217: Aren't you afraid of ghosts knocking on your door in the middle of the night?

Chapter 217: Aren't You Afraid of a Ghost Knocking at Midnight? Heavy rain soaked S City through and through.

At the entrance of the Xingfu Jiayuan residential area, three layers of police tape had been set up.

The yellow tape whipped in the rain, making crisp snapping sounds.

The most eye-catching thing was the newly hung banner—Deeply Mourning Comrade Chen Mo, a Hero of the People.

Beneath the banner, white chrysanthemums were scattered, beaten into a pulpy mess by the rain and mixed with mud like patches of vomit.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk."

Ninth Master lay on the rooftop of the building opposite, holding a monocular telescope and chewing on a betel nut.

"This display is even bigger than when I retired from the underworld back in the day. If they brought in a couple of professional mourners, it would be even more authentic."

Su Qingxue was in no mood for jokes.

She was soaked to the bone, strands of black hair clinging to her cheeks like a series of scars.

"Twelve SWAT Officers in total."

She pulled back, leaning against the parapet wall, her voice cold and hard. "Two snipers are on the roof of Building Three, directly facing your window. There are four plainclothes officers in the stairwell. Charging in is just suicide."

"Who said anything about using the front door?"

Chen Mo sat cross-legged on the water-logged ground.

His eyes were closed, rain dripping from his eyelashes.

At this distance, an ordinary person could only hear the thunder and the rain.

But he was different.

The world was sliced into segments within his mind.

The heartbeat of the sniper on the left: 68 beats per minute, steady, but he's chewing gum.

The plainclothes officers in the stairwell: heartbeat 80, a bit irritable, scrolling through short videos.

And... Chen Mo's brow suddenly furrowed.

His gaze turned toward that dark, cavernous window—his former home, Room 404.

It should have been empty.

But right now, there was a sound.

Rustle. Rustle.

The sound of latex gloves rubbing against paper.

And extremely light footsteps—the sound of soft-soled tactical boots stepping on the floor.

This person wasn't walking normally; they were tiptoeing like a thieving rat.

Heartbeat: 55 beats per minute.

Absurdly calm.

"Someone's in the house," Chen Mo said, opening his eyes.

"Police?" Su Qingxue asked.

"No."

Chen Mo stood up, a trace of ruthlessness flashing in his eyes. "Police would turn on the lights, take photos, and make a lot of noise during a search. This person hasn't turned on the lights and is moving very quietly. He's rummaging through my nightstand."

"A thief?" Ninth Master chuckled. "Stealing from king yama? This guy is quite the character."

"It's a 'Scavenger'."

Chen Mo adjusted the straps on his cuffs. "Old Zhang is dead, but the people behind him aren't. They're looking for that incriminating evidence. The police are the watchdogs on the surface; this rat is the one actually here to do the work."

"Then you definitely shouldn't go," Ninth Master spat out his betel nut residue. "If he's a professional, he'll definitely have a backup plan. What if..."

"That's my money too."

Chen Mo interrupted him. "Two million. If a single cent is missing, I'll go blow up the Municipal Bureau."

Ninth Master shut up.

In the eyes of this madman, life could be discarded, but money could never be shorted.

"How do we get in?" Su Qingxue asked. "Fly over?"

"Climb over."

Chen Mo pointed to the cables suspended between the two buildings.

It was a high-voltage line that was still live, occasionally emitting blue electrical sparks in the heavy rain.

"Crazy," Su Qingxue cursed, but her hands were already checking the sliding buckle on her belt... Room 404.

In the darkness, a figure wearing gray overalls was crouching by the bed.

He wore night-vision goggles and held a sharp utility knife, slowly cutting open the seam of the mattress.

His movements were precise, without any wasted effort.

Cut open, reach in, feel around.

Empty.

"Damn it."

The Man in Gray cursed under his breath.

He pressed his earpiece. "Target point one cleared. No hard drive found. Repeat, no hard drive found."

Static crackled in the earpiece, followed by a voice-modulated male voice: "Keep searching. Pry up the floorboards. You must find it before the police take over the scene."

"Understood."

The Man in Gray stood up and pulled a crowbar from his tool bag.

Just then.

Thud.

A soft sound came from the balcony.

The sound was tiny, like raindrops hitting glass or a stray cat jumping over the railing.

The Man in Gray spun around instantly, the crowbar replaced by a glock pistol equipped with a silencer.

He held his breath and slowly moved toward the balcony.

In the green field of view of the night-vision goggles, the balcony was empty, with only a few pieces of uncollected laundry swaying in the wind and rain.

No one?

The Man in Gray breathed a sigh of relief and was about to turn back.

Crack.

The sound of glass shattering rang out behind him.

Not the balcony—the kitchen!

A diversion!

The Man in Gray spun around and pulled the trigger.

Puff! Puff!

Two bullets hit the kitchen door frame, sending wood chips flying.

But no one was there.

Only an old rice cooker was spinning on the floor, clearly having been thrown in.

"Who's there?!"

The Man in Gray backed against the wall, cold sweat breaking out instantly.

This apartment was on the fourth floor; other than the front door and the balcony, there were no entrances.

Unless the opponent had climbed up from the sewers, or... swung in from outside the window?

"What are you looking for?"

A voice suddenly rang out above his head.

Extremely close.

As if someone were perched right on his skull while speaking.

The Man in Gray's scalp tingled, and he instinctively raised his gun to fire.

But he was too slow.

A dark figure dropped from the ceiling access hatch, legs wrapping around his neck like scissors.

Crack!

The crisp sound of bone dislocating.

The Man in Gray didn't even manage a scream before he was flung away by the massive momentum, crashing heavily onto the coffee table.

The glass coffee table shattered with a loud crash.

Chen Mo landed and stepped on the hand the Man in Gray was using to reach for his gun.

"Agh!!"

The Man in Gray cried out in pain as his wrist was snapped underfoot.

Chen Mo leaned down, plucked the night-vision goggles from the man, and put them on his own face.

In the green field of view, the man's face was as pale as paper, contorted in agony.

"Shh."

Chen Mo put a finger to his lips. "Keep it down. There are police officers keeping watch outside; don't disturb their work."

The Man in Gray's eyes widened in terror.

He recognized this face.

Though it had more scars and the eyes were ten thousand times more terrifying than in the photos.

"Chen... Chen Mo?! You're not dead?!"

"I am dead."

Chen Mo crouched down, fished a pack of cigarettes out of the man's pocket, and lit one. "I'm a ghost now. It's not too much for a ghost to come back for his money, is it?"

He took a deep drag, the ember illuminating his cold eyes.

"Where's the hard drive?" the Man in Gray asked through gritted teeth. "Did you come back for the hard drive?"

"Hard drive?"

Chen Mo blew out a smoke ring. "That thing hasn't been here for a long time. I have a good habit of never putting all my eggs in one basket."

He reached under the bed, felt around for a while, and pulled out an inconspicuous tin biscuit box.

He opened it.

It was full of bright red banknotes.

And several bankbooks.

"Found it." The corners of Chen Mo's mouth curled up as he tucked the box into his jacket.

The Man in Gray stared in disbelief.

He risked being shot to come back just for this bit of cash?!

"You're a lunatic..."

"That's my pension," Chen Mo patted his chest. "You guys got it dirty; I have to take it back and clean it."

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