CHAPTER 26: CHAPTER 26: CHASE AND ESCAPE

Qu Jianlei’s communication skills were much worse than the other party’s, but he thought about it and decided that this small benefit really wasn’t worth much.

So he nodded, "Alright, you two count as half a share, tell me what you can say."

Actually, the news wasn’t complicated, the cripple was confronted by the Law Enforcement Team from the Hongsi Settlement.

No one was quite clear about what the Law Enforcement Team asked, but it was obvious that his answers couldn’t satisfy them.

The cripple could do this business because he had some connections with the Settlement, and the Law Enforcement Team cursed him a bit, seemingly intending to let him go.

But another group directly killed the cripple.

Finally, the man mysteriously said, "You know? Those were people from the General Settlement of Hong Character..."

He wouldn’t let the woman speak, but instead got excited himself, "Those kinds of big figures, killing you or me is like squashing an ant."

"Is that so," Qu Jianlei muttered softly, not speaking anymore.

Originally, he wanted to inquire about the junkyard, but now hearing even the cripple was killed, it’s better to wait before probing further.

Most of his time after crossing over was spent there, but to say he felt gratitude or concern for anyone there?

No, not a single one!

He just wanted to know how Mr. Sai would react upon learning he was missing.

Seeing the cripple’s fate, he could already guess, in case the General Settlement discovered he wasn’t dead, what their attitude would be.

So he wasn’t really in a hurry to inquire about those people’s outcomes.

Not inquiring at all was impossible; he still had to analyze how perilous his situation was based on their outcomes.

After collecting some purple lichens, Qu Jianlei exchanged some Nutrient Injections for little things like metal wires, replenishing trap supplies.

Then he turned and walked out of the camp, heading towards the place where the motorcycle was hidden.

Seeing him leave, the man who sold out news earlier turned his eyes and walked towards a large semi-underground building.

This was the camp’s recreation area, not only selling tobacco and alcohol, but also some semi-illicit items.

Last time, Morrison’s Blue Beauty was bought here.

The room was filled with smoke and haze; four people were drinking and chatting, with three scattered guests.

The man walked to the drinking group, facing a skinny man, spoke in a low voice, "Dong Bro, I have news."

Dong Bro glanced at him sideways, took a sip of murky liquor, and casually uttered a word, "Speak."

The man grinned, revealing black-yellow teeth, "Dong Bro, this... You’ve always been generous."

The skinny man glanced at him sideways again, "I didn’t hear clearly, say it again?"

The man shivered in fright and could only speak honestly, "Just now someone was inquiring about the cripple’s news."

"What’s there to inquire about the cripple?" A tattooed man said indifferently, "He’s already dead."

"Hei Bro, even the dead have their value," the man explained cautiously, "What if it’s someone the General Settlement is looking for?"

"Damn, you dare to covet all kinds of money?" The tattooed man glared at him.

"I wouldn’t dare meddle in matters of such figures... I’m just puzzled, who gave you the guts?"

The skinny Dong Bro remained silent, staring numbly at the cup in his hand.

"What if?" The man responded with a grin, "To get connections with big figures from the Settlement is worth it, even without profit."

"Big figures..." The tattooed man snorted disdainfully, then looked at the skinny man, "Dong Bro?"

Dong Bro put down the cup in his hand, calmly said, "Keep talking."

The man recounted the events, focusing on describing Qu Jianlei’s weapons.

Qu Jianlei came in to gather news, so he only carried a Gauss Automatic Rifle and a Short Dagger.

This setup suggested he had some prowess, but... The fellow who ambushed back then had the same gear.

And he had fallen to the point of collecting purple lichens, how strong could he be?

Of course, if he was truly gathering news, this could be a guise, but is that really the case?

"Alright," the skinny man stood up directly, "Brothers, let’s make a trip."

He looked dazed and confused, but to become the leader of a gang, wasn’t it impossible for him to have some skills?

Quiet as a resting virgin, dynamic as a fleeing rabbit, decisive in killings, this was his true nature.

Yet the tattooed arm hesitated, "Dong Bro... do you really think you can connect with such big people?"

"Even if not, we should try," Dong Bro answered casually, "If not, we’ll take his equipment."

"Just a gun," the tattooed man expressed disdain, "Is it necessary?"

The skinny man glanced at him, "You teaching me how to do things?"

"Dong Bro, I didn’t mean that," the tattooed man raised his hands honestly.

Dong Bro was undoubtedly the soul of the gang; he could express dissent, but absolutely couldn’t question.

So he explained tactfully, "I’m worried he might have some methods; we’ve been losing members recently... Wouldn’t it be uneconomical?"

Fighting a battle surely requires weighing costs and benefits, would it be worth injuring our brothers for grabbing a gun?

"Yeah, we’re short on people," Dong Bro answered nonchalantly, "We can drag him in as cannon fodder."

In the end, his plan had three layers: it would be great to curry favor with big figures from the Gathering Area; if not, drag the other as cannon fodder.

If neither works, then rob and murder; and as for potential losses on our side... Wouldn’t gains be greater than losses?

Who in the wasteland doesn’t know how to reckon?

If it were only the third possibility, Brother Dong wouldn’t bother, but since the first two are possible, it’s worth a gamble.

Four men walked out of the room. The man with the floral tattoos asked directly, "Which direction did they go?"

The informant pointed a direction, and the scrawny Brother Dong waved his hand, "Get in the cars, both of them."

"Both cars?" The tattooed man was a bit surprised, "But there’s only one person."

Brother Dong glanced at him and shook his head, "Small-minded, if it’s really the target... even two cars might not be enough."

"True," the tattooed man nodded, and rushed straight to a motorcycle.

"Brother Hei," the informant shouted, "What about the fee for the information?"

"Shut up!" The tattooed man snapped without turning his head, "Wait here, are you short on anything?"

The informant didn’t dare say another word as the two motorcycles roared away. He spat on the ground resentfully.

As Qu Jianlei left the camp, he was extremely cautious, aware of the hostility post-apocalyptic survivors had for loners.

Once away from the camp, he crouched down and sprinted, intending to shake off potential trackers.

After sprinting about two kilometers, he heard the sound of motorcycles behind him.

Damn, why does the bad hunch always come true!

Qu Jianlei calculated that he was about a kilometer away from where the motorcycle was hidden.

Immediately, a string of numbers flashed in his mind.

He had already run two kilometers; finishing the remaining one wouldn’t be faster than four minutes.

Though the wasteland’s motorcycles can go off-road, they typically don’t exceed forty kilometers per hour.

He chose a rough area where motorcycles wouldn’t perform well, reducing their speed to around thirty kilometers per hour.

So, for them to reach his current position, it would take about four minutes.

By then, Qu Jianlei could just about reach the motorcycle’s hideout.

However, a kilometer is already within the Gauss Automatic Rifle’s effective range.

This tracker shouldn’t be underestimated; a moment of laxity, and he’d face an irreversible situation.

And he was entirely unaware of how many were pursuing him...

Fighting wasn’t planned; the goal was purely to run away.

But right now, Qu Jianlei was indeed feeling a bit weary.

Wasteland bodies are slightly better than those from Blue Star, running a bit faster.

But he was carrying a lot of supplies, and after running two kilometers, speeding up was tough.

Thinking it over, he could only channel his limited Inner Qi into his legs.

He had never tried this before, for one reason—poverty!

But now, at a life or death moment, he couldn’t care less.

However, as soon as Inner Qi infused into his legs, he immediately felt different: his speed increased significantly!

Roughly judging, it seemed about twice as fast as before.

This meant he could now reach the spot where the motorcycle and supplies were hidden in about two minutes.

In two minutes, those guys should still be two kilometers behind.

The Gauss Automatic Rifle’s effective range exceeds three kilometers, but hitting accurately is another matter.

A Gauss Gun from two kilometers away would require rapid fire to hit, relying on bullet density to offset deviations.

So the two extra minutes he saved were crucial, finally giving him confidence he could escape safely.

However, after one minute, as Qu Jianlei was running, he suddenly felt: hungry again!

It had been some time since he last ate, but the hunger clearly came from consuming Inner Qi.

He immediately felt a bit disgruntled: Do I really need to consume two more Nutrient Injections to escape smoothly?

He’d been reluctant to run from the start but had to because he didn’t know the enemy’s equipment and number.

Thinking of fleeing while consuming his limited Nutrient Injections really made him more upset.

What did I do to provoke you? Making my already scarce resources even scarcer?

Since he was feeling annoyed, he immediately thought of another problem: someone knew he’d bought a motorcycle outside the Settlement.

So fleeing by motorcycle could attract attention from the General Settlement.

He had thought of this before but deliberately ignored it—when life is on the line, escaping is the priority!

Now that he was considering a counterattack, he might as well deal with this potential issue.

But how many were chasing him, and what equipment did they have?

The next moment, he slapped his forehead hard, "Why am I overthinking? I’m faster than a motorcycle!"

On a roadless wasteland, motorcycles rarely exceed forty kilometers per hour, often not even thirty.

Whereas his current speed was about thirty-five or thirty-six kilometers per hour, and given the lack of stamina concern, he truly didn’t fear the motorcycles!

(During the new book period, asking for all sorts of support.)