Chapter 30: Enemies Collide on a Narrow Path
If Wu Yifan's driving had been impressive before, his current feat—steering with one hand while clutching a cigarette—bordered on the supernatural. The speedometer needle quivered at 180 km/h, inching toward 200, a velocity that turned the wind into a slashing, howling beast. Each gust felt like a blade against their cheeks, leaving raw, stinging trails.
Song Mingjie watched, his knuckles white as they clamped the door handle. He'd fantasized about death-defying stunts before—after all, owning a sports car came with a certain flair for drama—but this? This was suicide. He half-tempted to fling open the door and leap, but at this speed, even that would mean a messy, bone-shattering end. His throat bobbed, bile burning the back of his tongue.
*Is he…* Song gaped. *Is he crossing his legs?*
*Dear God, he's winking at Fu Junyao in the rearview mirror?!*
*No, no, no—he's blowing her a kiss with the hand on the wheel?!*
Song's entire body convulsed—a primal, terrified shudder that rattled his teeth. He wanted to scream, but his voice was trapped, a stone in his throat. He wanted to grab Wu's arm, to *beg* him to slow down, but his limbs felt weighted with cement.
This man was a *lunatic*.
Song had always prided himself on being "wild"—racing through downtown, ignoring traffic lights, relishing the stares of onlookers. But next to Wu? He was a kindergartener, coloring inside the lines, sharing his snacks. He silently vowed: never again. No more sports cars. No more chases.
Behind them, Fu Junyao's knuckles whitened on the Ferrari's steering wheel. Who *was* this guy? His reflexes were inhuman—how else could he weave through Beitian's chaotic streets like a bullet, avoiding pedestrians and stray cats alike? She'd trained for years, her driving skills sharpened by high-speed pursuits and late-night patrols. In Beitian, few could match her. But Wu? He was vanishing, his taillights shrinking into the distance like a mocking star.
Rage flared, hot and bright. How dare he make her look incompetent? How dare he laugh?
She jammed her foot down, the Ferrari roaring in protest. The engine screamed, tires screeching as she took a corner at a suicidal angle, but when she straightened, Wu was gone—vanished into a warren of narrow alleys, too tight for her low-slung sports car.
"Dammit!" she snarled, slamming a fist against the dashboard.
Wu pulled over an hour later, parking behind a row of dilapidated warehouses. He cut the engine, grinning at Song, who looked like he'd just survived a tornado. "Looks like we lost her."
Song lurched out of the car, doubling over to retch. His breakfast, his lunch, even last night's late-night noodles—all splattered onto the pavement, a grotesque testament to his suffering. "Th-thank you," he gasped between heaves. "I think I'm gonna die."
"You wanted to test my skills, remember?" Wu said, lighting another cigarette. He leaned against the car, watching Song with amusement. "Where's the spot? The one you mentioned? For the… *martial arts* demonstration?"
Song's head shot up, panic flashing in his eyes. "N-no. Rain check. I'm… I'm not feeling well." He waved a hand weakly, as if shooing away a fly. "Another time. Definitely another time."
He'd seen enough. If Wu Yifan wasn't the legendary "Running Emperor" with an unbreakable 金刚罩铁布衫 (vajra armor—a mythical invulnerable state in Chinese folklore), he was certifiably suicidal. Either way, Song wanted no part of it.
"Fine," Wu said, feigning disappointment. He shrugged, blowing a smoke ring into the air. "I was gonna show you 中华武功 (Chinese martial arts) at its finest. The real deal. But… I get it. I'm retired, anyway. Just leave me be, yeah?"
"Absolutely!" Song agreed, scrambling back into the driver's seat. His hands shook as he inserted the key. "Whatever you say, Brother Wu! Anything you need—just ask!"
By the time Song dropped Wu off at Infinity KTV, he could barely stand. Wu sauntered inside, whistling off-key, only to freeze at the sight of Ye Xiwen in his security booth—*and* a woman in a crisp police uniform beside her.
Fu Junyao.
"Wu Yifan," Ye said, her voice cold as ice. "We need to talk."
Wu's smile evaporated. "Chief Fu? What a… pleasant surprise. I was just heading out—off to the mahjong parlor across the street. Didn't mean to interrupt."
Fu stood, crossing her arms. Her gaze was a laser, slicing through his act. "Pleasant? I'd call it 冤家路窄 (yuanjia lu zhai—enemies meeting on a narrow road). You drive fast. Real fast. Bet you think that makes you untouchable?"
Wu's throat went dry. She recognized him. Of course she did.
Ye's eyes narrowed, darting between them. "You two know each other?"
"Briefly," Fu said, never taking her eyes off Wu. "We crossed paths. At 180 km/h."
Ye's mouth dropped open. "You—you led the police on a chase? Are you trying to get us shut down?!"
"It was a misunderstanding!" Wu protested. "Song—"
"Save it." Ye grabbed a stapler from his desk, hurling it at his head. He ducked, and it slammed into the wall, leaving a dent. "You're a security guard, not a 亡命之徒 (wangming zhi tu—daredevil). Get your act together, or you're fired."
Wu held up his hands, surrendering. "Okay, okay! I'll behave. For now."
Fu stepped forward, her tone sharp. "See that you do. And Wu? Next time I see you behind a wheel? It won't be a warning shot."
She nodded to Ye, then marched out, her boots clicking against the floor.
Silence hung heavy in the booth.
Ye turned to Wu, her glare withering. "Explain. Now."
Wu sighed, sinking into his chair. "It's a long story."
"I've got time."
He ran a hand through his hair, knowing he'd have to spill at least part of the truth. "Let's just say… I made an enemy of Beitian's most stubborn cop."
Ye scoffed, but there was a flicker of something else in her eyes—concern? "You're a walking disaster, you know that?"
Wu grinned, the tension easing. "But I'm *your* walking disaster. For now, anyway."
Ye rolled her eyes, but she didn't argue.
As she left, Wu leaned back, staring at the ceiling. Enemies on all sides—Fu Junyao, the gangsters after Mu Xiaoyao, even Song Mingjie's lingering curiosity.
*Yuanjia lu zhai*, indeed.
He just hoped he'd survive the next collision.