Moth Chasing the Sun 25

Yan Xianchuan stared at the round, apple-shaped bomb cradled in her arms, then blurted out, "Are you sure we're not going?" She wasn't ready to give up.

Around them, silence reigned—no wind, no insects. The standing lamp outside the church cast a soft glow, while a few drunks staggered through a nearby alley, bottles in hand. No one noticed a thing.

What a perfect night for a little mischief!

Yan Xianchuan itched to act, but Lu Mingqiu gently shook her head. "No."

"We still have to maintain a balance with the Church," she explained, her gaze distant. "It's not time to sever ties yet. Hold on a bit longer." There would come a day when Yan Xianchuan could cut loose, and when news from Moon City arrived, Lu Mingqiu had a feeling it would be the most valuable intel they'd ever received.

"Let's go." Lu Mingqiu tapped Yan Xianchuan's hand, signaling her to stow her weapon and pack up.

Yan Xianchuan let out a long sigh and trudged away, glancing back with every step. Lu Mingqiu suspected she was faking it, because the moment she offered a box of macarons as compensation, Yan Xianchuan immediately perked up.

The Resistance and the Church had reached a tacit agreement, but Azbeto remained in the dark. He went on dispatching troops to attack major cities according to plan.

Each legion of the Federation had its own garrison territory; not all forces could be redirected to suppress the insurgency. Despite the Federation's superior numbers and supplies, the insurgents were numerous—kill one every second, and it would still take over a month to wipe out a single legion.

The insurgents could drag things out; the Federation could too. But those gangsters couldn't.

Azbeto had sent operatives to infiltrate cities and assassinate them. Yet the garrison guards stationed there and the troops the Federation dispatched seemed less than eager to shield the civilians.

They concentrated more on ordinary citizens and noble families than on the thugs.

With death closing in—military presence but no real protection—these people quickly cracked under the pressure.

They raged, cursed online, vented their fear, even claimed the Federation and the insurgents were in league, out to get them. Fourth-class citizens had no rights, they said—they were no better than criminals, all of them murderers!

But those under the guards' protection saw it differently. Before the war, they'd lived well, yet their safety had never been guaranteed—and why? Because of these gangsters, these lawless desperadoes. Full stop. Most had blood on their hands. Dying now was just paying their dues. Why should the army waste resources on them?

They didn't deserve it.

Online, the two sides clashed endlessly, fiery and relentless. Confronted with death, emotions ran high, and reason all but vanished.

Why divert troops to protect scum? That would mean less attention on themselves. Why bother?

These trash contributed nothing—they were parasites, pests. Good riddance.

Normally, anyone who dared openly insult the gangs would have gotten a visit, but the gangs had their own problems now and no energy to spare.

Yet some fools didn't care at all. Shelley, a low-level employee at a telecom company, still had to work since the war hadn't reached her city. One evening, leaving the office, she felt a prickle of unease—a few men were trailing her.

Shelley tensed, her hand slipping into her handbag to grip the gun tucked there. She focused on the footsteps behind her, oblivious to the figure ahead who sidled up, grabbed her right arm, clamped a hand over her mouth, and yanked her into a narrow alley.

Her salary was modest, so she'd rented a place in a remote area, far from the main streets.

The moment she was dragged into the alley, tears stung Shelley's eyes. She regretted not splurging on a safer neighborhood. Vivid images of news headlines—bodies dismembered, organs sold—flashed through her mind. She thrashed wildly, her screams muffled, praying someone would hear.

A passerby peered into the alley but scurried off even faster.

Her heart sank.

The man hauled her deeper into the alley, where several others closed in, faces twisted. He shoved her away and spat, "Bitch, what's wrong? Lost your voice now? You were plenty loud a moment ago."

"What do you want?" Shelley's bag was ripped from her shoulder and tossed to the ground, its pale yellow cover stained with mud. Her heart pounded as she fought to stay calm.

The leader sneered. "What do I want? I came to see what the infamous 'Pineapple Bun Lover' looks like. You've been squealing for our kind to die, all high and mighty online. Now that I'm right in front of you, why don't you run your mouth?"

He slapped her. The force was like a car crash, sending Shelley slamming into the wall. Pain hit a moment later, sharp and delayed.

Her pale cheek instantly reddened and swelled, her teeth loose.

His words clicked. Pineapple Bun Lover—that was her online handle.

They'd come because of what she'd posted.

The thought snuffed out any intention to apologize or bribe her way out. Shelley straightened against the wall, hatred flaring in her eyes.

"What, did I say something wrong? You're scum, dregs—what's the point of you being alive? Have you ever done a single good thing in your miserable lives? All you do is push contraband, kill people, treat lives like they're nothing!"

"Does society need you? People live to create value. What value do you have? You're just a pack of cowards, bullying the weak, fearing the strong!"

"People with guts make something of themselves. You?" She let out a derisive snort. "You're nothing but lackeys for the corporations. Now that they're scrambling to save themselves and couldn't care less about you, even your masters don't want you. You're trash—good for nothing, not even as dogs. Deserving to die!"

"Bitch!" The man, stung to the core, lunged, grabbing Shelley by the hair. She was yanked backward, her scalp screaming, but her face stayed a mask of contempt.

"I'll make you shut up!" He was like an overinflated balloon, ready to pop. He viciously slammed her head against the wall.

After just two impacts, Shelley's forehead split open, blood streaming down her face. Instead of begging, she let out a broken laugh. "Is that all you know? Violence, brute force. You're nothing but pathetic, weak-minded thugs."

The other two, equally enraged, moved to kick her when gunshots rang out. All three collapsed, blood pooling beneath them.

Shelley, trembling, looked toward the alley entrance. A guard uniformed man lowered his smoking gun. Seeing the perpetrators dead, he holstered it and jogged over, steadying her. He assessed her injuries quickly. "I'll take you to the hospital."

Shelley was dizzy, definitely concussed. The narrow escape sparked a rush of emotion, and she clutched his hand, thanking him over and over. "Thank you, thank you!"

"Someone reported it. I was patrolling nearby," the guard said.

When Shelley reached the alley entrance, she spotted the passerby from before standing not far off—the one who'd run away. Tears blurred her vision and spilled down her cheeks.

Shelley's ordeal wasn't an isolated incident. Gang members, desperate with their lives on the line, weren't afraid to die. They were used to throwing weight around and couldn't stomach disrespect. After enjoying a life where everyone cowered before them, they couldn't accept being hunted like rats.

Shelley was lucky—she got out intact. Others weren't as fortunate; many suffered severe injuries, and several lost their lives.

As these incidents brewed, public outrage boiled over. Many demanded the Federation stop protecting these thugs, insisting they deserved death.

Amid this powder-keg atmosphere, Tan Yiyuan and his group approached the commander and volunteered for a mission to Dingyang City—to exact revenge on the Black Tiger Gang.

They had just returned to Gaoshan City after completing their transport duties and had rejoined the ranks.

That transport mission had been a goodwill gesture between the Church and Azbeto—revealing a hideout to build mutual trust. With the collaboration over, there was no need to keep hauling goods.

Azbeto had ordered his legions to disperse and infiltrate major cities, so the group's movements wouldn't raise suspicion.

All four had undergone rigorous background checks. The commander knew precisely why they'd volunteered, yet he still approved their request.

It was simple: given their history, they'd fight with everything they had, no command needed.

The Black Tiger Gang controlled Dingyang City. Take them down, and the remaining stragglers could be mopped up with ease.

Xu Zhen led the group again—the four of them alongside five thousand soldiers descended on Dingyang City. They had an overall commander and a deputy.

At first, the two officers viewed the four newcomers warily, fearing they'd cause trouble or disobey orders. But Xu Zhen made it clear: "We'll take any orders you give, no questions asked. But we have one request."

Her gaze was icy as she spoke slowly. "The operation to wipe out the Black Tiger Gang—we must be part of it. Qian Hu's life belongs to us."

It wasn't an unreasonable demand, and the commander agreed.

Dingyang City was bustling, with a constant flow of transients, especially lately. Five thousand soldiers were a drop in the ocean. Entering in smaller groups, they'd attract no attention.

Xu Zhen and her team knew the place like the back of their hands.

They knew just about everything there was to know about the Black Tiger Gang, saving the commander a lot of legwork.

For these four, killing Qian Hu had become the sole purpose of their existence. They knew his habits, his tastes, his every quirk.

Snow fell over Dingyang City, the wind howling. Xu Zhen allowed herself a faint smile as she turned her gaze toward the Splendid Nightless City, her eyes burning with resolve.

Qian Hu was going to die.