Lighting firecrackers? Out of your mind?

Looking down at his father lying on the hospital bed, whose exhalations were visibly weaker than his inhalations, Zhang Qiqi felt teardrops the size of beans well up in the corners of her eyes once again. They gently slipped down her cheeks, silent yet laden with profound grief.

Lin Yang, who watched all of this unfold from the side, said nothing. He knew that certain truths had to be faced gradually; forcing the issue prematurely would only subject the fragile-hearted girl before him to an even greater blow.

After a few minutes baptized by tears, Zhang Qiqi, somewhat exhausted from crying, wiped away her tears. Looking up at Lin Yang, she said in a deep, resolute voice, "No need to discuss it further. Do whatever you think is right! I'm just afraid my mother will be hurt."

Zhang Qiqi was intelligent enough to know that bringing such a request up to her mother would be more painful than death itself. She preferred to shoulder everything on her own. With these words, she turned her gaze toward her mother, who was fast asleep on the sofa, her eyes growing even more determined. She had grown up; she knew she had to learn how to bear the weight.

"Very well. Even if it brings Aunt Qin pain when she wakes up, it is still better than having to make such a difficult choice later," Lin Yang said, casting a glance at Xu Qin and nodding.

The villa was spacious and well-equipped. Furthermore, as a physician, Lin Yang found everything he needed: alcohol, iodine, scalpels, bandages, and various surgical instruments were all present without a single omission.

Zhang Zifeng's physical condition was extremely poor. Fearing that Xu Qin might suddenly wake up midway through the procedure, Lin Yang quietly administered a sedative to her to ensure the surgery could be carried out smoothly.

Soon, the surgical preparations were complete. Looking at the heap of instruments in front of Lin Yang, Zhang Qiqi still felt a pang of reluctance in her heart. By now, she was fully aware of what was about to happen, especially since Lin Yang had warned her of the definite dangers her father's physical state entailed. As a daughter, she naturally refused to leave the bedroom simply out of fear of the horrifying sights ahead.

Lin Yang administered an anesthetic to Zhang Zifeng. To be on the safe side, he also specifically set up an intravenous drip containing glucose and other nutritional elements to sustain the patient's bodily functions. In addition, he exerted himself to the utmost to find a matching type-B blood supply for safety.

With his surgical actions precise and ready, Lin Yang raised the gleaming, sterilized specialized amputation saw. After all, the hardness of a thigh bone could not be severed by an ordinary scalpel.

When the blade entered the flesh, Lin Yang felt almost nothing. Given Zhang Zifeng's current condition, which could be described as the absolute worst—reduced to skin and bones with barely a shred of living tissue left—even the blade entering the flesh drew very little blood. He could hardly be described as anything other than a living mummy.

Oh! Seeing that bloody scene, even though the beautiful Zhang Qiqi had mentally prepared herself in advance, her stomach still churned violently. A strong wave of nausea assaulted her mind, forcing her to rush quickly to the bathroom to expel the turbulent contents of her stomach.

Holding the scalpel and performing his duty conscientiously, Lin Yang looked at Zhang Qiqi's condition, could not help but shake his head with a sigh, and muttered to himself: Why bother? He had told her from the beginning not to force herself to stay by his side, yet she had stubbornly refused to leave. And now look—she had suffered for it!

Even so, he still admired her stubbornness. In this day and age, girls with such tenacity were truly rare.

To Lin Yang's surprise, after finishing vomiting, Zhang Qiqi stubbornly chose to return and keep watch by her father's bedside, ready to handle any unexpected emergencies.

Before performing the operation, Lin Yang had intentionally brought in two bodyguards from the villa to assist him, knowing he could not manage alone.

Things proceeded relatively smoothly. Zhang Zifeng's right thigh, directly damaged by the HSV virus, was successfully amputated. However, when Lin Yang saw the pitch-black, ink-like toxins at the severed stump, he was still startled.

It must be said that Lin Yang had a remarkably calm disposition. After just a few breaths, he regained his composure. With the amputation successful, the next step was to use inner Qi to force out the toxins—a slow, time-consuming, and exceptionally exhausting process, especially for Lin Yang, who was about to expend a massive amount of inner Qi.

Watching the ink-black drops of venom trickle down from the amputation stump into the iron basin placed on the floor beforehand, the expressions of the onlookers inevitably turned grim.

Such potent and deadly poison had not instantly claimed the victim's life; instead, it endlessly ravaged his body. This dual torment of body and mind was a ruthlessly cruel punishment for an enemy, revealing just how deranged those depraved, conscience-free wretches from the island nation truly were.

While Lin Yang was locked in a protracted battle with the stubborn virus, Meng Hu and Su Xiaodong's operation officially commenced.

Thud. A low, muffled explosion echoed out. Atop the sewer, the iron-bar-welded manhole grating was blown high into the air by the blast.

Because they were deep within the sewer, muffled by the flowing water, the explosion—though loud—did not cause much commotion for people on the surface, who simply assumed someone was letting off firecrackers to celebrate without reason.

Meng Hu was indeed prudent. When Wild Wolf had suggested using a compressed bomb, Meng Hu had prepared firecrackers in advance as a cover. After all, only by taking foolproof precautions could they strike with absolute success.

Seated in his lofty position and enjoying his power for quite some time, Fang Muren naturally treasured his own life dearly and exercised extreme caution in all matters. Thus, the loud explosion outside naturally startled this cowardly wretch.

"What's going on?" Fang Muren asked sharply, tidying the documents on his desk as he prepared to leave his office for the police station's private bedroom to sleep, shouting aggressively at the police officer on duty in the corridor.

Accompanied by the sound of rapid footsteps, a crisp knock on the door followed immediately. A young police officer walked in, saluted respectfully, and replied, "Nothing to worry about. Someone is just setting off firecrackers."

"Setting off firecrackers? In the middle of the night? Why would anyone set off firecrackers instead of sleeping?" Fang Muren muttered under his breath like a frightened little bird, his eyes darting restlessly. His eccentric, superstitious demeanor left the young officer completely baffled.

The officer standing at the doorway desperately wanted to retort: *How the hell should I know why some bastard is setting off firecrackers in the middle of the night instead of sleeping? What does this have to do with you, a bureau chief? It's not like they're burning, killing, or looting—why should you care? Got nothing better to do with your time?* Though he thought this way, he didn't dare voice it aloud. After all, the man was his direct superior!

"I have no idea. Probably some family celebrating a joyous occasion!" lacking the actual facts, the young officer could only resort to the most common excuse to brush him off.

Realizing it was indeed just his own paranoia, Fang Muren waved his hand to signal the young officer to leave. After organizing the documents on his desk, he pulled a handgun from a drawer, tucked it into the holster at his waist, covered it with his jacket, and finally stepped out of his office.

The reason he stayed at the police station instead of going home was simply because he knew he had offended quite a few people lately, and the police station was relatively safer. After all, the station came with plenty of free guards!

Meanwhile, for the five men who had burrowed through the underground sewer entrance into the first basement level, the real show was just beginning.

The first basement served as a garage. Perhaps due to absolute confidence in the police station's security, very few guards were on duty. For five men of Wild Wolf's caliber, dealing with unarmed security guards was as easy as picking up falling leaves.

Handling the six rookie-level guards in the underground garage still took the five men a full six minutes. This delay was entirely due to the omnipresent surveillance cameras. What troubled the five men most about the police station was not the prospect of a direct confrontation with Fang Muren, but the comprehensive surveillance system. After all, nobody wanted to draw unnecessary attention when eliminating a bureau chief; avoiding trouble afterward was paramount.

Job done. Once the guards were dealt with and they confirmed no one had slipped away, the five men cautiously pressed forward. Emerging from the underground garage, they chose to use the suspended ventilation ducts, knowing instinctively that surveillance cameras would not be found inside such spaces.

Safe, covert, and fatal—this was the strict order Meng Hu had given them. To be precise, their objective was to stage an accidental death for Fang Muren so that their true motives could be seamlessly concealed.

The ventilation duct was reasonably spacious, at least wide enough for a person to crawl through. Fortunately, none of the five men were overly bulky; otherwise, squeezing successfully into the duct would have been a real headache.

Just as Wild Wolf led the way further into the ventilation shaft, the earpiece nestled in his ear crackled to life with the voice of their leader, Meng Hu.

"Wild Wolf, what is your position right now? That scumbag Fang Muren is about to leave his office and head to his bedroom," Meng Hu asked in a deep voice, his gaze never leaving the night-vision binoculars in front of him, which were aimed directly at the police bureau chief's office.

Wild Wolf did not reply immediately. Instead, he pulled out a map, laid it before his eyes, and checked it against his flashlight beam to confirm his coordinates before answering, "We are currently inside the ventilation duct of the third-floor restroom."

"The third-floor restroom duct?" Meng Hu frowned, lowering his gaze to study a detailed architectural schematic of the police station layout spread across his desk. He muttered inwardly: *Why the hell are they hanging out in a restroom ventilation duct for no reason?*

Behind Wild Wolf, the four men could not help frowning when they heard his muttered report about the restroom duct. No wonder they had been hit by wave after wave of foul, stinky odors right under their noses—they were parked right above a restroom vent! Weren't they deliberately seeking out torture?

Fortunately, modern sanitation facilities were reasonably decent, or at least the five men avoided being knocked unconscious on the spot.

"You still have some time before reaching the fifth floor. Act according to circumstances and stay safe." Having updated Wild Wolf on Fang Muren's movements, Meng Hu resumed monitoring Fang Muren's trail through the night-vision binoculars he had acquired from unknown sources.

The bureau chief's office was on the fourth floor, while Fang Muren's living quarters were located in a room on the floor above, the fifth. It hadn't taken him long to return to his bedroom; he had chosen the fifth-floor room specifically for safety reasons. It made conducting business convenient, and in the event of an unexpected crisis, it allowed him to react and respond promptly.

Upon returning to his bedroom, Fang Muren furrowed his brow and cast his gaze anxiously around the room. Ever since the sound of that firecracker, he had felt a vague, encroaching sense of mortal peril—the first time in years he had experienced such panicky anxiety.

"What is going on? Could someone be plotting against me?" Fang Muren muttered to himself quietly as he sat on the sofa.