Chapter 43 Courting Trouble

"Be careful, those two cars are suspicious. The drivers aren't ordinary people—they have some experience with high-speed driving," Yang Changfeng said gravely. If he were alone, given the performance of these two Audis, no matter how the other cars acted up, he’d have plenty of ways to deal with them effortlessly.

But Chen Aijia was still in the car. She might end up fine, or she might not.

Chen Aijia glanced at the two cars speeding away after running the red light and sighed, "Alright, so what do you suggest?"

"Is there another route?" Yang Changfeng quickly surveyed the situation. He noticed in one car a man wearing a blue jacket, holding a homemade bomb in his arms. This was no joke. Homemade or not, it looked heavy enough; if it were thrown onto their car, not even ten Audis could withstand the explosion.

"No other roads, just this one. How about you take that small alley up ahead, come out on the other side? We're heading to the bank anyway—I need to withdraw some money," Chen Aijia replied.

Withdraw money, really?

Chen Aijia shot Yang Changfeng a playful glare. "We're almost out of rice and flour at home. If I don't get cash, what are we supposed to eat? Are you going to pay?"

No, no, better you handle it. You have money.

The mention of money immediately defused Yang Changfeng's annoyance. Taking the alley was a good idea—if they could get ahead of those two cars, great. If not, a few minutes at the ATM would at least let them avoid the desperate criminals in the other car.

The alley was narrow, but there were few pedestrians. They drove through in less than two minutes. Emerging onto another street, they drove for less than ten minutes and stopped in front of a bank.

Strange—it was nearly six in the evening, yet the bank hadn't closed?

Yang Changfeng eyed the bank curiously. The security gate was halfway down, a handful of staff were still busy inside, several customers queued up, and two security guards paced anxiously.

Chen Aijia gleefully said, "Perfect, I can withdraw more. Wait here, I'll go inside."

Yang Changfeng still felt uneasy. This was a safe city, not some war-torn region, yet he couldn’t shake his anxiety.

"Wait, let's go together. I don't feel good about this. If anything happens, at least I can fight and cover your escape," he said, shutting the car door, pocketing the keys, and instinctively patting his waist. He found nothing—no familiar weapon. A sudden realization struck him: he was no longer an elite soldier.

He was now a security guard.

Chen Aijia laughed, "Are you developing OCD? It's so safe here—what danger could there possibly be? Fine, let's go then."

As they entered, the security guard politely stopped them. "Sorry, it's late. Please come back tomorrow. Our staff are exhausted and need rest."

Chen Aijia looked at Yang Changfeng, then at the weary elderly customers barely able to speak, and shrugged. It was fine—she could just withdraw enough for a day or two.

As they reached the ATM, a sudden roar outside—two cars, the same Santanas they'd seen earlier, sped up from either side.

"Damn!" Yang Changfeng grabbed Chen Aijia’s hand and ran toward the crowd.

They were alone by the ATM; if the attackers meant harm, they were too exposed and could be shot on sight. That would be far too dangerous.

The security gate was kicked hard. Seven or eight masked youths burst from the cars, heading straight for the bank.

The guards had no time to close the gate. The one in a bright green jacket, wearing a monstrous mask, raised a gun and shot a security guard in the chest. Blood sprayed like a fountain—the guard barely survived, clinging to his last breath.

These were ruthless thugs, heedless of consequences. What was their target—the bank, or Chen Aijia?

Yang Changfeng pressed Chen Aijia down, quietly crawling through the panicked crowd, carefully observing the unfolding crisis inside the bank.

There was still a chance to intervene. Seven men in total—one remained in the car as driver, the others rushed inside. Only three guns, including the one that had just injured the guard.

The greatest danger was the bomb—no, it was a remote-controlled explosive.

The gang stormed the bank. Two more shots rang out—these were high-quality replica pistols, and both struck another guard, gravely wounding him.

"Don't move! Anyone moves, gets shot!" The masked man with the shotgun spoke in a muffled voice, leaping onto the waiting area bench. He quickly loaded ammunition, shouting loudly, then fired another shot at the ceiling.

The screams abruptly ceased. The gang was targeting the bank’s windows.

The alarm had already been pressed. The staff inside looked terrified but not as panicked as those outside.

"Good. Next, we won’t waste words," said the masked man with a Donald Duck print. He threw in a travel bag and shoved the explosive through the window, raising his arm in threat. "This is a bomb—enough to kill you all. Don’t believe me? Try it! You have two minutes."

So it was about money.

Yang Changfeng relaxed slightly. As long as they weren’t after Chen Aijia, he would have time to handle the situation.

A direct assault would be tough—too many of them, and if he didn’t take out the man with the remote immediately, it would become a disaster.

But that man was cunning, never giving Yang Changfeng a chance. Three robbers stood nearby, backs to him, facing three directions. One held a gun on the huddled crowd, two pounded on the bulletproof glass with machetes, urging the staff to fill the bag.

"How much do you want?" Inside were three staff members, two women and a man, all in their late thirties or forties. The man, a bit more composed, asked the robber with the remote.

The robber cursed angrily, "Pack everything you’ve got. Move it! Don’t expect the police to come for us. If you don't give us the money, none of you will survive!"

The one standing on the bench shouted, "Boss, stop wasting time with them. Kill someone—they’ll all obey."

Lowering the gun, he aimed at a section of the crowd and laughed wildly. "Murder and arson bring gold. Today, we’re not just making money—we’re killing, too. Let me start with a few."

Yang Changfeng held Chen Aijia down forcefully—it wasn’t time to act yet.

But once the shotgun fired, even the area not directly targeted would be hit.

What to do?