Chapter 27: A Direct Hit

Mo Fei ducked his head once more, evading the third swing of the axe, and at the same time stepped upward, fully entering the second floor.

Now he and the axeman stood on equal footing.

There’s an old saying: “Strike while the iron is hot, the second attempt weakens, the third exhausts.” Three swings missed their mark—any ordinary person would suspect that Mo Fei had some skill.

But the axeman had fallen into a frenzy, lost in a murderous haze, intent only on hacking to death anyone he saw.

The murderous intent on his face grew heavier, so much so that even Mo Fei couldn’t help but frown.

Yet Mo Fei still advanced a step, reversing his grip on the knife and thrusting it forward across his chest. With a cunning angle, the fish knife in his hand sank entirely into the axeman’s chest.

The axe was raised high, frozen in midair.

The axeman stared at the hilt protruding from his chest, disbelief etched across his face.

Downstairs, those who’d heard the axeman’s shouts had come to the staircase to investigate. At the sight before them—whether petite young women or burly men—they all screamed in unison.

“What in the world now!” Director Wang shouted impatiently. “Did Mo Fei get too into character and take a fall during rehearsal? If you didn’t land on your face, don’t scream like that, all right?”

“No, that’s not it, Director Wang!” The staffer on the stairs was shaking so badly his legs could hardly hold him. “Mo Fei killed someone!”

Mo Fei, having nearly been hacked to death: Wait, just who are you accusing of murder??

At the staffer’s cry, even more people crowded around the stairwell to see what had happened.

According to eyewitness reports later, Mo Fei was clad in a black tactical jacket, blood staining his face and body, his expression dark and eyes murderous, standing over a middle-aged man with a knife buried in his chest.

From costume and props to the scene itself, it looked for all the world like a crime scene.

Who wouldn’t be terrified at the sight?

Mo Fei felt more wronged than Dou E herself.

Wasn’t he dressed this way for filming?

And it was clearly the man lying on the floor who attacked first!

But for now, no one could prove it.

The onlookers stared at him with horrified eyes, as if they’d always expected Mo Fei would end up like this.

Suffocating—utterly suffocating.

Director Wang looked at the tableau and felt even more suffocated.

“Brother, can I just call you brother?” Director Wang was practically on his knees. “You don’t even have that many scenes—why do you always manage to cause trouble?”

“Were you sent here by my enemies? Tell me!”

The moment Mo Fei found himself surrounded, he raised both hands. Hearing Director Wang’s accusation, he felt aggrieved too: “I just came up here to check the location and nearly got split with an axe—who did I ever offend?”

At his words, the others finally noticed that the man on the ground still gripped an axe.

Wu Miao elbowed his way to the front, catching Mo Fei’s statement. “You mean this man attacked you first?”

Finally understood by someone, Mo Fei nearly burst into tears. “At last, someone gets it!”

His aggrieved expression only deepened the gloom on his face.

The crowd edged further away.

“Um, in that case, maybe we should call the police—and an ambulance?” someone in the crowd suggested timidly. “If we just leave him like that, he might actually die.”

All eyes turned to the axeman, knife still embedded in his chest.

Although the wound looked fatal, his chest was still visibly rising and falling.

He wasn’t dead, but with something that long stuck in his body, it was hardly surprising he didn’t dare move.

The prop master stared, baffled. “But I taped the blade—how did you get it in there?”

Mo Fei tried to step forward and explain.

But every step he took, the others moved back.

Wu Miao raised his hand in alarm. “Mo, brother, let’s keep our distance—just talk from there.”

Mo Fei pursed his lips, aggrieved, but explained, “The blade’s been dulled so it can’t hurt anyone, but the tip is still sharp. With enough force and the right angle, it’s not hard to pierce flesh.”

He made it sound effortless. Remembering how deftly he’d handled the knife earlier, no one doubted it.

Noticing their interest, Mo Fei moved to the axeman’s side, pointing at the hilt. “Shall I pull it out and show you again?”

“No, no, no—that’s not necessary! We understand!”

“Yes, we get it, thank you!”

The staff quickly declined, squashing any idea Mo Fei had of repeating his demonstration.

On the edge of the crowd, another staffer held up his phone and shouted, “I’ve already called the police—they said they’ll be here soon.”

Director Wang closed his eyes in agony.

He had a feeling today’s shoot was a wash.

Standing beside the axeman, Mo Fei quietly nudged the axe farther away with his foot.

He couldn’t leave, and who knew how long he’d have to wait here...

Out in the middle of nowhere, even if Officer Xiao Xu had wings, he couldn’t get here that fast.

Mo Fei looked at the axeman lying on the floor, his hand itching as he stared at the knife hilt in his chest. He had a sudden, irrational urge to grip the handle and slice open the man’s chest.

It had nothing to do with good or evil—just the mind playing tricks, like when someone stands on a height and feels the urge to jump.

His hand itched more and more; the longer he looked, the stronger the urge to cut the axeman open.

The police weren’t here yet, surely it wouldn’t matter if he moved a little, right?

He bent his knees, about to squat down, when a clamor of footsteps sounded outside the abandoned villa.

Quite a crowd, by the sound of it.

The crew downstairs glimpsed the approaching group before Mo Fei did—a large contingent, some in plainclothes, some in blue shirts, every one of them armed.

At their head was Li Cangyu.

He strode over and asked, “Did you call the police?”

Director Wang, face ashen, pointed toward the stairs. “They’re up there.”

Li Cangyu nodded once and dashed up the stairs with two officers.

The rest stationed themselves by the crew and at the stairwell, ready to provide backup at any time.

Wu Miao, never so close to armed police before, couldn’t help inching up to the nearest officer. “You got here so fast—did you come by helicopter?”

Officer Xiao Xu gave a wry smile. “No, we just happened to be nearby.”

Who could’ve guessed that, while searching for a suspect next door, dispatch would radio in that someone had been attacked right here?

He’d half-feared they’d been too late again.

One moment heaven, the next hell.

As Li Cangyu ascended the stairs, pistol drawn and alert, he spotted Mo Fei—dressed entirely in black, face and body streaked with blood, expression grim as night—standing over a man sprawled on the floor.

He shouted, “Police! Don’t move! Hands up!!”

Had it been a less experienced officer, their nerves would’ve snapped and they might have fired on instinct. Only years in the force had steeled Li Cangyu enough to hold back.