Chapter 62: Counterattack from Desperation (New Year's Extra)

“Ah! Oh!”
A delicate cry rang out suddenly in the seemingly endless, pitch-black alley. Although Zhang Yurou was dressed in men’s clothes, she had never endured such hardship in her life. After being pulled along by Ding Li for only a short while, her legs began to tremble and weaken, as if completely out of her control. Stumbling, she fell forward, instinctively crashing into Ding Li ahead of her.

Hearing the startled cry, Ding Li stopped abruptly, almost reflexively. As he turned, Zhang Yurou’s soft body collided with his, and a faint fragrance wafted to his nose. It was only then Ding Li realized they were tightly pressed together.

Zhang Yurou lifted her beautiful eyes, tinged with a hint of complaint, and met Ding Li’s dark, deep gaze. Her cheeks flushed instantly, her brows knit in embarrassment. Her small hands, which instinctively shielded her chest, clenched into delicate fists and lightly struck Ding Li, her voice as soft as a mosquito’s buzz: “My... my foot...”

“Oh...” Ding Li snapped out of his daze, ignoring the warmth in his arms. His embarrassment flickered and vanished as he quickly crouched down, glancing at her ankle in the weak moonlight. His thick brows furrowed as he gently probed the raised ankle, asking in a low voice, “Does it hurt?”

“Yes, it hurts a lot!” Zhang Yurou bit her red lips, her brows tightly drawn, enduring the pain as Ding Li examined her ankle, nodding emphatically.

“Damn it! Just our luck,” Ding Li muttered, taking a deep breath. His probing confirmed that Zhang Yurou’s ankle was sprained. Though the bone was unharmed, the tendons were stretched, and her ankle was swelling rapidly. He scowled and cursed under his breath.

Though Ding Li’s curse was quiet, the dead silence of the alley made it clear to Zhang Yurou. She immediately assumed Ding Li was annoyed at her for becoming a burden and glared at him with displeasure, her proud temper flaring.

But what Ding Li did next made Zhang Yurou’s temper recede abruptly, as if a bucket of cold water had extinguished her anger, leaving only surprise. Without hesitation, Ding Li rose slightly, wrapped an arm around her back, slid his other hand beneath her knees, and with a gentle lift, carried her in his arms. Without so much as a glance at her expression, he turned and ran.

Zhang Yurou was astounded. Never in her life had any man carried her like this; even the slightest intimate contact was foreign to her. Now, she was held so closely by someone she had only met half a day before. Panic filled her eyes, unprepared for this sudden intimacy.

After running a while, Ding Li frowned inwardly. He could feel Zhang Yurou resisting in his embrace, making it harder for him. At first, he said nothing, but as the strain increased, his breathing grew ragged. After a moment’s thought, he lowered his head and explained to her, “Yurou, relax. I won’t do anything to you! If you keep this up, those people behind us really will do something to you!”

“Huh?” Zhang Yurou, lost in anxious thoughts, was stunned. Then she understood Ding Li’s meaning, glancing at him with embarrassment, but saw that he was not looking at her. His determined eyes were fixed ahead. A strange sense of disappointment welled up inside her, but her grip loosened a little, and her resistance faded.

“Li...” Now relaxed, Zhang Yurou’s thoughts wandered again. Under the moonlight, she looked at his resolute face, hesitated, blinked, and softly called. Ding Li only glanced at her sideways. Though she felt a bit dissatisfied, she pressed on: “Do you think those villains will catch us and kill us?”

“No,” Ding Li answered coldly, not even thinking.

“What about Shouyi and Awu?” Whether out of genuine curiosity or dissatisfaction with his answer—or simply boredom—she pressed further, quickly adding, “And Aguda! Will they be in danger?”

“No,” Ding Li replied, just as succinctly. To Zhang Yurou, his terse words seemed an attempt to appear aloof, but Ding Li knew this was no time for banter. Any misstep could lead to capture by their pursuers; conserving energy was vital, especially while carrying a burden. Talking would only sap his strength.

“Why not?” Zhang Yurou did not understand Ding Li’s reasoning. Determined to make him say more, her curious gaze remained fixed on him. Unconsciously, her soft body leaned closer to his chest.

A sharp sound suddenly cut through the air, cold and swift, splitting the alley in two. A chilling glint flashed as an arrow sped straight for Ding Li’s back.

At the same instant the sound reached his ears, Ding Li’s heart leapt. Relying on his hearing, he darted left, and Zhang Yurou, frightened by the sudden change, instinctively wrapped her arms tightly around him.

But her action brought no benefit. Ding Li could no longer savor the softness in his arms, her movement throwing off his balance. He slammed into the brick wall of the alley, gritting his teeth against the pain, unable to complain.

The corner ahead was still a hundred meters away—far beyond the safe range before the attacker could reload his crossbow. Ding Li doubted he could survive another attack, especially while carrying injured Zhang Yurou.

Terrified, Zhang Yurou suddenly felt herself drop. Her arms slipped from Ding Li as she fell heavily to the ground, pain flaring in her injured ankle. She cried out, brows knit in agony. Lifting angry eyes, she saw Ding Li already springing forward, his butcher’s knife raised, gleaming coldly.

A subtle sound signaled the attacker had reloaded. He raised his crossbow, aiming ahead, a flash of shock and horror crossing his face—he saw Ding Li charging toward him like a relentless leopard.

The assailant remained calm, his surprise fleeting. He shifted the crossbow, moving the arrow’s glowing tip from Ding Li to Zhang Yurou, aiming to use her as leverage against Ding Li’s desperate counterattack.

Ding Li saw the arrow move toward Yurou and was startled by the attacker’s quick reaction. Yet this change calmed him, his worries eased. His gaze locked onto the arrow, ready.

A crisp snap echoed as the attacker pulled the trigger, his eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction. He muttered under his breath, “Zhang Mingzhi’s woman... hmph…”

But to his astonishment, the arrow was intercepted mid-flight with a dull thud. Ding Li had used his own body to block it, blood blossoming in the air.

A cold pain pierced Ding Li’s side, and the bloody arrowhead was visible from behind. He bit down hard on a rag, his stride unfaltering, seemingly unaffected by the wound. In fact, the pain only deepened the crimson glow in his eyes, and his butcher’s knife gleamed ever colder.

For a moment, the attacker saw not a man, but a wounded, furious beast—a beast ready to leap and tear him apart.

Fear took hold. Faced with Ding Li’s utter disregard for death, even wounded, the attacker dared not fight. But retreat was impossible; Ding Li would not allow it. Reluctantly, the attacker stood his ground, tossing aside his crossbow and drawing a short knife.

Ding Li did not dodge the thrown crossbow, swinging his knife to knock it aside. Now, the attacker was within reach. Ding Li’s eyes flashed with recognition—it was Cao Hai, whom he had faced in the woods that morning. The familiar face explained the attacker’s quick reflexes. Ding Li resolved to leave no chance for escape.

Bravery prevails in a confrontation—Cao Hai knew this well, but Ding Li was no ordinary opponent. Past failures in ambushes had shaken Cao Hai’s confidence, and Ding Li’s fearless advance now only deepened his dread.

Facing this beast, Cao Hai cursed the maze-like alleys. If not for them, he wouldn’t be forced to fight Ding Li alone.

“Retreat!”
Ding Li lunged forward, both hands gripping his knife. With a roar, he swung the heavy blade diagonally, pouring all his strength into the blow.

Cao Hai could not withstand the fierce attack. As Ding Li shouted, their blades clashed, sparks flying, and Cao Hai staggered backward, his hands trembling in pain, fingers gripping his knife convulsively.

Cao Hai excelled at ambushes; direct combat with Ding Li was a desperate measure. After the first strike, helplessness flooded his heart. As Ding Li raised his blade again, a sense of impending doom enveloped him.

With a second blow, the short knife in Cao Hai’s hand snapped cleanly. Thanks to Aguda’s butcher’s knife—sturdy and sharp—the remaining fragment flew from Cao Hai’s grasp, sending him sprawling backward.

Without pause, Ding Li stepped forward and kicked the rising Cao Hai, eliciting the dull crack of bones breaking. Cao Hai convulsed, vomiting blood.

“Who... who are you?!”
Slumped against the wall, Cao Hai gave up all resistance, pale and furious, glaring at Ding Li. He shouted, “There’s never been someone like you by Zhang Mingzhi’s side!”

“My name is Ding Li.”
With chilling calm, Ding Li swung his butcher’s knife, killing Cao Hai as though slaughtering an animal. As the cold blade flashed, blood spattered, and Cao Hai collapsed, twitching briefly before falling still.