First, its paws twitched slightly. Then its eyes snapped open. They were no longer the usual clear black eyes, but instead ignited with two tiny flames, the crimson light flickering at the pupils, making anyone who saw them shiver.
“Woof—”
Mo Yang let out a short, low growl. Before Cheng Lin and Zhou Yu could react, its mouth suddenly opened, and a fist-sized fireball shot out with a “whoosh”!
The fireball moved at an incredible speed, radiating intense heat, heading straight for the nearest target—Zhou Yu.
Zhou Yu’s pupils constricted in fear, his body frozen in place, forgetting even to dodge.
“Ssshhh—”
The fireball brushed past his hair, landing on the armrest of the sofa and instantly burning a hole through it. Several strands of Zhou Yu’s hair were singed, and the air filled with the acrid smell of burnt protein.
“My hair!” Zhou Yu finally realized, screaming, and leapt up, crawling frantically into the kitchen. He twisted open the faucet and pressed his head under the running water, his wails echoing so loudly that Jiang Xuan, training in the gym, rushed out to see what had happened.
Cheng Lin stood frozen, stunned by the sudden chaos, unsure of what to do as she looked at the mess on the floor.
Jiang Feng, however, reacted with astonishing speed. He set down his food, dashed to the dining table, and grabbed a kettle filled with cold water, pouring it over Mo Yang’s head.
“Splash—”
The icy water ran through Mo Yang’s fur, instantly extinguishing the red glow. The puppy shivered from the sudden cold, the fireball in its mouth dissipating, the red flames in its eyes fading, and its eyes regained a measure of their usual clarity.
It shook off the soaking fur, sending droplets everywhere, then lifted its head and let out a “woof” at Jiang Feng, sounding both accusatory and aggrieved.
Cheng Lin looked at the drenched Mo Yang, then at the scorched sofa armrest and the remains in the dog bed, and rubbed her forehead. This little one had awakened as an ability user and nearly set the house on fire.
Jiang Feng picked up his meal again, while Zhou Yu, his hair still dripping wet, emerged from the kitchen, muttering complaints about his hairstyle. Cheng Lin couldn’t help but laugh at the scene before her.
Jiang Feng set down his utensils and lightly ran his fingers along the puppy’s back, feeling the newfound power coursing through its small body. This five-month-old pup had significantly increased strength and explosiveness. His gaze shifted subtly, a plan forming in his mind.
“Mo Yang, from now on you’ll be joining the training,” Jiang Feng said, rubbing the puppy’s head with a faint smile.
Over the next few days, a small figure appeared regularly in the villa’s gym.
Mo Yang bounced behind Zhou Yu and Cheng Lin, watching them lift weights, run, and do strength exercises, attempting to imitate their movements with jumps, shuttle runs, and occasionally striking a small, specialized punching bag with its paws.
At first, it was enthusiastic, but soon it collapsed on the floor, tongue lolling, emitting pitiful whines, its exhausted expression making Zhou Yu and Cheng Lin laugh.
The rain showed no sign of stopping, drizzling steadily as if soaking the entire world. The villa was quiet, the only sound the ticking of the wall clock.
Jiang Feng, Cheng Lin, Jiang Xuan, and Zhou Yu had all fallen into deep sleep, and even the tired Mo Yang curled up in its bed, breathing steadily.
Suddenly, a sharp alarm pierced the night!
“Beep—beep—beep—”
The shrill sound jolted the sleeping westerner-pup awake. Jiang Feng nearly sprang out of bed, his eyes instantly sharp and clear, without a trace of grogginess.
Cheng Lin fumbled for the stun baton on the nightstand. Jiang Xuan grabbed the baseball bat beside the bed. Zhou Yu scooped up Mo Yang with astonishing speed.
The westerner-pup darted down the stairs to the first-floor living room. The lights flicked on, illuminating multiple surveillance screens on the wall. Outside the villa’s yard, a dozen ragged figures stood.
In the rain, their appearance was pitiful. Their clothes were tattered, caked with mud and filth; some were barefoot, bleeding from cuts on their feet.
At the front was a burly man, Zhuang Han, wearing only a faded vest that revealed solid muscles, wielding a rusted axe. He pounded on the gate with force, the “clang—clang—” of metal against metal piercing the rainy night.
Behind him were the old, weak, women, and children: a gray-haired elder, women holding infants, pale and thin children. Their faces were expressionless, eyes vacant and numb, as if they were puppets being driven along by Zhuang Han.
Jiang Feng’s gaze was icy, scanning each face on the monitor. He said in a low, commanding voice, “Cheng Lin, Jiang Xuan, stay inside. Lock the doors and windows. Don’t come out.”
“Be careful yourself,” Cheng Lin said, biting her lip, worry in her eyes. Jiang Xuan gripped her baseball bat, ready to speak, but Jiang Feng’s sharp glance silenced her.
“Zhou Yu, come with me,” Jiang Feng said, already grabbing a raincoat by the door and putting it on efficiently.
Zhou Yu nodded, handing Mo Yang to Cheng Lin, quickly donned his rain gear, and picked up a steel pipe from the corner.
The two stepped outside, rain instantly soaking their faces, chilling them to the bone.
Hearing the door, Zhuang Han paused his pounding and turned. Seeing the two figures—one tall and upright, the other leaner—his eyes flickered with disdain, his arrogance growing.
“Kids, hand over your supplies if you know what’s good for you!” Zhuang Han hoarsely shouted, swinging the axe over his shoulder. “We haven’t eaten in days. If we don’t get something today, we’ll just break in!”
The group behind him remained expressionless, blankly watching Jiang Feng and Zhou Yu, as if anticipating an inevitable raid.
Rain pelted their raincoats with a crackling sound. Zhou Yu gripped the steel pipe, ready to advance, but Jiang Feng lifted a hand to stop him.
Jiang Feng stood his ground, body still, eyes cold as ice. He slowly raised his right hand, fingertips twitching.
The next moment, a gleaming flash of cold light appeared!
A jet-black dagger hovered in front of him, seemingly guided by an invisible hand. It cut through the rain, slicing the wind as it hurtled straight toward Zhuang Han’s throat!
The speed was astonishing.
Zhuang Han’s arrogance had no time to fade; his pupils constricted as a shiver of death ran over him.
He didn’t even have time to react. The dagger hovered just before his throat, the icy blade mere millimeters from his skin. One more inch forward and it could easily slit his throat, splattering blood instantly.