doors locked or their wells sealed to prevent children or livestock from falling in. A pile of wooden planks lay beside the well—clearly, moments ago, they had been covering the opening.

But now, the planks had been shoved aside. Han Guan’s body was mostly submerged in the well, only his shoulders and head visible above the edge. His head hung low, arms splayed outward, eerily reminiscent of Sadako from the classic horror film The Ring , just as she was about to crawl out.

There was no sign of anyone else.

Chen Fu cursed under his breath. The pump house had no hiding spots—just a small vent high up, but no one had come out that way. No doubt, the woman was down in the well.

He edged forward cautiously, still concerned about Han Guan. “Bro? Bro! Say something.”

As a dixiao , he was confident: no matter how severe the injury, Han Guan wouldn’t be dead yet—he should at least be able to groan.

Sure enough, Han Guan’s body seemed to twitch, and a strange, muffled gurgle escaped his throat.

Damn it. Chen Fu stepped closer, leaning his upper body back while squinting into the well. He couldn’t see anything—pump wells were usually narrow, and in the dim interior light, visibility was near zero.

He considered firing a few shots down but hesitated, worried about hitting Han Guan.

Mentally counting “1, 2, 3,” Chen Fu roared, grabbed Han Guan by the scruff of his neck and collar, and yanked him upward while firing several shots into the well.

As a dixiao , Chen Fu was naturally strong, and he was among the sturdiest of them. Lifting over a hundred pounds was no issue, yet even so, the weight in his hands felt… off.

Too late. The moment he pulled Han Guan out, a figure flipped out from beneath him. Before Chen Fu could even register the person’s face, a cold glint of steel slashed toward his throat.

Realizing the danger, Chen Fu released Han Guan and swung his gun around. But before he could pull the trigger, a chilling sensation swept through the middle of his palm—as if brushed by wind. The next instant, half his hand, the gun, and several fingers flew off, clattering against the well’s edge before plummeting into the depths.

Nie Jiuluo crashed heavily to the ground, frustration burning inside her. She had been clinging to Han Guan’s body, using his weight for leverage. When Chen Fu let go, she fell too, throwing her blade off course. The perfect opportunity to finish Chen Fu in seconds—gone.She had experience: once a sneak attack failed to land a decisive blow, the ensuing fight would become incredibly difficult. Chen Fu was already a vicious dog, and now he was turning into a rabid, frenzied beast.

Chen Fu’s eyelid twitched as he stared in disbelief at the well opening. The gun and half his palm had already fallen into the well, leaving two fingers lying on the edge.

His… hand was gone?

The pain came a little late. Chen Fu wrapped his left hand around the stump of his right, his face twisting grotesquely as he let out a piercing howl of agony. He slammed his head against the wall with a loud bang , then frantically rubbed and ground his wound against the rough surface. When he raised his head again, his forehead was a bloody mess, streaks of red running down his face, carving it into a mask of savage fury.

This bastard must have been triggered, his madness fully unleashed.

Nie Jiuluo gritted her teeth and forced herself to stand, tightening the belt of her coat. Normally, she wore it open for style, but not now—she needed it snug, as if it could bind her wounds.

She couldn’t look. As long as she didn’t see the damage, she could pretend she wasn’t injured.

Her legs trembled slightly, the pain gradually blurring, but she could hear the soft drip of blood hitting the ground at her feet. She had no doubt that if she let go of the breath she was holding, she’d collapse instantly—so she couldn’t. With a deadly enemy before her, losing focus meant death.

She couldn’t die. The happy life she had begged Jiang Baichuan for at eight years old, the life she had painstakingly built, was finally taking shape—maybe even reaching new heights. Lao Cai had said she had the potential for a touring exhibition. She couldn’t let this bastard ruin it. Whoever tried to ruin her, she’d ruin them first. Today, either she walked out alive, or both of them died here. Either way, he wasn’t leaving.

Chen Fu’s eyes bulged with fury as he roared at Han Guan, “Brother?”

He saw the bloody hole in Han Guan’s throat, but he wasn’t too worried—it was a serious wound, sure, but with a month or two of recovery, he’d be fine.

He glared at Nie Jiuluo. “Who the hell are you?”

Nie Jiuluo didn’t answer. Every ounce of strength was precious now—she had none to spare for words.

Chen Fu suddenly had a realization. “You’re… one of the Chantou Army ?”

There was no such thing as the Chantou Army anymore—that was ancient history. Nie Jiuluo pressed her palm against the hilt of her knife, her head buzzing, her vision flickering with black spots—probably from blood loss. She had to face him head-on. Chen Fu was taller than her, making it hard to strike his skull. She’d have to focus on severing his spine—she needed to get behind him…

Seeing Nie Jiuluo remain silent, Chen Fu lost patience. With a furious roar, he reached for the crowbar leaning against the wall, forgetting his right hand was useless. His grasp met empty air. Seizing the opportunity, Nie Jiuluo lunged straight for Chen Fu’s midsection, one arm wrapping around his waist to steady herself while the other flipped out her dagger.

But Chen Fu was no pushover. Sensing danger, he grabbed Nie Jiuluo’s waist with both hands, lifting her bodily off the ground and hurling her against the opposite wall.

Nie Jiuluo’s vision went black as she was suddenly airborne, then slammed into the wall before crashing to the ground. She gasped in pain, stars and streaks of red flashing before her eyes. Her previously tied-up hair had come loose.

Dazed, she saw Chen Fu grab a pump pipe with his left hand and swing it down toward her head.Most water pumps are made of alloy steel, and one could easily imagine how heavy they are. Nie Jiuluo's body reacted instinctively—she jerked her head aside just as the pump pipe grazed her ear and smashed into the ground, leaving a bowl-sized dent in the concrete and sending a deafening buzz through her eardrums.

Missing his first strike, Chen Fu, now consumed by rage, raised the pump again for another blow.

If she were to die by being smashed by a pump, what an undignified death that would be. Nie Jiuluo mustered all her strength to roll away, but the violent motion sent a searing pain through her abdomen, as if several organs had been jolted loose. Yet she couldn’t complete the roll—the descending pump pipe pinned a large swath of her hair into the dent, yanking her scalp and preventing her from fully escaping.

If she couldn’t roll away, she’d roll back. Nie Jiuluo abruptly reversed her momentum and drove her knife downward, the blade piercing through Chen Fu’s right shoe and sinking deep into his foot.

Chen Fu felt a sharp pain and staggered backward. Normally, a knife embedded in one’s foot would act like a nail, immobilizing the person. But Nie Jiuluo’s dagger was unnaturally sharp—as he retreated, he watched in shock as the blade sliced clean through the toe of his shoe before he even realized what had happened. He collapsed onto the ground, clutching his foot and howling in agony.

Blood gushed from the split in his shoe, splattering in thick droplets across the floor.

Nie Jiuluo lay on her back, laughing up at the sky—but the laughter died almost instantly. Her energy was spent; she had no strength left.

The pump room had no ceiling, just exposed beams overhead—ugly, rough, and crude. In her idle moments, Nie Jiuluo had imagined her own death: usually, she’d live past a hundred, free of illness or disaster, passing peacefully in her sleep inside a luxurious villa by the sea or nestled in the mountains, bathed in sunlight beneath a vast blue sky, surrounded by blooming flowers.

Never had she imagined it would be here.

She closed her eyes. A faint tear trailed down her cheek, slowly diluting the blood smeared on her face.

A shadow loomed—Chen Fu, dragging his injured foot toward her. He moved slowly, one leg trailing behind, leaving bloody footprints with each step. But it didn’t stop him from finally reaching her and stomping down on one of her arms.

Nie Jiuluo looked up, her vision too blurred to see clearly. In her blood-tinted sight, a grotesquely large figure swayed before her.

Chen Fu bent down, panting heavily, and grabbed her arm with his left hand. "You damn bitch," he spat.

Then, with a vicious twist—

Crack.

Nie Jiuluo’s body convulsed. That sound—it felt as if half her soul had been wrenched out through the top of her skull. The sudden, excruciating pain electrified every nerve in her body, long since shut down. She let out a piercing scream and drove her knee upward, slamming it into Chen Fu’s groin.

His family jewels were surely shattered or at least crippled—though, given the regenerative abilities of a dixiao , he’d probably only be out of commission for a couple of months.

Nie Jiuluo collapsed back onto the ground, her breath now too weak to rise properly. She gasped through half-parted lips. Chen Fu seemed to be rolling around in pain nearby, howling and thrashing like a madman, but she no longer cared.

She was too tired.

Nie Jiuluo slowly closed her eyes.

Yet she wasn’t granted peace for long. A violent jolt and a sharp tug at her scalp roused her again. Her eyelids fluttered open just a sliver—the beams of the ceiling swayed wildly, as if the earth itself were shaking.It wasn't an earthquake—it was Chen Fu dragging her by the hair. Hundreds of thousands of hair roots deeply embedded in her scalp actually managed to pull her heavy body along.

Chen Fu dragged her to the well's mouth, chuckling darkly as he stuffed her body—along with the severed arm still attached by flesh—into the well, mumbling incoherently at her: "You can just... slowly rot down there... drown... dissolve, decay inside, stink to death in there..."

The well was deep. Mechanized wells were usually no shallower than forty meters, and with its narrow mouth, it felt even more cramped and unfathomable. When she had peeked in earlier after the wooden cover was moved aside, she saw a pool of dark, glistening water far below, emitting a musty, aged stench.

Nie Jiuluo was practically folded in half as she was shoved inside. The only small mercy was that her head was facing upward, and the slight friction between her body and the well walls kept her from sliding down immediately—though it wasn't enough to hold her in place.

Her body inched downward into the darkness like a blood-soaked, filthy rag, destined to be buried in this foul well.

Her fingers feebly clawed at the well walls but found no purchase. Chen Fu's hideous face grew farther and farther away.

Still unsatisfied with how slowly she was descending, Chen Fu panted as he groped for the pump components beside the well. The pump body was much heavier than the pipes. In his severely injured state, he couldn't lift it with one hand, so he used his mangled stump to slowly hoist it up...

Nie Jiuluo thought she should close her eyes, but she didn't. She kept them open and watched.

Until her skull shattered and her breath stopped, she refused to give up.

Then, as if watching a movie, Chen Fu—along with the pump body—was suddenly flung aside by something, leaving the well's mouth unobstructed, allowing light to pour in.

She heard the heavy pump crash to the ground, heard the sounds of struggle, heard the impact of blows.

Finally, everything fell silent.

Then, abruptly, a figure moved at the well's mouth again. She saw Yan Tuo lean down, reaching out to pull her up, calling, "Miss Nie."

He couldn't reach her.

And as her strength gave out, she slid downward again.

Nie Jiuluo's eyes closed once more, her eyelids like butterfly wings battered by a storm, unable to open again.

Faintly, she thought: He came so fast.

He must not have turned back only after receiving the "reed marsh" message. He must have already turned the car around before that.

Nie Jiuluo wanted to exhale completely, to let go. She thought the suffering was over, that she could finally rest.

But no—her entire body felt like it had entered a black cocoon. The world swayed around her, her body rising and falling unpredictably, pain scattered everywhere—aching here, spasming there.

Suddenly, she heard Yan Tuo call her: "Miss Nie? Miss Nie?"

Nie Jiuluo responded unconsciously: "Huh?"

Her voice was weak, barely more than a moan.

She felt like she was lying in Yan Tuo's arms, warm. Beneath his coat, he wore only a thin shirt, and her face pressed against the fabric. The shirt was new, or freshly starched, carrying the pleasant scent of clean cloth. Through it, she could feel his body heat, his heartbeat.

Both his warmth and his pulse radiated a vitality so fierce it almost made her jealous.

Yan Tuo leaned down and murmured, "Miss Nie, your life is in your hands. I can't help you now—no one can. You have to hold on for another half hour. After that, it'll be over. Do you hear me? Half an hour."

Half an hour?

What was half an hour?Nie Jiuluo's consciousness scattered into countless fragments again, each growing wings and fluttering away. Amidst this chaotic flight, Yan Tuo's words echoed like a haunting refrain.

Half an hour.

Just hold on for half an hour.

Lü Xian usually didn't mix much with A Peng and his crew, but perhaps because he had saved Tian Xiang the night before and earned some merit, A Peng came to ask him in the afternoon if he wanted to join them for an essential oil massage. He even emphasized that it was absolutely not of a sensual nature—just proper massage therapy.

As a medical student, Lü Xian was well aware of the benefits of massage and couldn't help but be tempted. After briefly settling Tian Xiang, he happily joined the group to wait for the elevator.

The elevator arrived at the third floor with a ding , its doors sliding open slowly.

It wasn't empty. Inside stood a person—Yan Tuo.

He was pulling a suitcase behind him.