Du Lai grabbed hold of the rooftop’s rusted railing.

He curled the corner of his mouth in a cold smile as he looked at the man, his expression carrying a hint of wickedness.

“If you want the puzzle pieces, you’ve really come to the wrong person.”

The man’s gaze held no fluctuation, cold as ice. He continued reeling in the chain. “You have what I need.”

“Ah, why won’t you believe me?” Du Lai freed one of the hands gripping the railing and fished something from his pocket.

A vivid green leaf.

Its lush color stood out strikingly against the dark night.

The man’s movements stopped. His gaze fixed on the leaf in Du Lai’s hand, as though trying to determine what sort of item it might be.

Du Lai’s lips remained curled in a smile. “As the saying goes, nights are long and full of chances. Do you really think that after I took those puzzle pieces, I’d keep them on me the whole time? Of course not — I’ve already sold the pieces to someone else. If you want them… heh. Go ask Bai Youwei for them!”

The man slowly furrowed his brow. “…Bai Youwei?”

Du Lai balanced the leaf on top of his head, snapped his fingers, and grinned. “Farewell, Mr. Magic Hands.”

*Boom!*

An enormous cloud of smoke billowed out, instantly filling the surrounding area for dozens of meters!

When the smoke dissipated, Du Lai had vanished without a trace.

At the end of the chain — only a withered, dried-out leaf remained.

The man frowned, scanning his surroundings. Nothing suspicious.

He stood in place for a while, then slowly gathered the chain back into his palm.

— It was as though his hand contained an endless void. No matter how long the chain, it was swallowed entirely, without a trace.

Du Lai watched this from the shadows, holding his breath, not daring to make a single sound.

He had already heard the rumors — that the base had recently received three strange men. Their distinguishing feature was a pair of white gloves each. Someone had overheard them mention something called “magic hands,” and so the nickname had stuck. As for the true function of those white gloves, no one knew.

But now, Du Lai had seen it for himself.

Those gloves seemed capable of producing anything at will.

…Game items had their limitations; Magic Hands probably couldn’t truly conjure “anything at will” either — but where exactly its limits lay, Du Lai couldn’t determine from their brief minutes of contact.

The man had already gone, disappearing around the corner of the street.

Du Lai slowly exhaled, his taut nerves finally easing.

The item — “Raccoon Cat’s Camphor Leaf” — could only teleport a person to somewhere within fifty meters. It was a kind of misdirection, not a true means of escape.

Fortunately, the man hadn’t searched the area carefully.

Du Lai closed his eyes, about to rise and leave, when he caught the smell of gasoline.

He startled. His loosened nerves snapped taut again. He pressed himself cautiously against the windowsill and peered through the dim, cracked glass — and saw the man returning, lugging two canisters of gasoline from somewhere. He was walking along the road, splashing gasoline as he went.

The old tenement building where Du Lai was hiding was already on fire!

He gritted his teeth and cursed inwardly, then sprinted to the bathroom, wrenched the tap and soaked himself completely — then ran back to the window and watched the man set fire to two more buildings.

Flames blazed and roared; the man was trying to cut off every escape route!

“Damn it!” Du Lai snarled under his breath. “He’s absolutely ruthless!”

The fire had already reached the second floor. If Du Lai had been even slightly slower to react, he would have been trapped on the sixth floor, roasted like a turkey.

He pressed his wet clothes against himself and covered his nose and mouth as he ran to the third floor, then jumped down through the rolling clouds of smoke —

Smoke blurred his vision.

His abdomen slammed into the horizontal bar of an air conditioning unit, gouging a bloody gash.

Du Lai didn’t dare delay. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he rolled, then pressed his hand over the wound and fled in the direction opposite the man.

He cursed his own rotten luck — he hadn’t recovered the puzzle pieces, and he’d run into a lunatic on top of everything else.

At least he’d be leaving Shanghai soon. Let the lunatic terrorize someone else.

—