A sneaky, shifty-eyed thug hesitated, glancing sideways. “Brother Hu, those women look too well-fed and spotless to be just anyone. They’re making a scene too—bet they’ve got serious backing. Maybe we should wait and hear what Brother Long says?”

“Pfft. ‘Brother Long this, Brother Long that.’ What, you don’t think Brother Hu’s word is good enough?” Another thug jumped at the chance to stir the pot. He’d been annoyed by the shifty-eyed one for ages, the guy always flaunting his scraps of cleverness like they made him better than the rest.

Biao Hu, known as Tiger, was pure muscle and brutality—simple-minded but vicious, the kind who wouldn’t hesitate to leave a trail of bodies behind. Even before the apocalypse, he’d been neck-deep in blood. He ran with Long Zhan, aka Dragon, who had a sharp, scheming mind, always pulling the strings from the shadows. Dragon preferred Tiger to take the hits and charge ahead as cannon fodder. Tiger didn’t have the brains to notice the setup, but there was one thing he wouldn’t tolerate: anyone daring to suggest he wasn’t as good as Dragon.

The shifty-eyed thug barely had time to blink before Tiger sent a kick straight to his gut. It landed with a sickening thud, leaving him trembling and gasping for air. “You little rat. Wanna die? I’ll happily make it happen.”

The shifty-eyed thug clutched his stomach, shaking like a leaf, too terrified to fight back or even show a hint of defiance. “Brother Hu, my bad! I was wrong—please, let it slide, Brother Hu.”

But in his heart, he silently marked down the bootlicker who’d stirred the pot, promising himself payback when the time came.

Brother Hu was satisfied, basking in the inflated sense of superiority brought by shameless flattery.

“They’re about to make a move,” He Lian said quietly.

The small group didn’t react outwardly, continuing to eat and drink as if nothing had changed. Lan Shiru asked calmly, “Are there others around?”

“There are. Quite a few,” He Lian replied. “They’re all watching, waiting for a chance to stir the pot and pick up the scraps.”

Yun Shuiyao snorted. “They better not choke on it. Do they think my stuff is that easy to snatch?”

Miao Miao rolled her eyes. “Well, isn’t it because you’re flaunting your assets like some show-off old lady?”

Yun Shuiyao laughed. “Oh, this little girl’s got a sharp tongue. But she’s not wrong—when you’ve got it, might as well flaunt it.”

Lan Shiru massaged her temples, feeling a headache brewing. Were these two going to keep bickering about womanly assets forever? “He Lian, do you know how to use a crossbow?”

“I’ve used one once before, but I’m not very good at it,” He Lian admitted.

“As long as you’ve tried it, that’s enough for now,” Lan Shiru said. “You’ve got sharp hearing, so make good use of it. Practice your technique. Close combat isn’t your strength, but you can provide cover from a distance.”

“I can do that. I’ll train hard.” He Lian was self-aware—she knew she was a liability in close combat. She lacked the strength, the speed, and the ruthlessness to strike decisively. When it came to using a blade, her hesitation could cost lives.

“Good. Come with me to the car. You can get a feel for the crossbow with these fools later. Stay on the roof—if anyone nearby gets too bold, treat it as target practice.”

“Got it. I won’t let anyone down.”

Lan Shiru led He Lian to the vehicle and pulled out a crossbow along with a box of bolts. She showed He Lian how to string it and load the bolts, giving her time to get familiar with the weapon.

Meanwhile, the gang of thugs rolled in with a minivan. Ten of them piled inside, each armed with a steel pipe, exuding a cocky air of menace. The only thing keeping them in check was the hulking, intimidating figure of Jiang Xiang—a Tibetan mastiff they weren’t eager to provoke.

Lan Shiru’s lips curled into a cold smile. “Stay sharp. End this quickly. Let it be a warning to everyone.”

“Don’t worry—it’ll be a performance they’ll never forget.” After lying low for so long, it was time to show what they were really capable of.

To be fair, the past month or two had been nothing but ducking encounters and keeping a low profile, scraping by with fights against grotesque, brainless zombies. It was tedious and left no room for any sense of achievement.

“Sis, if I end up being too ruthless out there, you better not hold it against me,” Yun Shuiyao teased with a grin.

Lan Shiru shot her a sidelong glance. “As long as you don’t overhype yourself, I won’t.”

“No hype here! Just sit back and watch.”

“Jiang Xiang,” Lan Shiru called out, her tone firm. “You’re in charge of making sure no one gets away. Understand?”

“Woof, woof!” Jiang Xiang barked twice, a low rumble of confidence. No one’s getting away—not with the mastiff on guard.

The gang had already closed in, but the four women didn’t so much as flinch. Their lack of reaction didn’t just embolden the thugs; even the spectators on the sidelines began to itch for action. A big, juicy fish had landed right in their laps—ripe for the taking.

A big, juicy fish? They were all in for a bitter disappointment. Lan Shiru shot a quick glance at He Lian.

He Lian caught the cue instantly. She spun around, leapt onto the roof of the vehicle, and raised her crossbow without hesitation. No warnings, no words—just let the first bolt fly.

If others might wait for a disagreement to escalate into violence, this group didn’t bother with such formalities. They acted before a single word could be exchanged, catching everyone off guard. For a moment, the thugs and the spectators froze in stunned silence. But only for a moment—because then, all hell broke loose.

Jiang Xiang circled behind the thugs with terrifying speed, cutting off their escape route. Without hesitation, he lunged forward and sank his massive claws into one man’s chest. When he pulled back, the man’s still-beating heart came with it, the crimson organ pulsing faintly in the open air. The unfortunate thug dropped to the ground, his wide eyes filled with disbelief as death overtook him.

That single, gruesome move was enough to scare off more than a few opportunists lurking on the sidelines. Those hoping to fish in troubled waters quietly slinked back into the shadows.

Yun Shuiyao moved with a lethal grace, her nine-section whip snaking out to hook another thug and drag him toward her. She smiled sweetly, almost seductively, as she leaned in close. Then, with a flick of her wrist, a gleaming blade slid across his throat, severing his artery. Blood sprayed in a crimson arc as the man collapsed, dying slowly, his face twisted in terror.

For the onlookers, it was a chilling reminder: the prey wasn’t prey at all—it was a pack of predators, and this was their territory.

Miao Miao wasn’t exaggerating—she was downright savage. She wielded two iron balls, each with a hole drilled through and connected by a heavy iron chain. Together, they weighed over a hundred pounds, yet she swung them with a ferocity that made the air whistle. One swing sent an iron ball smashing into a thug’s skull, reducing it to a gory explosion of brain matter and flesh. It was brutal, merciless, and terrifyingly efficient.

Lan Shiru, on the other hand, was far more straightforward—at least by comparison. She held a knife, her movements clean and precise. With a swift slash, she severed a neck in one fluid motion. Each strike took a head clean off, as effortlessly as slicing through ripe fruit. No flair, no hesitation—just cold, deadly efficiency.

He Lian’s aim was all over the place—she had no idea where her bolts were landing. Thankfully, she wasn’t a complete liability and didn’t accidentally hit her teammates.

When someone tried to sneak off and steal the car, He Lian’s sharp ears caught the sound. She spun around and loosed an arrow. This time, her aim was spot-on, the bolt piercing straight through the would-be thief’s eye.

The man dropped to the ground, writhing in agony, but no one paid him any attention. Survival came first, and the others were too busy fleeing for their lives. What the hell? These aren’t just four women—they’re four walking harbingers of death.

He Lian smirked, feeling a sense of progress. Scanning the scattering cowards, she quickly shifted her focus back to the thugs.

In the blink of an eye, five or six of the once-menacing gang had already been taken down before they could even make a proper move. Among the survivors, Biao Hu was now sporting an arrow in his arm. The pain ignited a murderous rage in him, fueling the beast within. With a thunderous roar, he brandished his steel pipe and charged forward, his fury burning bright as he vowed to tear the four women and their mastiff to pieces.

Lan Shiru narrowed her eyes. So, he’s a strength-enhanced ability too. “Miao Miao, you’re up.”

“Yes, sis.” Miao Miao’s fighting spirit ignited. She’d never had a chance to test the limits of her strength and was eager to see just how much power she truly had.

As Biao Hu swung his steel pipe at her, Miao Miao hurled one of her iron balls straight at it. The impact was deafening, the sound so loud it made everyone’s ears ring. For He Lian, whose hearing was exceptionally sharp, it was pure torture. The high-decibel blast felt like it was going to rupture her eardrums. So much for the perks of superhuman abilities—they came with their fair share of drawbacks.

The steel pipe bent under the force of the collision, completely warped. The iron ball swung back into Miao Miao’s hand as she smirked. “Not so tough after all.”

Biao Hu’s face twisted with rage. “Bitch!” he roared, dropping the bent pipe and charging at her barehanded, his fury fueling his every step.

Miao Miao sensed the aura of a skilled opponent and grew serious. She swiftly flung one of her iron balls, colliding directly with Biao Hu’s iron-like fist. The clash echoed with a resounding bang, but Biao Hu didn’t flinch—not even a trace of pain crossed his face as he pressed forward without hesitation.

Frowning, Miao Miao weighed her own limits against his. Could she endure that kind of impact without reacting? The answer was obvious—she couldn’t. It was a stark reminder of the physical advantage men had over women, a biological gap she couldn’t ignore. But the stubborn fire of defiance burned within her. So what if he was stronger? Women weren’t weaker than men—just different. And strong or not, he’d still die all the same.

With renewed determination, she swung her iron balls with relentless force, so fast they blurred into afterimages. Let’s see if this over-muscled brute really was an unbreakable wall of steel.

Meanwhile, Yun Shuiyao had her own challenge—a speed-enhanced ability. Her nine-section whip, as agile and unpredictable as a swimming dragon, lashed out repeatedly, but her opponent dodged every strike with ease. Furious, Yun Shuiyao gritted her teeth, the frustration visible in the way her “assets” bounced with every failed attempt. She was seething.

=^_^=