Chapter 171: The Faceless Slave

The fake Wang Dali sat on the ground clutching his bleeding leg, wailing like a child, "Uncle Wang, have you lost your mind? Sister Xiaotao, it's me—Dali! I'm really Dali!"

Huang Xiaotao hesitated, caught between two sides. "Even if you suspect him, you can't just open fire! A police gun is meant to protect the people, not threaten them!"

Wang Yuanchao remained calm. "He has calluses on his hands."

Of course—the keen eye of a seasoned paramilitary instructor. He'd been suspicious ever since this "Wang Dali" showed up. When I signaled him just now, Wang Yuanchao didn't hesitate—he fired without warning.

The fake Wang Dali's expression twisted, and his voice dropped into something far more sinister."If I die here tonight, none of you will walk away. Your uniforms won't protect you."

Huang Xiaotao snapped, "Who the hell are you?"

He let out a low, menacing laugh. "That's not something you need to know, officer. Let me give you a piece of advice: some cases are meant to be solved… and some should be left buried. We've already issued a warning. Keep digging, and you'll all end up dead."

"Big words for someone bleeding on the ground," she spat.

I asked, "Where's the real Wang Dali?"

The fake Dali smirked. "No idea. He might still be alive… but if I don't make it back tonight, I wouldn't count on it."

Before he could finish, Wang Yuanchao stormed forward and slammed a vicious kick into his chest, sending him sprawling. This man had zero tolerance for cocky criminals.

Then, without a word, Wang Yuanchao grabbed the imposter's face and ripped off his skin—literally.

We recoiled in unison.

Beneath the mask was a bald, featureless man. No eyebrows, no nose—just two gaping nostril holes where one should have been. He looked like Voldemort in the flesh.

His real skin was raw and bleeding. The rubber mask had been glued down with industrial adhesive. No wonder it looked so lifelike.

Wang Yuanchao flipped the mask in his hand and passed it to me. I examined it—rubber, not actual skin. For a moment, I'd feared he'd peeled off Dali's real face.

I narrowed my eyes. "You're a Faceless Slave, aren't you?"

The man's eyes widened. "How… how do you know that?"

I sneered. "The Song family has dealt with freaks like you for centuries. We know your kind better than you know yourselves."

In the murky world of ancient Chinese underground trades, there were once Eight Hidden Professions—diviners, face readers, acrobats, bodyguards, and more. Passed down through generations, some of these roles still survive in secret.

Faceless Slaves are one such tradition. From the moment they're initiated, their noses are cut off. They soak their faces in special potions day and night, softening their skin like dough. Their faces become blank canvases—perfect for disguise. They train to mimic voices, speech patterns, even micro-expressions.

The true masters of the craft can mold their face into someone else's with just a few kneads. This one was still a novice—he relied on a mask. But his impersonation of Wang Dali's voice and mannerisms? Flawless. The man could've been a stage actor.

Faceless Slaves are often used as spies or assassins. Shadows with no identity, no past. Most die at the hands of their employers—too dangerous to let live. Few even know they exist.

I asked again, "Where is Wang Dali?"

He replied calmly, "If I'm safe, then he's safe."

I scoffed. "You're lying. Your performance was decent, but not enough to fool me. Someone like you—low-level muscle, expendable—has no bargaining chips. Holding Wang Dali hostage wouldn't serve your boss. He's not valuable enough."

His face twitched. Bullseye.

If they had wanted a real hostage, someone like Sun Bingxin—easier to subdue and emotionally linked to me—would've made a much better choice.

"Who are you working for?" I asked. "Black Panther Gang? Blood Wolves? Some other cartel?"

I watched his expression closely. Nothing.

Then the Faceless Slave burst out laughing. "You really think petty gangs like that are in our league? You're a frog in a well. The power behind us… is something you can't even imagine."

Wang Yuanchao had heard enough. He launched into a savage beating, fists and boots flying. The Faceless Slave howled in pain until Huang Xiaotao pulled him back.

"If you talk tough one more time, I'll rip out your tongue myself!" Wang Yuanchao roared, trembling with fury.

The Faceless Slave shut up, clearly terrified of him.

The effects of the potion I'd used earlier were fading fast. I wiped the sweat from my brow."Uncle Wang, take this guy into custody. We'll keep moving."

He nodded and lifted the man like a sack of rice. The imposter trembled as he muttered,"Kong Hui serves the organization. If you hurt him, none of you will walk away from this alive!"

Huang Xiaotao gave a mocking snort. "I'd love to meet your so-called boss."

I cleared my mind and focused on the lingering scent trail. Amidst the weeds, I caught hints of human odor and chemical solution. Following the trail, we reached the edge of a dirt road—tire tracks, just as I expected.

Kong Hui couldn't have carried that "pig" alone. He must've used a vehicle.

Huang Xiaotao photographed the tracks. "Do we pursue by car?"

I shook my head. "No. If we drive, I'll lose the scent. We're tracking on foot."

I sniffed around the tracks and caught a distinct stench—probably from Xu Xiaohui losing control of her bladder in the car. Crude as it was, it made her scent unmistakable.

We followed the trail for half an hour until we reached an old residential area. By then, the potion's effects were nearly gone.

Under one of the buildings, we spotted a parked SUV. I asked Huang Xiaotao to compare the tire marks from earlier.

A perfect match.

I was ecstatic. "Kong Hui's workshop is nearby!"

The Faceless Slave suddenly spoke up again—no longer arrogant, but pleading."Turn back. Please. Don't challenge the organization. You don't know what you're walking into. They will come for you. You want to live? Let it go."

Wang Yuanchao scoffed.

Huang Xiaotao's tone turned righteous and firm. "The moment I put on this badge, I accepted the possibility of dying in the line of duty. If there really is some untouchable monster out there—then I'll be the one to test its limits!"

I added coldly, "The Song family has the blood of Song Ci—the great forensic judge—running in our veins. You think we scare that easily?"

Ever since my grandfather was murdered, I'd sworn to hunt down Jiangbei's Phantom Blade. And I had a hunch—the shadowy force behind all this might just be tied to that very killer.

The Faceless Slave chuckled. "Fine. Keep pushing. One day, when you've lost everything and everyone you care about—you'll understand the meaning of regret."

I exchanged a glance with Huang Xiaotao. In her eyes, I saw the same unwavering resolve burning in my own.

I sniffed around the SUV and followed the trail to a small house nearby. With a wire, I picked the lock and pushed the door open.

Inside… was Kong Hui's secret workshop.