Chapter 24: Silencing the Witness

In the blink of an eye, Yang Rui made his decision!

"Go!" he let out a beast-like roar—not born of fear, but of the ferocity of a desperate fight for survival. The agonizing tearing pain in his back was utterly suppressed by his instinct to live. He didn't just let go of Su Jin’s wrist; he grabbed her arm with a fierce, iron-like grip. Using every ounce of his remaining strength and explosive power, he lunged desperately toward the area to the side of the motorcycle’s path—heading toward the kitchen exit.

Simultaneously, he used the heavy, broken table leg in his hand like a javelin, hurling it with all his might toward the front wheel of the incoming motorcycle. It wasn't intended to strike, but to disrupt—even a slight deflection could make all the difference!

"BOOM—!!!"

The motorcycle’s violent front end smashed into the massive hole in the glass that had already been shattered by the sledgehammer. The fragile aluminum window frame twisted and deformed like paper, emitting a teeth-grinding metallic groan. More glass shards erupted into the shop like an explosion. The sheer force of the impact seemed to make the entire wall shudder.

Yang Rui and Su Jin dived out, missing the savage front of the bike by a hair's breadth. The scorching exhaust fumes nearly singed their skin. Both fell heavily onto the greasy, slippery floor, with Yang Rui throwing himself beneath Su Jin to cushion her fall. His back slammed hard against an overturned chair leg; the blinding pain sent him into darkness, nearly causing him to lose consciousness.

The motorcycle that had charged into the shop veered sharply as the table leg Yang Rui had flung in desperation struck the ground near the front wheel. Coupled with the massive impact of hitting the obstacle, the bike tilted violently and lost its balance!

"Screech—CRASH!!!"

A piercing sound of screeching metal and collision rang out! The out-of-control motorcycle, carrying immense momentum, skidded and flipped over several tables and chairs before finally slamming down into the chaotic wreckage. The rider—a figure also wearing a black helmet and tight leather gear—was thrown off by the massive force of the collision. Like a heavy sandbag, the rider hit the distant wall with a thud. The helmet struck the hard tiles with a dull crack, and then the figure slid limply to the floor, motionless.

The engine continued to idle weakly, with blue smoke rising from the exhaust. The shop fell into a strange, momentary deathly silence. There was only the sound of sirens approaching from the distance, now clearly audible, along with the stifled weeping and gasping of the survivors inside.

***

Yang Rui lay on the cold, greasy floor, gasping for air. Every inhalation felt like a knife twisting in his back. His vision was blurred, but he stared fixedly at the rider slumped by the wall—dead or alive, he could not tell—and the smoking motorcycle. *Success... for now... we survived.*

"Yang Rui! Yang Rui!" Su Jin’s tearful voice rang in his ears, trembling with the aftermath of their brush with death and endless terror. She struggled to climb up from him, ignoring her own disheveled state, her hands trembling as she touched his face and neck, checking his breathing and his wounds. "Are you alright? Don't scare me! Say something!"

Her hands were stained with grease and... the warm, seeping blood from his back.

Yang Rui struggled to focus his gaze. He saw Su Jin’s face, streaked with tears and grime. Those eyes, usually so calm and rational, were now filled with a panic and fear he had never seen before. He wanted to force a reassuring smile, but it only pulled at the wound on his lip.

"Still... not dead yet..." he managed to choke out, his voice as raspy as a broken reed. "Though... this hot pot... was... damn expensive..."

Before he could finish, the sharp sound of sirens finally echoed outside like a heavenly chorus. The red and blue lights of the police cars pierced through the shattered glass windows, flashing wildly across the shop, which was still thick with cooking fumes, the stench of blood, and chaos.

The cold scent of disinfectant aggressively overpowered the lingering aroma of beef tallow from the hot pot and the faint metallic tang of blood. Under the harsh, sterile lights of the emergency room, Yang Rui lay face down on a narrow examination bed. Cold sweat clung to his temples, matting his hair against his skin. Every breath felt like it was tugging at the ravaged flesh on his back, a searing, fiery agony mixed with a dull, tearing ache that came in relentless waves.

The doctor’s gloved fingers pressed against the edges of the wound with professional, detached precision, causing Yang Rui’s muscles to tense instantly; he clenched his teeth to keep from crying out. He could feel warm liquid still slowly seeping out, soaking the gauze beneath him.

"Severe soft tissue contusion, large-area superficial second-degree burns, and here," the doctor pointed to a spot on his lower back near the spine, his tone grave. "The previous hairline fracture has shifted slightly, putting pressure on the nerve root. You must be hospitalized for observation and stay in bed, absolutely no movement! If you move around, the permanent damage will be the least of your worries." The doctor’s voice grew stern, his eyes sweeping over Yang Rui’s sweat-drenched face and clenched fists.

"Did you hear that, Yang Rui?" Su Jin’s voice rang out from the side, carrying a note of suppressed sobbing and unyielding severity. She had remained by the examination bed, her beige trench coat stained with oil and dust. There were thin, bloody scratches on her cheek from glass shards, and her hair was disheveled, but her eyes were razor-sharp, fixed on the doctor’s hands and then shifting to Yang Rui’s pale, sweat-slicked profile. Her fingers were unconsciously twisting the hem of her coat, her knuckles white from the strain.

***

"I heard, I heard..." Yang Rui squeezed out the words through his teeth, his voice weak and raspy. He turned his face slightly, wanting to give Su Jin a reassuring look, but the movement pulled at his neck muscles, causing another spasm of pain that made him wince.

Just then, the emergency room door was pushed open. Two uniformed police officers entered. Leading them was a man around forty, with a resolute face and eyes as sharp as a hawk’s; the rank on his shoulder straps indicated a high position. He was followed by a younger officer holding a record book. Both men carried the scent of the road and the chill of the outside air.

"Comrade Yang Rui? Professor Su Jin?" The lead officer flashed his badge, his voice steady and powerful. "I am Zhao Zhigang, Captain of the Municipal Criminal Investigation Division. I am in charge of the case regarding the attack on you."

Yang Rui tried to prop himself up, but both Su Jin and the doctor held him down. "Talk while lying down!" Su Jin’s tone allowed for no objection.

Zhao Zhigang nodded, his gaze sweeping quickly over the gruesome wounds on Yang Rui’s back and the burns the doctor was treating. A flicker of a frown crossed his face. He pulled up a chair and sat down, getting straight to the point. "The preliminary scene investigation is complete. The situation is dire. Sledgehammer to the window, motorcycle ramming—it was a calculated attempt to kill. That rider," he paused, "died on the spot. Skull shattered, neck broken. The medical examiner’s preliminary judgment is that it was caused by the impact."

Yang Rui and Su Jin’s hearts sank simultaneously. Even though the man had come to kill them, the ending of a human life still felt cold and heavy.

"The cause of death is clear, but he is a 'clean' slate," Zhao Zhigang continued, his tone one of professional, detached analysis. "No identification. The motorcycle is a black-market assembly, with the engine and frame numbers ground off. The phone is the cheapest kind of disposable 'senior phone'; it only has one outgoing message record, and the recipient number is a virtual line that cannot be traced to a source. The message reads: 'Old Stove, third table by the window, strike.'"

A classic professional hit. Clean, efficient, leaving no trail behind.