Chapter 14

A overturned car, two men slashed with knives, and a woman with two broken ribs. The patrol officer who received the report merely shone a flashlight into the car and saw several sets of children's clothes and smelled the sweet, distinctive odor that all police are trained to recognize. He also noticed a large bottle of ether solvent and a drowsy-inducing towel in the car, making it clear that this was a major and heinous case involving human traffickers!

Notify the criminal police immediately!

Old Yang arrived at the scene with his team half an hour later.

As Xiao Shao and his team focused on the fingerprints on the items and weapons inside the car and prepared to take statements from the three injured individuals,

Old Yang squatted down and gently touched the most inconspicuous oil stain on the street, sniffing it carefully. He immediately made a judgment, just like Buck: "Edible gutter oil?"

Frowning, he stood up and listened to Xiao Shao whisper in his ear: "Two online fugitives for kidnapping and trafficking children, and the woman is the main culprit who escaped from a major case last year... They were identified without interrogation, it seems like a case of black eating black? I saw a recently used anesthetic cloth, which means they succeeded, but I didn't see the children."

Old Yang shook his head lightly: "Someone set a trap here... a well-planned trap. Check the surveillance cameras around here. I need to see who lingered here, especially in the hours before the incident. This is the work of a criminal mastermind!"

A mastermind?

Killing isn't hard.

A weak person, in a fit of rage, can kill.

What's hard is doing everything with calculation, skillfully using any available tools, and turning waste into treasure, forming an organic combination to achieve the final result.

Buck's performance in less than two minutes perfectly illustrated what it means to be a professional.

The key is that his heart rate didn't even increase. This kind of scene... it's too trivial for him.

He stood in the darkness on a high step a hundred meters away, quietly watching the police cars arrive. After a simple inspection, they immediately cordoned off the scene and waited for backup, possibly the criminal police, before he turned and left silently.

For Buck, it was just a slight heat in his blood. Standing by the grill for hours roasting meat wasn't as interesting as the quick and fierce struggle he just experienced.

His blood was already filled with the desire for slaughter or excitement, not for roasting meat.

To be honest, Buck's mind was a bit chaotic. This didn't seem like the peaceful life he had envisioned, but it didn't affect his instinct to move through the darkness, avoiding the crowds on the street, and finally hiding the child under the grill, leaving the door open and hanging it on the tricycle.

After ether anesthesia, it's best to give the child a lot of water and fresh air. Since the child still has a heartbeat and breathing, it indicates that the anesthetic was diluted. The three people were skilled, so they planned to ride the motorcycle home, let the child breathe in the wind to help the anesthetic wear off, and the child should wake up in a while. Then he could ask about the relationship with the little beggar.

He didn't plan to call the police because this little girl didn't have the usual sweet scent. If there was any scent... it was similar to the dirty smell of the little beggar, and a bit... the smell of roasted meat!

Seeing the flashing police lights in the distance, staying here wasn't a wise choice.

But just as he started the motorcycle, he saw a small, unremarkable figure staggering on the street. It was the little beggar!

Buck jumped off the motorcycle and walked toward the small figure. He clearly saw a large bloodstain on the little beggar's chest, which made him take off his sweatshirt again, quicken his steps, and cover the child's chest.

The little beggar, looking around, saw Buck. His dirty face, without a mask, was streaked with tears. He suddenly hugged Buck's leg: "...My... my sister... my mom..." His tense state seemed to be collapsing, and Buck's thin shorts immediately felt wet as the child sobbed uncontrollably!

Buck couldn't imagine what it would look like to be gentle with a child. His rough fingers brushed the back of the child's neck, and he bent down to pick him up: "I found a child... come and see if it's your sister."

The child, who had been crying and trying to hold back, suddenly sprang away. If Buck hadn't held him steady, he might have fallen. His bright, tear-filled eyes looked at Buck in disbelief.

Buck held him to shield the bloodstain on his chest and quickly returned to the motorcycle. He put the child next to the grill door, and the little beggar immediately pounced: "Sister! Sister..." He turned and finally managed to form a sentence: "What happened... what happened to her?"

Buck, seeing the small figure hiding behind the grill, lit a cigarette: "Three people took her away. I thought it was you, so I brought her back. She was drugged, but she'll wake up in a while." He tried to explain simply to the ten-year-old child.

The little beggar didn't thank him, his face full of anxiety: "My mom... my mom is bleeding!"

Buck frowned, took a drag on his cigarette, and jumped on the motorcycle: "Let's go and see... sit on the fuel tank and guide me. She'll be fine."

The little beggar carefully closed the stainless steel grill door before climbing onto the motorcycle: "Straight ahead... there's a fork in the road ahead."

It was a very old alley, and under the motorcycle's headlight, it looked even more dilapidated. It was a desolate area between the power plant, railway, and school, with more wild grass, shrubs, and ruins than people. Even as a child, Buck didn't like to play here.

A few steps off the road, in a cluster of old houses, there was a small shed with an asphalt felt roof. The entrance had a small cleared area where a few vegetables were planted, now trampled. A bag of leftover meat, steamed buns, and clothes were thrown on the ground. Buck's heart stirred, and he got off the motorcycle, picking up his bamboo knife. The little beggar, however, threw himself down and crawled into the shed, sobbing uncontrollably: "Mom..."

Besides thinking how much this child liked to cry, Buck bent down and followed inside. A woman, dressed in tattered but relatively clean clothes, was leaning against the shed. Her gray shirt was soaked in blood. Buck touched her, feeling a deep sadness. Her carotid artery had no response, and her pupils were dilated. She was already dead, with the standard symptoms of massive bleeding. The sticky blood and the obvious knife wound on her chest indicated the attacker's ruthlessness and haste.

But this place was clearly different from a battlefield. Buck pulled the little beggar away from his mother's body: "Your mom is already dead... what happened..." Now he was a bit regretful. He should have either killed the three people outright or not hurt them at all. Now he was hesitant to call the police, unsure how to explain his actions in saving the child, especially since he didn't even have an ID.

The three people in custody might reveal this place, but the possibility was low. Time was running out.

Buck made a quick decision. He had originally planned to bring the bamboo knife to clean up footprints, but now he bent down and started digging a hole in the open space outside.

Leaving the body here was impossible. Down the road was the river, and if he threw it in, it would still be found. It was better to bury it on the spot. Even if the police found the place, they could still find the body, and the rest would depend on luck.

To be honest, Buck didn't think much of the police. He hadn't killed anyone just because he was trying to think like a normal person after leaving the war zone, which was a basic principle of battlefield psychological treatment. As a military doctor, he knew this well.

If they found him, he would either surrender or go into hiding, depending on his mood at the time.

It was just a matter of changing his lifestyle, not a big deal.

Taking care of his parents was the big deal.

But looking at the dazed little beggar standing beside him, Buck realized the child had lost the chance to take care of his parents. He shook his head: "What happened? You just got off work, and your mom... and what about your sister?"

The little beggar's eyes were unfocused, staring blankly: "I don't know... I don't know..."

Buck tried to distract him: "Come help me. Bury your mom. In this weather, her body won't last long. She was killed by those three bad people, and they've been caught by the police." He knew the details would become clear when the little girl woke up, but the question was whether the two children would be given to the police or a welfare institution.

The little beggar was still dazed, but he managed to stand beside Buck, watching him dig a hole, sweat pouring down his face. He watched Buck turn and bend down to lift his mother's body, wrap it in a tattered mat, and place it in the hole. Silent tears streamed down his face, washing away the dirt.

Buck had buried countless people, his heart as hard as iron, but he felt the woman was incredibly light, in poor health. Even without the massive blood loss, her body wouldn't have lasted much longer.

Her pale but relatively beautiful face didn't look like that of a beggar, yet she was already dead.

Even in a prosperous era, there are still such dark sides, and people who suffer.

The bamboo knife, not just a good tool for roasting meat, was also useful for burying people. Holding it with both hands, he pushed a large pile of soil over the frail, pitiful body. The little beggar suddenly knelt down, sobbing uncontrollably: "Mom..."

Buck knew this was a place where no one would come to help, no matter how much he cried. He watched silently but said harshly: "Is crying useful? You know you work every day to feed your sister and mom. Now you have even more responsibility to take care of your sister. Be a man, and stop crying all the time. Men must have responsibility! Crying all the time..."

The little beggar, lying on the ground, stiffened, his sobs abruptly stopping. His shoulders still shook, but he was clearly trying to control himself. He started pushing the soil to cover his mother.

Buck, being cold, handed him the bamboo knife: "Learn to use tools. It will help you achieve your goals more efficiently... In the future, you need to take care of your sister, so you must learn to use your brain."

The little beggar stood there for a few seconds, then reached out and grabbed the bamboo knife, gripping it firmly. He didn't pull it toward himself but turned and knelt, intending to bow to Buck.

Buck's words were even harsher: "A man's knees are worth gold. Whether you are poor or suffering, you must stand tall! Why are you kneeling?"

Can't you at least comfort someone?