Chapter 137: The Stone Coffin (Part 2)

As I focused intently, I suddenly felt physically drained, as if my very essence was being sucked dry by the painting.

It seemed the stone coffin could absorb the surrounding deathly and yin energy because of the eye depicted in the painting.

Yes, it was the eye.

“Strange!”

Shen Yihu walked under the umbrella and approached me. “What are you looking at so intently?”

By the time Shen Yihu reached me, I was already drenched in sweat.

I said, “There’s an eye painted inside. And I’ve seen this exact eye inside the building before.”

“What?” Shen Yihu leaned in, staring at the eye, his gaze fixated.

Gradually, I noticed Shen Yihu’s breathing becoming rapid, his entire body stiffening.

Suddenly, Shen Yihu’s hand twitched.

A surge of killing intent hit me. Instinctively, I shoved him aside and lunged forward, rolling twice on the ground.

Shen Yihu’s eyes were bloodshot as he fell to the side. With swift movements, he drew his gun from his waist.

Bang…

A bullet was chambered and fired, grazing my face as it whizzed past. I touched my cheek—blood was already dripping down.

Bright, vivid blood. Some drops even splattered onto the painting.

“Help!” I dodged to the side.

The bullet had grazed my face and embedded itself in the wall. Chen Tutu, who had been collecting bones, turned at the sound of the gunshot to see what had happened.

Under the umbrella, Shen Yihu locked eyes with Chen Tutu, his facial muscles twitching violently, his expression terrifyingly fierce.

Having missed his first shot at me, Shen Yihu swung the gun toward Chen Tutu.

His finger tightened on the trigger.

“Dodge!” I lunged forward, knocking Chen Tutu out of the way.

Bang.

The bullet struck my thigh, blood gushing out in thick, pulsing streams.

Chen Tutu rolled forward, her head slamming painfully against the ground. She grabbed two bones and hurled them at Shen Yihu.

The first to arrive was Little Rascal.

Woof! Woof! Little Rascal leaped up, knocking the umbrella askew. Sunlight spilled down, flashing across Shen Yihu’s eyes.

The redness in his eyes faded. He looked at the gun in his hand, bewildered. “What happened? What just happened?” He holstered the gun and rushed to help me up.

Chen Tutu also scrambled over, pressing her white gloves against my wound. “Don’t move. Xiao Qi, why are you so reckless?!”

“Don’t help me up—get fire! Burn the painting. Now! Hurry, hurry, hurry!” I yelled through gritted teeth.

Three urgent “hurry”s burst from my lips. Shen Yihu, still dazed, snapped back to reality, pulled out a lighter, and set the painting ablaze.

The painting crackled as it burned, the bloodstains turning to black ash.

I could almost hear the eye screaming in agony. The figure within the eye finally fell still.

In seconds, the painting was reduced to ashes.

Nothing remained.

Chen Tutu pressed down on my thigh wound. Propped up on my hands, my face grew paler by the second as blood continued to pour out, seemingly unstoppable.

“Damn it… Who the hell shot you in the leg? You’ve hit an artery. If this keeps up, you’ll bleed out in twenty minutes,” Shen Yihu muttered in disbelief. “Who wanted you dead?”

I grinned weakly. “Bro, it was a complete idiot who shot me. Call an ambulance. I’m dying. Quick.”

My vision swam, and I collapsed to the ground. Half my leg was soaked in red, blood pooling beneath me, some even seeping under the stone coffin.

Above me, lazy white clouds drifted.

Police officers who’d heard the gunshots rushed over, half-expecting a demon to leap from the coffin. Instead, they found me sprawled on the ground, bleeding profusely.

“Stretcher! Get a stretcher!” Shen Yihu, still shaking off his momentary possession, reacted sluggishly. Only after basking in the sunlight did he snap back to reality, shouting orders.

He tore off his white shirt and hastily wrapped it around my upper thigh, tightening it to stem the bleeding.

The world around me blurred, colors smearing into incoherence, as if everything had lost its connection to me.

I’d seen movies—when a major artery was hit, all that was left was to wait for death.

Chen Tutu didn’t wait for the stretcher. She scooped me up, and soon her own leg was drenched in my blood.

Behind her, a pair of embroidered shoes stood out starkly.

Shen Yihu sprinted alongside Chen Tutu.

I chuckled weakly. “Don’t grieve for me. If I… die, there’ll be fewer regrets… no more secrets to chase. I’m so tired…”

Shen Yihu’s voice cracked. “Don’t close your eyes. If you sleep… if you sleep, you’ll be a damn fool. I’m begging you—don’t sleep.”

Chen Tutu asked, “What’s your blood type, Xiao Qi?”

“O,” I whispered weakly.

“Listen, if you die, I’ll tell everyone you had a crush on Jiese, and he rejected you,” Chen Tutu threatened.

I forced a bitter laugh. “My reputation matters. If Zhongli hears that, she’ll refuse to do my makeup.” Chen Tutu bit her lip and called the hospital to prepare blood bags.

On the roadside, Shi Dake had just finished a fare and was smoking when he spotted Chen Tutu in her police uniform cradling a wounded officer, a frantic plainclothes cop with a gun at her side. Curious, he moved closer to see who was bleeding out.

“It’s me. Stop staring. Thai ladyboy…” I joked weakly, my breath growing shallower as blood loss starved my organs of oxygen.

Shi Dake stripped off his sweat-soaked shirt, tore the filters from three cigarette packs, and bundled them into a makeshift compress, handing it to Chen Tutu.

“Use this to slow the bleeding for our ladyboy friend,” he said earnestly.

Bare-chested, he sprinted back to his taxi. “I’ll clear the way!”

Shen Yihu flung open the police car door, and Chen Tutu bundled me inside. He turned the key, and the car screeched forward.

“I want to sleep…” My eyelids grew heavy.

“Light him a cigarette. Quick!” Shen Yihu tossed a lighter and a pack of Huanghelou cigarettes. Chen Tutu lit one and placed it between my lips.

I lacked the strength to inhale.

Chen Tutu said, “I once watched *From Beijing with Love*. There’s a distraction technique. Xiao Qi, imagine you’re alive and well, chatting with your girlfriend, watching movies together…”

“If I die… when you tell my parents, don’t say I was a… feng shui master. Say I died… fighting criminals…” My vision blurred further—I couldn’t tell if Chen Tutu was crying.

A woman like her, perhaps emotionally detached, wouldn’t shed tears for me.

If I died, only my parents would weep.

But I didn’t want their tears.

Chen Tutu took the cigarette from my lips, hesitated, then leaned down. “Imagine you’re on a date with your girlfriend.”

I didn’t understand—until she suddenly pressed her lips to mine. A surge of energy rushed through me. My eyes flew open, meeting hers, her lashes fluttering, her tongue warm and alive, like spring itself.

For that moment, I forgot the pain in my leg, forgot the blood still flowing.

Shen Yihu peeked in the rearview mirror, muttering under his breath before focusing on the road.

Shi Dake’s taxi kept pace behind, his radio crackling as he shouted directions. At intersections, taxis blocked traffic, horns blaring, protests rising.

The path ahead cleared miraculously.

Shen Yihu drove like a demon—swift, smooth, siren wailing through the streets. He slowed at turns, then accelerated again.

Two police motorcycles led the way.

Shi Dake’s taxi trailed close behind.

We screeched to a halt at the hospital entrance. Chen Tutu finally released me. She was drenched in blood, a crimson figure. The police car’s seats were soaked red.

My head lolled. Finally, I closed my eyes, surrendering to the silence—a world now painfully, perfectly clear.

And agonizing beyond words.

The emergency team was waiting. Plasma was rushed into my veins as I was wheeled inside on a stretcher. Shen Yihu followed, yelling, “Make way! Make way!”

A gunshot echoed in my ears, the chaos fading into stillness.

Was this the feeling of death?