Chapter 22: Come Over Here

Inside the sports car.

Lan Jin was focused intently on driving, while Qin Chuan lounged with his eyes closed, resting quietly. The atmosphere was somewhat stifling. Ever since Lan Jin had refused his suggestion for a punishment game, Qin Chuan had ceased his usual chatter, transforming into a silent and composed gentleman. No matter how many times Lan Jin stomped on the accelerator, trying to provoke a reaction, Qin Chuan did not utter a single word.

“Hmph! I don’t believe you can hold out like this forever,” Lan Jin thought, deciding to take the initiative to break the ice.

“Qin Chuan?” she called.

There was no response.

“Brother Chuan?”

Still, Qin Chuan kept his silence, and before long, the sound of gentle snoring filled the car.

“Dad?” she tried once more.

“Hey!” The thunderous snores stopped abruptly. Qin Chuan’s eyes flew open, his tone now full of affectionate concern. “What is it, darling daughter?”

Lan Jin’s lips twitched twice in frustration; for the sake of her plan to break the ice, she had sacrificed yet another layer of dignity.

“I just wanted to ask what you’d like to eat,” she replied with a bright smile.

When Qin Chuan didn’t answer after a while, Lan Jin glanced over in curiosity and noticed he was staring into the rearview mirror.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Qin Chuan’s voice grew serious. “If there’s an intersection ahead, take it.”

She didn’t know why he was making this request, but Lan Jin had absolute trust in Qin Chuan. She didn’t question him and immediately followed his instructions.

She turned left, merging onto the expressway, and sure enough, Qin Chuan saw a dark green SUV tailing them closely.

“That SUV has been following us the whole way. It seems some people just can’t give up,” Qin Chuan remarked with a hint of sarcasm.

Lan Jin furrowed her elegant brows. After several maneuvers, she noticed the strangeness as well. Whenever she slowed down, the SUV slowed too. When she floored the gas, the SUV accelerated, always maintaining a safe distance.

“Sent by the Lu family?” Lan Jin asked tentatively.

Qin Chuan shook his head. “Probably not. Even if those two bodyguards betrayed us, the Lu family wouldn’t have reacted so quickly.”

“Then it must be the Guo family,” Lan Jin’s expression darkened. She remembered what had happened in Old Zhan’s woods, how Qin Chuan had triumphed and spared the assassin’s life. Now, the Lu family was back to cause trouble—truly despicable.

“What should we do next?” Lan Jin asked, a trace of nervousness in her voice.

Instead of answering directly, Qin Chuan replied, “Drive to the nearest secluded place.”

Lan Jin quickly searched her memory and said in a low voice, “There’s an abandoned chemical plant about twenty kilometers from here. It’s been deserted for five or six years—no one goes there.”

“Let’s go there,” Qin Chuan said concisely.

Lan Jin wanted to ask about his specific plan, but she noticed that Qin Chuan had closed his eyes again, seemingly unconcerned. Considering his formidable skills, her own anxiety eased slightly.

Shaking off her worries, Lan Jin slammed the accelerator. The sports car sped like lightning, with the black SUV in relentless pursuit.

In about fifteen minutes, they spotted the abandoned factory in the distance. Lan Jin exited the expressway and headed straight for the main gate.

At some point, Qin Chuan opened his eyes. When the car rolled to a stop before the mottled gates, Qin Chuan instructed, “In a moment, stay in the car no matter what happens. Don’t come out—understand?”

“Brother Chuan, should I call for help from home?” Lan Jin’s face was full of concern.

Qin Chuan waved her off. “No need, and there’s no time. You seem tired—you should get some rest, don’t you think?”

Before Lan Jin could process what he meant, Qin Chuan delivered a swift chop to her neck. Her vision went black, and she lost consciousness.

Qin Chuan adjusted Lan Jin’s body so she rested comfortably against the seat. He got out, locked the car, and looked toward the road. The black SUV was speeding toward him.

With a screech of tires, the SUV stopped about ten meters in front of Qin Chuan. The doors opened, and six people got out, one after another. Five were brawny young men, all dressed in black martial arts uniforms, their eyes sharp and spirits high.

At the front stood an elderly man with snow-white hair and beard. He looked to be in his seventies, but stood tall and straight, radiating vigor. The bulging flesh at his temples immediately told Qin Chuan this was a sign of long-term internal martial arts training—at least to a competent level.

“The Guo family has really gone all out this time,” Qin Chuan said with a pleasant smile.

The old man took two steps forward, his voice strong and clear. “Young man, I advise you to come with us quietly and spare yourself some suffering.”

“Alright, I’ll come with you,” Qin Chuan replied cheerfully.

One of the young men, swarthy and muscular, sneered, “Hmph, at least you know what’s good for you. Otherwise, you’d be leaving here with broken bones.”

The others snickered. Clearly, they believed their master was invincible and that someone like Qin Chuan posed no threat.

“Since when do children butt into grownups’ conversations?” Qin Chuan snapped. Then, switching tone, he continued, “You know what? I’ve suddenly changed my mind—I don’t feel like going with you after all.”

The elderly man’s thick brows twitched. Before he could respond, his chief disciple jabbed a finger at Qin Chuan’s nose and shouted, “You punk, who are you calling a child? Do you even know who my master—”

He hadn’t finished the word “master” when, in a blur, Qin Chuan appeared before him. An excruciating pain shot through the disciple’s hand.

“Didn’t your master ever teach you it’s rude to point at people?” Qin Chuan taunted. The others all gasped, especially the old man, whose eyes brimmed with shock—he hadn’t even seen how Qin Chuan had moved.

When Qin Chuan withdrew a couple of meters, the disciple let out a miserable howl. Everyone turned to look and saw that the finger he’d pointed with was now bent at a grotesque ninety-degree angle, bone piercing the skin in a grisly display.

“Senior brother!” The others rushed to his side. His face contorted in agony, sweat beads as large as peas rolling down his forehead.

“You dare, knave?” The old man’s eyes flashed with murderous intent.

To break his beloved disciple’s finger right before his eyes was a blatant slap to Zhu Xiaofeng’s face. Although Qin Chuan’s speed was impressive, to Zhu Xiaofeng it meant little; he prided himself on his iron body and iron sand palm techniques, both offensive and defensive.

“If you’re this senile, you’d better get to a hospital. I’ve already done it, and you’re still asking if I dare—only someone with a decade-old brain clot could ask such a stupid question.”

“You’re courting death!” Zhu Xiaofeng was livid, his anger boiling over, eyes seeming to blaze.

“Come and get it,” Qin Chuan taunted, beckoning with a finger and sending his voice deep from his core. “Come on, then!”