Accidental Hero: The Rookie Who Outshines the Force - Chapter 80

The two middle-aged officers in vehicle one stared at the SUV stranded halfway down the muddy road, their hearts churning.

They’d barely managed a kilometer before their car was stuck.

They had assumed vehicle two would meet the same fate.

But surprisingly, it had managed to drive over ten more miles before its undercarriage got jammed.

The car was immobilized—but the trainee officer hadn’t given up. On two legs, he had chased down the SUV.

He had even forced the SUV’s tire to pop off. How tenacious was that?

And now… he was nowhere to be seen.

The two veteran Economic Investigation officers felt ashamed. Their car was dead—but the man was still running. Why didn’t they chase?

Reality was cruel. Two legs against four wheels? This wasn’t a movie, JK Chen.

Yet the trainee had done it—he’d caught up.

A few SWAT officers examined the bullet marks on the rim, stunned.

“Handgun bullets?” one asked.

Imagining the scene—two vehicles jostling over such terrible roads, the shooter somehow hitting a moving tire—it seemed nearly impossible. Even their best marksmen would struggle.

“What gun?” asked another.

“Type 64,” Fan Wanqing replied.

The officers froze. Type 64… the power required to pierce such a tire, the precision… not just marksmanship, but perfect timing!

The shooter had to be at extremely close range, the bullet hitting the tire almost perpendicular.

A spinning tire at high speed? Nearly impossible.

How had he done it? Human—or just insanely lucky?

“Now’s not the time for debate. We need to catch up—his safety comes first!”

Fan Wanqing’s mind was solely on Lu Cheng. Forget catching the Fujian boss for now—he had to come out of this unscathed.

In her rush to solve the case, she hadn’t thought through the situation thoroughly.

Rain pelted the mud, splashing water onto everyone’s shoes and pants.

The officers piled into their cars and continued the pursuit.

Hopefully, the tires wouldn’t slip; a sudden puddle could trap them in seconds.

…

“Damn you! Bastard! Get out here!”

Ma Kuixiang roared in rage. Stones had struck him three times—twice on his body, once on his head.

Bone-jarring pain sent him into hysteria.

Blood streamed from his forehead, his face twisted into a mask of fury.

He could feel his tormentor nearby—but couldn’t see a thing.

His phone was dead, no flashlight, and pitch-black surroundings—he could only endure the blows.

And yet… how could the other man hit him with stones? Night vision?

Lu Cheng crouched in the shadows, running his hands over the nearby stones. Not every throw would hit—but hitting one in three or four was enough.

He changed positions, grabbed a tree root, and hurled it toward the purple dot.

In the darkness, Ma Kuixiang took two or three more hits, agony contorting his body.

Finally, losing his patience, he fired blindly—seven shots in all, spraying in every direction.

Lu Cheng stayed low, counting silently.

When the seven rounds ended, Ma Kuixiang was out of bullets—but still madly pulling the trigger, screaming “Come out! Come out!”

Completely broken.

Lu Cheng wasn’t in a rush. He continued hurling stones—just in case Ma Kuixiang had spare magazines.

Two more hits, and Ma Kuixiang collapsed fully onto the muddy ground.

Stones gone, Lu Cheng switched to chunks of mud—sticky, heavy, and just as punishing as rocks.

Thud!

Thud!

Ma Kuixiang lay there, but the sound of objects hitting him continued.

Smack!

A clump of mud hit his back, nerves jolting in agony, teeth gritting against the pain.

Still, he cursed: “Bastard! Son of a—”

Lu Cheng didn’t ease up, tossing mud relentlessly. One piece even hit him square in the mouth.

Silence followed.

The rain stopped as suddenly as it had started.

Moonlight pierced through clouds, softly illuminating the black earth.

In the quiet field, faint cries echoed.

Yes—crying.

Ma Kuixiang had been beaten to tears, utterly humiliated, mentally crushed, lying in the mud and wailing.

Lu Cheng silently approached, pulling a few cable ties from his back pocket. A habit from his thief-catching days—fake guns on his belt, cable ties in his pockets. Far more practical than batons or handcuffs.

He twisted Ma Kuixiang’s hands behind his back. No resistance. Total collapse.

Legs and arms bound, Lu Cheng began searching him.

Wallet, keys, handgun, butterfly knife.

The handgun went to his own waist, the knife into his pocket. He opened the wallet: ID, bank cards, cash.

Name: Ma Kuixiang. Hometown: Nanping, Fujian…

…

Ten minutes earlier.

Gunfire shattered the night.

The Economic Investigation Team, searching for Lu Cheng and Ma Kuixiang, was startled.

Had a firefight broken out?

Fan Wanqing knew otherwise. She had a bad feeling.

Lu Cheng’s Type 64 was out of bullets. He hadn’t fired.

It was the Fujian boss—armed.

Was Lu Cheng hit?

Though skilled in hand-to-hand, unarmed against a gun?

Seven paces away, the gun is faster. Seven paces or less, faster and accurate.

Fan Wanqing could only pray silently—please, let Lu Cheng be safe.

She had promised Chen Weimin to return him unscathed… yet now, his fate hung in the balance.

This reckless kid, fearless to the point of madness!

A convoy of seven or eight vehicles—two SUVs, one stuck off-road—pursued him.

Moments later, the rain ceased, but ahead, the muddy road remained indistinct. Potholes filled with water.

Fan Wanqing had to split her vehicles, searching in different directions.

Suddenly, excitement crackled through the radios.

“Found him!”

All vehicles turned, headlights converging on a single spot.

A young man, caked in mud, sat resting in a grass heap, chewing on a stalk of straw, savoring its softness and sweetness.

The absurd contrast between his relaxed posture and filthy appearance was almost comical.

“Lu Cheng?”

Fan Wanqing exited the car, carefully surveying him.

Mud-covered as he was, he appeared unharmed. Relief flooded her chest.

“Captain Fan, it’s the Fujian boss!”

Someone pointed to the mud-caked middle-aged man beside Lu Cheng, limbs bound behind his back, lying on the ground like a dead dog.

Caught?

Lu Cheng had done it—he had caught the man.