Era of Magic and Martial Arts-Chapter 377 - 361: What Is True Art?

The convoy sped along the highway.

Inside the car, Gong Qi leaned against the leather seat, his eyes burning as he stared at Feng Mu, as if anticipating something.

Feng Mu smiled faintly and slowly pulled a document from his pocket—the Zone 9 Patrol Office Forensic Pathology Report sdecs-458.

The paper was fresh, still carrying the scent of ink, and was a photocopy of the autopsy report.

The photocopy was obtained from Chang Erbing, as the original was snatched by Feng Ju. However, it was archived in the Patrol Office’s computer system, so such a minor matter did not require Chang Erbing to report upward. He casually printed it for him from a computer.

Gong Qi took the document, flipped through the report, and quickly scanned each line, his pupils dilating as he delved into the content.

Every detail in the autopsy report was disturbingly clear—punctured wounds in the lungs, traces of burning, the impact points of falling...

These detailed words, professional and meticulous, vividly reenacted the murder scene. Each word seemed to perfectly stick to Gong Qi’s XP.

Previously, during activities organized by the martial arts school, it was usually Liu Xie, the second senior sister, who planned the specific actions. He always felt those plans lacked a certain flavor, but he couldn’t pinpoint exactly what was missing.

Now, he suddenly realized what the plans lacked was this meticulous attention to detail and precision in controlling every aspect of the murder, exactly what was highlighted in this report.

The autopsy report was art!

"This is..." Gong Qi’s voice was somewhat tight, as if something invisible was clutching his throat.

Feng Mu leaned back in the seat, his gaze directed through the car window into the distance, his tone casual:

"I had a phone call with Junior Sister Hong Ya before, this was a promised reward for her."

He paused, turned to look at Gong Qi, his smile deepening:

"I’ll be staying at the Second Prison for a while and won’t return to the martial arts hall at night. Trouble the senior brother to pass this gift to Junior Sister."

Gong Qi’s fingers unconsciously rubbed the edge of the paper, his breathing gradually becoming hurried.

His gaze lingered on the report for a moment, then he looked up at Feng Mu, a certain uncontainable excitement flashing in his eyes:

"Junior brother intends to..."

Feng Mu didn’t answer directly. Instead, he leaned slightly, whispered a few explanations into Gong Qi’s ear.

Feng Mu’s voice was calm, but to Gong Qi, every word uttered by the junior brother carried an enchanting power.

Gong Qi’s breathing became heavy, his fingers unconsciously gripping the report tightly.

"I see..."

Gong Qi took a deep breath, trying to calm his excitement, his gaze refocusing on Feng Mu’s face, his expression becoming exceedingly serious:

"Rest assured, junior brother, I will deliver this gift to Hong Ya on time."

Chen Yang walked out of the Patrol Office’s main gate, the night wind bringing a moist scent to his face.

He stood on the steps, looking up slightly, taking a deep breath as if wanting to inhale all this free air into his lungs.

He had thought he would be detained for a long time, even prepared for the worst, but unexpectedly, the interrogation was abruptly halted, and he was released.

The night was deep, with nearly no pedestrians on the street, only a few dim street lamps swaying in the wind, casting mottled light and shadows.

Chen Yang’s steps were somewhat unsteady, as if walking on cotton, his whole being immersed in an unreal feeling.

He rummaged through his pocket, drew out a cigarette box, lit one, and took a deep inhale. The smoke slowly dispersed into the night, like some formless pressure temporarily released.

He walked to the roadside, raised his bandage-wrapped hand, hailed a taxi, and gave his home’s address.

The car sped down the deserted street, the scenery outside the window swiftly receding, Chen Yang’s gaze somewhat unfocused, his mind chaotic.

"Despicable and shameless, framed and falsely accused, the Patrol Office is too corrupt, damn it, they’re all damned." Chen Yang mumbled incessantly under his breath.

The car stopped below his apartment building, Chen Yang paid, got out, and entered the hallway.

The hallway light was broken, pitch black, with only a little light seeping in from outside the window, barely illuminating the steps beneath his feet.

He reached his apartment door, fished out a key, inserted it into the lock, turned it gently, and the door opened.

The room was pitch black, permeated with a faint strange odor, like some kind of chemical scent.

Chen Yang wrinkled his brow, reached for the wall switch.

Suddenly, his movement halted.

In the darkness, he sensed a chilling presence creeping from behind, like some cold-blooded creature drawing near.

His heartbeat suddenly quickened, his fingers trembling slightly, yet he still pressed the switch.

The light came on.

The room was empty, but the chilling presence remained, as if lingering right behind him.

"Who’s there?" he asked hoarsely.

No one answered.

Chen Yang quickly turned around, but there was nothing there.

His back was soaked with cold sweat, his bandaged hand clenched tightly, blood oozing from the layers.

The room was eerily quiet, only his breathing reverberating in the air.

"No one around, am I just too stressed today?"

Chen Yang took a deep breath, forced himself to calm down, then turned and walked towards the living room.

However, as he took his first step, a sharp pain suddenly struck from behind, like some pointed object piercing into his body.

His pupils constricted sharply, a dull groan emanating from his throat, freezing him in place.

He looked down to see a sharp blade protruding from his chest, smeared with blood, drops falling onto the floor with a "drip" sound.

His lung was punctured, breathing became extremely difficult, every inhale accompanied by intense pain, like a fire burning inside his chest.

"Who... are you..." he struggled to ask, his voice squeezed out from deep within his throat, trembling with despair.

No one answered.

He felt the blade slowly turning inside him, as if playing some cruel game, torturing his nerves.

Suddenly, a stream of icy liquid poured over his head, flowing over his hair, face, neck, covering his entire body.

It was oil.

The strong gasoline smell filled his nostrils, almost suffocating him.

His pupils constricted sharply, his heart pounding furiously, as if trying to leap out of his chest.

"No... don’t..." he begged, his voice laced with desperate pleading.

However, his plea met only with a hissing laugh, like a serpent flicking its tongue.

"Snap—"

The sound of a lighter flicking echoed in the darkness, followed by a small flame dancing before his eyes.

Through the flame, Chen Yang saw a pair of serpentine eyes, coldly watching him, filled with a sadistic pleasure.

"Feng Mu asked me to tell you he really liked your gift, and hopes you enjoy this return gift."

The insidious voice whispered in his ear, carrying a morbid satisfaction.

The next moment, the lighter spun down towards his body.