From sailboats to star destroyers (Source: Web)

Chapter 41 Thieves and Relocation

Of course, there were also more urgent matters to attend to; Grandpa Liao was still lying on the ground.

He suppressed the urge to immediately pursue the matter, rushed to Liao Ye's side, checked the wound, and quickly took out his phone to dial an ambulance.

At this moment, Miao Meng's voice was frighteningly calm: "Hello, is this 120? There's an elderly person at the entrance of the suburban vegetable market with a gunshot wound to the leg, a penetrating wound, and is bleeding heavily. Requesting emergency medical assistance!"

At the same time, his fingers were constantly waving, firmly imprinting the aura of that person into his mind. This was also a kind of application of the wide-area perception spell.

Just like how he recorded the Black Earl's aura using three positioning arrays, he was able to locate and track him beyond visual range.

Soon, the ambulance arrived with sirens blaring, and the medical staff quickly lifted Mr. Liao, who was gasping for breath in pain, onto a stretcher.

Miao Meng, of course, couldn't just watch the old man go to the hospital alone. Instead, he went to the hospital with the ambulance, contacted the old man's family, paid the surgery fee, left a phone number, and then rushed out again.

"Delaying time...luring the enemy away from their base..."

He muttered to himself, pushed off with his feet, and his figure, like a wisp of smoke, sped towards a more remote, abandoned factory area on the outskirts of the city, following the spiritual beacon that only he could clearly perceive.

Perception spread out like mercury, this time without reservation.

At the same time that the shooter appeared at the market, several men, also dressed in dirty overalls, were doing a thorough cleaning of Miao Meng's house.

They stuffed all sorts of oddly shaped props, unfinished magical artifacts, wooden blocks engraved with runes, and even miniature carving machines on the workbench into several huge snakeskin bags.

Their movements were swift and their teamwork seamless; they completed the entire process of scaling walls, picking locks, and packing up the items—clearly, they were seasoned veterans.

"Damn it! They must have stalled the third brother. Quick, move everything! Take all the valuables. This alchemist's room is full of treasures!"

A bald man who appeared to be the leader was panting heavily, his eyes shining as he stared at a shimmering array plate.

"Boss, is this thing really okay? I think there's something weird going on in that kid's room..."

Another tall, thin man looked at a metal piece in his hand engraved with a twisted eye symbol, his voice trembling.

"What's there to be afraid of? The bold get rich, the timid starve. We brothers are getting 'blessed' (a form of stunt/enlightenment). Isn't it all for a better life? Let's pull off this heist and then fly far away!"

The bald man spat and urged, "Hurry up, don't dawdle."

However, what they considered "treasures" were, in Miao Meng's view, mostly substandard products, scraps, or even experimental products that were not even semi-finished products.

The truly valuable core magical artifacts and materials are either carried by him or stored in his ship's equipment space.

But this did not stop Miao Meng's anger from erupting like a dormant volcano—these were all his things, these ignorant thieves.

Seeing these petty thieves in the factory distributing their tools haphazardly, as if they were dividing up a pig for the New Year, Miao Meng felt as if the string in his brain had snapped.

Then Miao Meng appeared at the workshop door like a ghost, without making a sound, and in his hand appeared a rusty steel bar that he had picked up casually.

When the sunlight stretched his tall shadow and cast it onto the oil-stained floor, the air in the workshop seemed to freeze instantly.

"Who!" The bald man turned around in shock and instinctively reached for a large wrench tucked into his waistband.

What awaited them was a cold verdict.

"Who gave you the audacity?"

Miao Meng's voice was not loud, but it carried a chill that stung the soul, like a storm sweeping across the sea off Xixian City that could freeze one's bones.

What happened next can only be described as "a mantis trying to stop a chariot."

The bald man roared and charged forward, brandishing a wrench, only to be struck in the chest by a compressed telekinetic strike from Miao Meng. He was sent flying like a broken sack, crashing heavily into the metal wall before passing out without uttering a sound.

The tall, thin man was terrified. He knelt down with a thud, his face covered in snot and tears: "Spare me! Brother, we were wrong, we were starving..."

"You can't even afford to cook, so you try to steal my 'pot'?" Miao Meng sneered, as an invisible telekinetic rope bound him up like a rice dumpling.

Seeing this, the other thief's face showed a desperate madness.

He suddenly pulled a metal plate engraved with an evil eye from his pocket and roared as he pressed it against his forehead: "Desecrator! Sacrifice! My Lord—grant me power!"

A nauseating, rotten stench instantly filled the air.

The man's skin visibly turned ashen and shriveled, his fingernails grew long and black, and he made inhuman hoarse noises.

In despair, he forcibly transformed himself into a ghoul, hoping to launch a final counterattack.

"You're courting death." A cold glint flashed in Miao Meng's eyes, and he didn't even bother to use his magical artifact.

With a slight thought, psychic energy was attached to the steel bar that he had picked up at random. Then, he swung it forcefully, and the energy detached from the steel bar to form a blade of light.

"Sizzle!"

The light blade swept past.

The unfortunate fellow, whose ghoul form had just begun to emerge and whose fangs hadn't even fully grown, suddenly froze in place.

The next second, from the waist up, half of his body slowly slid down along a smooth diagonal line.

The foul-smelling liquid splattered out, only to be blocked by an invisible barrier three feet away from Miao Meng.

Only heavy breathing and deathly silence remained in the workshop.

Miao Meng expressionlessly took out his phone and dialed the number of the Investigation Bureau's "cooperative contact person" that he had recently saved.

His tone was as calm as if he were calling for housekeeping: "Feed? It's me, Miao Meng."

In the western suburbs of Liancheng, at the former Hongxing Machinery Repair Factory, Workshop No. 3, a few petty burglars broke in. They need to be dealt with. The scene... is a bit dirty.

After hanging up the phone, he didn't even glance at the messy workshop or the few thieves who looked like dead dogs before turning and leaving.

The psionic energy gathered up the 'junk' that belonged to him, which had been stuffed into a snakeskin bag, and floated behind him.

Back in his rented apartment, where he had just seen off the investigators, Miao Meng stood silently at the door for a full five minutes, looking at the violently pried-open lock on his workroom door and the ransacked, chaotic scene inside, as if a hurricane had swept through.

The afterglow of the setting sun shone through the window, casting dappled light and shadow on his face.

The carefully positioned camera angles were ruined, wood chips and metal scraps were scattered on the workbench, and even the side panel of the local server he used to analyze the carving videos was roughly torn off...

He took a deep breath, didn't go back inside, and instead took out his phone and dialed the cleaning company's number.

The voice remained calm, yet carried an undeniable decisiveness: "Hello, 3306 Huancheng Road, urban village. Deep cleaning and disinfection of the entire house. Yes, now, the sooner the better. Money is not an issue."

After doing all this, he leaned against the courtyard wall, gazing at the city lights gradually illuminating the distance, his eyes deep and thoughtful.

"I can't stay here any longer," he muttered to himself, as if giving himself a final ultimatum.

Grandpa Liao's injury, the gunshot at the market, the theft at the workshop...

Every accident could potentially affect the unsuspecting ordinary people around him.

This house, in this seemingly peaceful suburban corner, has become the epicenter of a storm.

What he needs is secrecy and absolute control, not the constant anxiety of his neighbors being implicated.

He picked up his phone again and this time dialed the captain of the investigation bureau.

After the call connected, there was no small talk, just a direct question: "Captain, does your bureau or your partners have any villas that are remote enough, sturdy enough, preferably built against a mountain, and have a large underground space?"

Money is not an issue. You handle the paperwork and security. I need to move. Immediately, right now.

There was a few seconds of silence on the other end of the line, followed by the captain's calm and decisive reply: "Understood. Give me an hour, Mr. Miao. I guarantee you'll be satisfied."