Chapter 52: Just a Few Grenades

The other man's words did not anger Chen Xian. Instead, as he looked at the portly driver, a hint of admiration flickered in his eyes.

The taxi sped forward, overtaking many police cars and demonstrating the driver's exceptional skill. The distance between them and the bandits' SUV was steadily shrinking.

Chen Xian watched the scenery outside the window blur past at high speed, shapes dissolving into a haze. He had not chosen to pursue the vehicle containing Fang Jing, because the No. 001 Whisper Bug was attached to her; he would not lose track of those particular bandits. But for the group heading this way, he had placed no “spy” among them. If they escaped beyond his sight, tracking would become far more difficult.

Half an hour passed. The taxi and the bandits’ SUV had left the city, tearing along a remote country road, with the police cars trailing far behind. When the distance closed to a little over a hundred meters, the bandits ahead leaned out of their windows, unleashing a hail of machine gun and submachine gun fire at Chen Xian.

Bullets whistled through the air, sharp with murderous intent.

“Damn, these guys are crazy!” the driver cursed and quickly turned the steering wheel, dodging the incoming rounds. The taxi wove forward in a serpentine path.

The gunfire forced the taxi to slow, widening the gap once again. Seeing this, Chen Xian reached for a rag and wrapped it around the taxi’s camera.

“What are you doing? Why block the camera?” the driver asked in confusion.

A faint smile curled Chen Xian’s lips. “Some secrets are not meant for others to see.”

The driver was curious. “What kind of secret?”

“You’ll know soon!” Chen Xian smiled. “For now, press forward at maximum speed. Pursue their vehicle directly. I’ll handle the bullets for you.”

“You’ll stop the bullets? With what?” The driver clearly didn’t believe him.

Bang!

A burst of sound and shattering glass erupted. A bronze-colored bullet pierced the windshield, carrying the stench of gunpowder and deadly force, hurtling straight toward the driver’s forehead with astonishing speed.

The driver’s eyes widened, pupils dilating. His life flashed before him in a montage—school days, military service, meeting his wife, the birth of his daughter… moments cherished and rare.

It was as if time slowed to a crawl.

“Am I going to die?” The driver wondered, seeing death beckon. Complex emotions welled up, and he closed his eyes in despair.

At the critical moment, a pale hand suddenly appeared, catching the bullet before it struck.

“Don’t be afraid. The bullet cannot hurt you! Open your eyes and keep control of the wheel. Do as I say!” The young passenger’s confident voice pulled the driver back from the abyss of despair.

The driver opened his eyes, astonished to find his head unscathed. Confusion filled him.

“The bullet’s right here!” Chen Xian said, smiling.

He glanced at the passenger seat, where the crew-cut young man held the bullet floating in his palm, spinning slowly as if performing a magic trick.

The sight left the portly driver utterly shocked, his small eyes round with disbelief.

“I told you I can stop bullets!” Chen Xian repeated. “Just focus on your driving; leave everything else to me!”

Completely convinced by Chen Xian’s miraculous feat, the driver nodded, gripped the wheel, and slammed the accelerator, charging straight after the bandits’ SUV.

More bullets pierced the windshield, aimed at Chen Xian and the driver. The glass was soon entirely gone. Yet every bullet was caught by Chen Xian’s bare hands, floating and spinning in midair, streams of mysterious energy surging into his mind and ultimately feeding a strange tree within.

The gap between taxi and SUV shrank to only a few dozen meters. The bandits inside could see the spectacle clearly, their eyes wide with disbelief.

“Boss Biao, the guy in the taxi behind us is catching bullets with his bare hands! That’s supernatural!” one masked bandit exclaimed, his voice laced with incredulity and terror.

“Damn it, if he’s not afraid of bullets, throw grenades at him! Blow him up!” Boss Biao snarled.

Enraged by the persistent taxi that clung to them like a leech, three bandits obeyed, producing several grenades, pulling the pins, and hurling them toward the taxi.

The driver shouted, “Brother, they’re throwing grenades! What do we do?”

“Stop the car!” Chen Xian commanded decisively.

Without hesitation, the driver braked hard. Before the taxi had fully stopped, several grenades flew through the shattered windshield, landing inside.

The bandits’ strength and aim were indeed remarkable.

Chen Xian’s hands moved in a blur, arms creating phantom images as if he were a thousand-handed deity, catching every grenade.

Before the driver could react, Chen Xian leapt from the taxi, carrying the grenades toward the fields beside the road.

A deafening explosion followed, flames and smoke billowing skyward.

Though the grenades detonated nearby, the grass and trees stood untouched, unaffected by the blast—a scene strangely out of place.

The driver noticed none of this, only staring dazedly at the smoke, sorrow filling his heart and tears welling in his small eyes.

He believed Chen Xian had sacrificed himself to protect him, convinced that despite his ability to catch bullets, the power of several grenades far exceeded that of bullets—there was no comparison.

“No matter how tough you are, my grenades will still blow you to bits!”

“That’s the price for crossing us!” the bandits in the SUV jeered, exhilarated at the sight of Chen Xian caught in the explosion. They dared not stop, as the police were still in pursuit.

“Damn bastards!” The driver’s eyes reddened as he prepared to chase after them alone.

“It’ll take more than a few grenades to kill me!”

Suddenly, a voice rang out, brimming with confidence.

The portly driver turned toward the explosion. His bloodshot eyes widened, mouth forming a perfect “O,” and his foot eased off the accelerator in shock.

Out of the smoke and flames strode a figure, tall and imposing, like a god or demon emerging from the inferno.