Ye Jingsheng drove to the hospital, deliberately parking in an inconspicuous spot.

As he walked, all eyes turned to him, their expressions dumbfounded by his attire, which was completely inappropriate for broad daylight. Even Ye Jingsheng, who was rarely bothered by anything, felt slightly out of place under their scrutinizing gazes.

Just then, a group of people from the cardiology department walked out. The one leading them stopped in his tracks as his eyes landed on Ye Jingsheng. His mouth fell open in shock before he finally called out, “Ah Sheng?”

Ye Jingsheng exhaled in relief. “Finally! You showed up. What the hell are you staring at? I’m not a monkey on display.”

Wu Yi Xue touched his nearly half-bald head, gave a sheepish smile and replied, “Well… you didn’t have to rush over like this.”

“I didn’t have time to change clothes.” He followed Wu Yi Xue into the elevator, handing over a kraft paper bag, “Take a look, see how much is missing.” Wu Yi Xue took it and drew a cold breath, “How did you get so much in just a few days?”

“Don’t worry about it. The surgery is in about ten days, just make sure he survives.”

Wu Yi Xue didn’t ask further, just nodded and then said, “Now that you’re here, do you want to see him?”

Ye Jingsheng was silent for a moment, then gave a self-deprecating laugh, “Better not, wouldn’t want to scare him into another condition.” He paused, “Don’t mention me to him.”

“Ah… the incident back then wasn’t entirely your fault.”

“Enough!” Ye Jingsheng’s frown carried a hint of menace, “Don’t meddle too much. Also, I might go abroad to hide for a few days soon, keep an eye on him.”

“Going abroad? Who did you cross this time?” Wu Yi Xue, noting Ye Jingsheng’s expression, quickly changed the subject, “Don’t worry, I’ve been treating him for so many years after all.”

After arranging everything, Ye Jingsheng drove back, his fingers idly brushing against the gun and the watch in his pocket. A smirk tugged at his lips as he pictured Fang Yang’s expression, the smile slowly twisting into something darker and more sinister.

When he reached the dark alley at his home entrance, Ye Jingsheng remembered Xiao Jie who must have been exhausted last night and was probably still sleeping. He turned off the car and thought to bring him something to eat, but found the alley eerily quiet, no one in sight.

Even the old man who usually sold silk stocking tea at the alley entrance was missing. Was everyone off today? Ye Jingsheng frowned and crouched by the wall to look. The road was suspiciously clean, almost excessively so, except for some scattered oil stains, wood fragments, and faint blood traces in the corners.

Someone had fought here.

Ye Jingsheng’s brow furrowed, he reached into his coat and slowly drew the “King Cobra,” chambering a round, and step by step, he approached his residence.

The door was tightly shut, and from the outside, not a single sound could be heard. Ye Jingsheng held his breath, leaning against the wall, both hands gripping his gun.

Now! He swiftly turned and kicked the door open, and almost instantly, a hail of bullets swept through. Ye Jingsheng rolled to the floor, taking cover in the blind spot by the wardrobe as gunpowder smoke filled the air.

The mirror to his left reflected the situation in the room clearly.

Damn it, seven people? And two of them armed with L47 submachine guns? They were really out to kill him. At least Xiao Jie, that sneaky little bastard, had managed to slip away—there was no need to worry about him anymore.

The sound of approaching footsteps broke his thoughts. Ye Jingsheng let out a cold chuckle and darted forward with deadly precision. The man at the front didn’t even have a chance to pull the trigger before Ye Jingsheng raised his gun and fired. The bullet tore through his forehead, blood spraying across the room as another man behind him fell, and the glass window at the back shattered with a deafening crash.

In a heartbeat, Ye Jingsheng made a break for the window. He grabbed the collar of a man blocking his path and delivered a powerful punch. The man doubled over, dropping his weapon and retching violently. Using the man’s own momentum, Ye Jingsheng spun him aside, bent low, and leaped onto the window ledge with practiced agility.

“Don’t let him escape alive!” came the shouts from behind.

With no time to hesitate, Ye Jingsheng shut his eyes and jumped from the third floor.

Although he landed in the best position to cushion the impact, a sharp, bone-deep pain shot through his foot when he stood up. He stumbled a few steps before his movements came to a halt. Above him, someone leaned out of the window, aiming and firing.

The sound of bullets slicing through the air was something Ye Jingsheng had lived with for ten years. It was pure instinct by now. He turned back and raised his hand. The MAGNUM rounds exploded with enough force to pierce through three people and shatter a 43mm bulletproof glass panel. The gunman let out a scream and fell from the window, but Ye Jingsheng missed one crucial detail. The L47 was a military-grade submachine gun capable of a ten-round burst.

As he aimed, a bullet tore through his leg bone, sending a small jet of blood spraying into the air.

“Shit!” he cursed, ignoring the pain and not bothering to check the wound. Dragging his injured leg, he moved as fast as he could. There were still four of them left, and in his current state, there was no way he could take them head-on.

Just as Ye Jingsheng reached the car door, the shouts and chaos behind him grew louder. Gritting his teeth, he threw himself into the driver’s seat and slammed on the gas. The pursuers fired their pistols in rapid succession, riddling the car’s body with bullet holes.

Instead of fleeing, Ye Jingsheng turned the steering wheel sharply and floored the accelerator, charging straight at them. His injured leg pressed down on the pedal with all its remaining strength, while his left hand reached into the side pocket to grab Fang Yang’s Desert Eagle. “Fuckers, you think I’m an easy target?!” Ye Jingsheng growled, his voice filled with defiance.

Recklessly, he aimed the gun out of the window and pulled the trigger. With a deafening boom, one of the men was hit by two bullets, instantly engulfed in flames. His agonized screams echoed through the night as he became a blazing human torch. The others, stunned and terrified by the horrific sight, stumbled back in fear and scattered, abandoning the pursuit.

The massive recoil jolted Ye Jingsheng backward, nearly causing him to lose control of the car. Just as the Lamborghini veered toward a wall, he lunged forward, gripping the steering wheel with all his strength. The tires screeched sharply as the car narrowly avoided collision, scraping against the wall before regaining stability.

He let out a long exhale, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly as the car sped into the night, swallowed by the darkness.

It was only after the chaos had faded and the pursuit was far behind that the pain in his leg surged with severe force. Ye Jingsheng tore at the blood-soaked fabric of his pants, his movements sharp and frantic. The wound was a mess of torn flesh, with raw edges glistening under the dim light. The bullet was buried deep, and the sight alone made it clear how severe the injury was. If he didn’t act quickly, it could cost him his life.

Who could have been so ruthless? Who wanted him dead?

Fang Yang? His brows knitted tightly as he spat on the ground, his voice dripping with venom as he muttered a curse under his breath.