At the stroke of noon, beneath the blaze of sunlight, the usually serene entrance of the museum had become the stage for a real-life standoff between law and crime.
Yet, against all expectations, the one who stole the spotlight was not the armed assailant nor the poised police force—but the hostage, who, by all logic, ought to have been weeping in fear.
Before a stunned audience of hundreds, Chen Mo launched into an impassioned five-minute speech, seamlessly transitioning from counterfeit goods to regulations on business penalties, and thence to the lofty ideals of socialist civic virtue...
He resembled less a captive and more a delegate at the National People's Congress.
"Shut up!" the flustered criminal barked, dizzy from Chen Mo's unrelenting tirade, his grip on the gun loosening precariously.
At that very moment, a strange numbness crept through the gunman's arm—then, as if guided by unseen hands, the pistol slipped from his grasp.
Even more astonishing was what followed: the gun bounced once mid-air, then, like a magic trick, landed neatly in Chen Mo's palm—just as he was waxing lyrical on the virtues of integrity in commerce.
"Thus, trustworthiness has become the most essential cornerstone of our society…" Chen Mo gestured fervently, eyes ablaze with passion. "Eh? What's this?"
A hush fell over the crowd. All eyes widened in disbelief as they fixated on the pistol in Chen Mo's hand.
Several officers moved to draw their weapons, but the criminal reacted with shocking speed, darting behind Chen Mo and grabbing at the gun.
In that bizarre instant, the situation twisted into something wholly surreal—the gun now gripped by both men, its barrel wavering at an awkward angle that rendered it ineffective.
Dozens of armed officers exchanged glances, sensing an opportunity yet paralyzed by uncertainty. A single errant shot could ignite chaos. And who knew what other weapons the criminal concealed?
Even the most comprehensive special forces manuals offered no precedent for such an absurd predicament.
Under the bewildered gaze of the crowd, the two men began a grim tug-of-war, the poor firearm groaning as if about to shatter.
After several fruitless attempts to wrest it free, the assailant drew a dagger, snarling like a cornered beast: "You bastard! Let go, or I'll gut you!"
"Er… technically, you threw the gun at me," Chen Mo blinked innocently, not loosening his grip in the slightest. "How about we settle this with a good old game of rock-paper-scissors? Best of three?"
The crowd collectively turned to stone. Hundreds of onlookers gawked at Chen Mo, whose nerves, it seemed, were made of steel.
The criminal froze, then, with a curse, lunged forward with his blade—only for a soft click to interrupt the charge.
The gun in their hands disintegrated with a whisper, its parts clattering to the ground. A few bullets rolled quietly across the floor, their gentle sounds ringing sharp in the stunned silence.
Letting out a long, theatrical sigh, Chen Mo shook his head in heartfelt lament. "See? I told you. Counterfeit products are flooding the market these days."
Somehow, even the dumbfounded criminal found himself nodding in agreement.
Before the moment could fully register, a swarm of officers surged forward, sharpshooters shouting: "Don't move! Drop your weapon!"
But the cornered criminal, already beyond reason, roared and lunged, his blade arcing toward Chen Mo like lightning.
A cry erupted from the crowd. Ye Rong squeezed her eyes shut, unable to witness the oncoming horror.
But the expected scream of pain never came.
Instead, a collective gasp filled the air, followed by a heavy thud.
Trembling, Ye Rong opened her eyes—and froze.
At the foot of Chen Mo's wheelchair, the assailant now knelt, dagger fallen from his limp hand. He was doubled over, clutching his groin, tears streaming down his face.
Chen Mo's left leg—encased in plaster—rested exactly where the man's agony had begun.
"Oops, forgot to mention—my leg's all better," Chen Mo said cheerily, peering down at the contorted face. "You thought someone in a wheelchair couldn't strike back? Let me guess—you've never read The Four Great Constables. One of them, Wu Qing…"
"You son of a—!" the bloodshot criminal suddenly grabbed at the fuse on his belt. "If I'm going down, I'm taking you with me!"
But before he could act, a slender hand, cold as iron, clamped down on his wrist.
Agony lanced through his arm. He looked up—and found himself staring into Mu Yun's chilling eyes.
In those empty pupils, a faint white flame burned. Her voice, ghostly yet resolute, slid into his mind: "You won't do this. You're exhausted. So, so tired…"
A long pause.
Then the furious tiger turned into a hollow shell. The man slumped, muttering, "I'm tired…" as the officers tackled him to the ground like a human avalanche.
Chen Mo blinked and glanced toward Mu Yun, thoughtful. Despite the chaos, he had heard it...
"Mo Mo!" cried Ye Rong, her voice quivering with joy.
Before he could respond, she had thrown herself into his arms, a waft of fragrance clinging to her embrace.
Surrounded by hundreds of wide-eyed onlookers, Chen Mo cleared his throat. "Well, since her bank account PIN is with me, it's understandable she's emotional…"
"Shut it!" she sniffled, then stomped on his foot.
After dabbing away her tears, she blushed faintly. "Wait a minute... something doesn't add up. Mo Mo, why is your leg suddenly working again?"
She blinked, mind racing through recent memories—how he'd lounged in his wheelchair for days, ordering her around with impunity.
And now, with that powerful kick… his legs looked fully healed. As if he could run hurdles on command.
A moment later, her gaze turned deadly. Her inner fury ignited like a blazing star.
Chen Mo gave a sheepish shrug. "Well… since you've been trying to lose weight lately, I figured I'd help you get some exercise. You're welcome!"
Shameless. Absolutely shameless.
Dozens of officers exchanged glances and finally understood why the criminal had lost. The captain was already considering inviting Chen Mo to be a negotiation consultant.
In the midst of chuckles and shaking heads, none noticed Mu Yun quietly turning away, her breath ragged, gaze fixed toward the southeast.
"Hm? Did that policewoman spot us?" Elsewhere, atop a distant building, a blond foreigner lowered his binoculars.
His bodyguards traded uncertain looks.
"Mr. Thomas, should we evacuate?"
"No rush," Thomas replied thoughtfully. "Might be just my imagination. Send 300,000 yuan to Li Ping's family as relocation compensation. Also—have you timed the police response?"
"Yes, sir," one bodyguard said, handing over a stopwatch. "From the moment Li Ping fled the bank, it took them just two minutes and forty seconds to encircle the museum."
"That fast?" Thomas stroked his beard in contemplation.
After a pause, he murmured, "In that case… we may need to revise our plan to rob the museum."
Caressing his binoculars, the antique dealer lapsed into a long silence.
Only when his companions grew restless did he smile slyly. "I see now. We'll need to create a diversion—scatter the police. Once their forces are thinned..."
He leaned in, whispering a few orders. The bodyguard stiffened, then nodded briskly and departed.
Thomas chuckled and waved lazily. "That's the idea. I want to see the South District plunged into chaos. So chaotic the police are too busy chasing fires to notice anything else."
"Yes, sir!" The guards saluted and disappeared.
Thomas, relaxed and at ease, resumed scanning the museum. "Strange… that kid in the wheelchair looks familiar. Where have I seen him before?"
He couldn't have known, of course, that the helmet-wearing Chen Mo—who'd once foiled his jade heist—was now back in plain sight.
Still, something about the boy's silhouette gnawed at his mind.
Then a ringtone pierced the air, pulling him from his thoughts.
"Boss, I've arrived at the museum."
At the sound of that chilling voice, Thomas straightened at once, like a soldier before his general.
"Yes, it's exactly as described… strange. But rest assured, I'll find the shattered jade—and every ancient relic you desire."