The rumbling of wheels against the tracks suddenly grew muffled, and the starlight outside the window seemed to be swallowed by some enormous black mouth as the train entered a long tunnel. The already dim carriage plunged into deeper darkness, only the rapidly passing light shadows outside the window fragmenting the shadows at the carriage junctions.
Chen Mo instinctively shrank back his neck, and in that grotesque alternation of light and shadow, an unsettling chill exploded without warning. Those two strange men who had been staring at the toilet door moved.
One old, one young; one short, one tall. Their figures intertwined in the narrow aisle like ghosts. Chen Mo widened his eyes, and before he could react, his ears caught fragments of low, fierce curses, vaguely the words "Xingyi Sect," "traitor," and the like. Then the middle-aged man in the blue cloth cross-collar jacket suddenly turned back, his entire body hurtling toward the sallow-faced man beside the toilet like an arrow released from its string.
This pounce carried the momentum of a tiger descending a mountain, with decisive killing intent. However, what Chen Mo saw next made his scalp go numb—the man retreated even faster than he had launched forward, his back suddenly bulging outward, the crisp sound of cloth tearing echoing especially loudly in the silent carriage. He stumbled to the ground, his face draining of color in an instant, and in those originally cold, fierce eyes, there now appeared a hint of resentful malice directed at Chen Mo.
At the same time, the gaunt old man with silver hair lunged upward. His body was nimble as a gibbon, swinging himself into midair using the handrails on the carriage ceiling, using both hands and feet, fists and kicks flying simultaneously, targeting the sallow-faced man's throat and chest. The sallow-faced man remained expressionless, but his gaze slipped past the old man's shoulder, brushing over Chen Mo with an almost imperceptible glance.
The old man had his back to Chen Mo. Sensing his opponent's wandering gaze, he mistakenly thought the enemy still had reinforcements nearby, and instinctively pulled back some of the force from what should have been a certain-kill strike. In that split-second flash of lightning, the old man's expression changed dramatically.
The sallow-faced man seized this fleeting opportunity. He sank his shoulders and dropped his elbows, his entire body's qi surging, his blue cloth jacket seeming as if it would burst from the pressure. He drew his arms to protect his head, his stance deepening into a bow step as he advanced sharply, meeting the old man's attack head-on with a hard collision, driving his elbow forward with brutal force.
"Hmph!"
A muffled grunt rang out, Chen Mo's view blocked by the two men's overlapping figures. When he could see clearly again, the old man had already been sent flying backward like a severed kite, tumbling five or six meters before his feet touched the ground. He stumbled back several more steps before barely stabilizing himself, a unhealthy flush spreading across his aged face.
The outcome was decided.
Before Chen Mo could recover from his shock, those two men—one old, one in his prime—turned without hesitation, pushed open the window, and leapt out like leopards, disappearing into the pitch-black night.
At that moment, the train burst out of the tunnel, starlight flooding the carriage once more. Apart from Chen Mo, everything around remained deathly silent, as if that heart-pounding scene had never happened at all.
"Whoa!"
Chen Mo watched in a daze. He had thought his days after rebirth would be a nostalgic drama, never imagining he'd jump straight into a martial arts film right from the start. Everything had happened too fast—one move following another, just the blink of an eye. It seemed the pancake-eating man had won. He hastily turned to look at the toilet door, but it was already completely empty. There was not a single soul in sight.