Chapter 1863: Chapter 880 The Backyard is on Fire_2

As the figure approached the cattle farm, he surveyed the surroundings and listened intently for a while before somersaulting into the farm. Then he lay on the ground, motionless, carefully observing the surroundings.

Soon after he lay down, two people riding electric scooters, followed by two panting large German Shepherds, appeared.

These were two members of the patrol unit. Even if Yan Fei were here, he might not recognize them. The patrol now had quite a few members, as the site had grown significantly, and it was impossible to keep an eye on everything with few people. Recruiting was Old Gao’s responsibility; unlike Heizi, he wasn’t one to curry favor, asking for instructions on everything. He simply recruited people and then reported to Yan Fei—actually, Yan Fei had barely looked at these reports.

The two dogs glanced at the spot where the figure was lying. However, because of the distance and whatever measures the figure may have taken with his earthy brown appearance, even the dogs couldn’t spot him.

Once the patrol passed by, the figure began to move quickly again, using the landscaping and terrain to conceal himself as he gradually approached the cowshed.

Getting closer and closer, the patrol appeared from a distance once more, yet still, they didn’t notice the figure.

As he got closer to the cowshed, his movements became even more rapid. He felt somewhat smug. They claimed that the cattle farm was tightly guarded and that the workers kept everything confidential, but apparently, not so much!

His target this time was the feed trough, more precisely, the remnants in the trough. Even though they cleaned the trough after feeding, it could never be spotless.

This was his opportunity.

Of course, if he couldn’t find anything useful, he had other options. For instance, he could grab some feed. The people who paid him only required feed samples; they didn’t specify where to get them from.

He thought it would be easier to do in the cowshed. The place where they kept the feed was likely well-guarded, and the feed was centralized, making it difficult to take anything. In contrast, the cowshed offered more opportunities. In such a large area, he believed that once inside the cowshed, using the herd as cover, nobody would notice him.

Seeing success within reach, he secretly rejoiced. He was about to earn a hefty sum, and it would be easy money.

Just as he was about to enter the cowshed, he suddenly heard a “thunk.”

The sound was faint, but he felt a pain before he could distinguish what it was.

He couldn’t help but let out a cry of pain.

His voice was low, but another piercing sound resonated, a sharp whistle cutting through the night, exceptionally clear.

…

Two minutes earlier, Maodan was still immersed in sweet happiness.

He was a young guy just twenty years old, who had dropped out of high school to join the army. In the army, he was neither an elite soldier nor skilled in any technical specialty, so naturally, he returned from military service after a few years.

There were supposed to be accommodations for veterans, but he couldn’t wait.

The main reason was that he had connections; he was from Shanglin Village, and through various twists and turns, he could claim some distant kinship with Yan Fei. If it was only about that connection, it wouldn’t amount to much, but crucially, he used to get along well with Lin Haihu.

Lin Haihu was extremely loyal, peppering Old Gao incessantly until he let him in.

Knowing it wasn’t easy to get in, Maodan worked hard, consistently performing well, unlike his friend Lin Haihu, who was constantly fooling around.

Due to his good performance, a girl from the west village had recently taken a liking to him. Dating required time, so to get married quickly, he volunteered for night shifts, specifically the latter half, so he could spend the first half with his girlfriend—this logic might be puzzling to some. Why not see his girlfriend in the evening after work? It was because with the excuse of a night shift, he could have his girlfriend stay with him until work time.

Just after spending time with his girlfriend, he, feeling restless yet energized, spotted a figure who definitely didn’t seem to be up to any good.

Although he wasn’t sure what the figure’s intentions were, he had a method. He picked up a slingshot, gave the guy a good hard hit, and then blew the patrol whistle.

“Toot! Toot! Toot!”

The figure in earthy brown probably never expected that a cattle farm’s patrol would be akin to a covert operation, with not only the obvious patrols with dogs but secret sentries as well.

After being hit by the slingshot, he intended to flee, but as soon as the whistle sounded, people immediately rushed out of nearby houses, armed.

Hardly had he sprinted a few steps, he got hit by a few more slingshots, one of which struck him on the head, oh, the pain!

As he clutched his head, he found himself surrounded by several dogs.

The guy had applied something on himself, so the dogs circled but didn’t attack. However, he dared not move; the fact that the dogs didn’t attack didn’t mean that they wouldn’t retaliate if he lunged forward.

Before he could even contemplate making a dash, it was too late; the patrol was already upon him!

“Ah…”

Just as he was about to surrender, someone came up and struck him with something.

This was much worse than the slingshot; the stick seemed to have eyes, only hitting his hands.

Fingers are connected to the heart, after all!

Immediately, he began to plead for mercy, “Brothers, I’m just after money. I surrender now, I surrender…”

“Smack!”

Another blow landed while he was holding his wounded hands, pleading for mercy. It hit his other hand.

“Do you have any accomplices? Speak up quickly,” asked a voice, belonging to a person who was not very tall but looked particularly ruthless. The figure in earthy brown thought this guy was definitely even more vicious and wicked than himself.

“No, no,” realizing the situation was dire, the guy immediately replied honestly.

“Smack!”

Another strike followed as the person repeated the question, “Any accomplices?”

“Truly none,” as he tore off the cloth covering his head and face, he dropped to his knees with a thud.

He couldn’t help begging for mercy; he thought he still had some backbone. The key was the realization that these people weren’t good guys; even without understanding what had hit him, the others watching him get beaten showed no emotion.

Moreover, these people were evidently confident and at ease, not even bothering to uncover his headcloth to see what he looked like before asking about accomplices. Plainly, they had a routine method for dealing with such matters.

This was indeed a routine. Although he’d already knelt down to beg for mercy, the ruthless guy was clearly not about to let it go, quietly telling someone nearby, “Hold him down.”

Immediately, someone stepped up to pin him to the ground, also retrieving the dagger he hadn’t had time to take out, a small bottle, and a few scattered bills from him.

But someone was also holding his arm out.

“Smack! Smack, smack, smack…”

The ruthless guy delivered several more blows, making the guy cry out in distress, “Truly no accomplices, I came alone. Stop hitting, any more and my hands will be ruined…”

At this moment, he only hoped these people who had caught him would have other questions; he’d definitely tell them everything he knew, just to get hit less. But they kept asking about accomplices, and he really had none!

Seeing as the one hitting him showed no intention of going easy, continuously striking his hand, he truly couldn’t bear it.

“Who sent you? Where is he?” the ruthless one placed the short stick on his hand and continued to question.

“It was Huzi who sent me, Hu San, Hu San from the city,” he eagerly answered as soon as the question was asked.

It was only then that he realized the short stick was actually a hollow steel pipe, wrapped in rubber on the outside—no wonder there was no blood on his hands, yet it hurt so deeply.

“Who is Hu San?” the ruthless guy asked again, casually tapping on his hand. Although the tap was lighter this time, his hand, covered in welts and already painful to the touch, made him cry out twice from the floor.

After a scream, he began to confess, “He’s a restaurateur, right at the intersection of the National Highway and Daming Road, the Hu San of Hu’s Cuisine. He told me to just get some feed, and then he’d waive my gambling debts and give me two thousand bucks…”