Animal Whisperer: Take Back My Life and Love Chapter 119: High Stakes In The Mud

Nancy had suspected there might be accomplices in the village, but she hadn't expected almost the entire population to be in on it. The whistle that had echoed through the village moments ago was clearly a signal from a lookout who had spotted the officers, alerting both the old man under the tree and the rest of the villagers.

"Cover blown! All units, the targets have split up and are fleeing! Commencing arrest! I repeat, commence arrest!"

Simon roared into his radio while simultaneously pulling Nancy behind him to avoid an old woman who was trying to lunge at his legs. Because their primary obstacles were the elderly, Simon and the other officers didn't dare use force.

The scene descended into absolute chaos instantly.

With limited police presence and the villagers creating a human blockade, the tomb robbers were slipping away in different directions. The situation was on the verge of spiraling out of control.

Nancy’s eyes sharpened. She let out a sharp whistle toward Master Crow, perched in a nearby tree. "Master Crow, you’re up!"

Master Crow immediately let out a series of frantic caws to signal the sparrows. The "Feathered Battalion" scattered, diving toward different parts of the village.

The show was officially starting.

The afternoon sun beat down brightly on the ridges of the fields. Nieman ran like a startled rat, his breath hitching painfully in his chest as he tore down the dirt road. About twenty yards behind him, two young officers were trapped in a frustrating predicament.

Two white-haired villagers were clinging to them. One had sat flat on the ground, locking his arms around an officer’s ankles like iron shackles. The other was practically hanging off an officer’s waist, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"They're killing us! The law is bullying the common folk!" he wailed, spraying spit all over the officer’s face.

Another old woman clutched her forehead—which hadn't been touched at all—and shrieked with a voice that could crack glass. "My head! He just shattered my skull with his elbow! Oh, the agony—!"

Nieman looked back at the chaos, his lips curling into a cold, venomous smirk. "Damn, the heat has a good nose to find this nest," he muttered through gritted teeth. He spat on the ground. "But if you want to play in my territory, you’re asking for death!"

Just then, a battered motorcycle roared toward him, kicking up a cloud of dust. The rider was a young man with bleached yellow hair. "Get on!"

Nieman scrambled onto the back, and the bike surged forward, bouncing wildly along the narrow ridge of the rice field. As the figures of the shouting, obstructed officers grew smaller in the distance, Nieman finally let out a triumphant laugh.

The engine screamed as the bike tore down the narrow path, mud splashing everywhere. Coming toward them, a gaunt old man was slowly leading a massive yellow ox. Seeing the motorcycle, the old man’s clouded eyes lit up. He hurried to the side to make way, pointing a skeletal hand toward the distance. "Quick! Go! No cops this way! The road ahead is clear!"

The cigarette butt between the rider's teeth flickered in the wind. He felt like a getaway driver in an action movie—cool, untouchable, and lightning-fast. He gave his head a cocky toss, his yellow fringe flying. "Got it! Thanks, old man!"

However, the moment the bike brushed past the ox—the previously docile, silent beast suddenly swung its head with violent force!

Its massive, hard horns acted like a precision-engineered battering ram. With a dull thud, they slammed squarely into the side of the motorcycle’s frame.

The world spun.

The sheer force of the impact flipped the speeding bike into the air. Both rider and passenger were launched in a pathetic arc.

Splash! Splash!

They slammed heavily into the mud-filled rice field beside the path.

"Ugh—!" Nieman landed face-first in the sludge. The stench of cold, decaying organic matter rushed into his nose and mouth, making him see stars. He struggled to lift his head, his face caked in black mud. A few stalks of bright green rice were stuck to his hair, making him look like a ridiculous, failed scarecrow.

The rider was even worse off; the heavy motorcycle had pinned his leg. He thrashed in the muddy water like a turtle flipped on its shell.

The old man was terrified. He stumbled toward the field, intending to pull them out, muttering frantically, "Oh dear! What’s wrong with this ox today? Why did it have to toss its head right when you did?!"

But before he could take a step, the offending ox shifted its weight. Like a steady mountain, it stepped directly into his path, blocking him. It lowered its head until its wet nose nearly touched the old man’s face. Two massive nostrils let out a heavy huff of hot, grassy-smelling air, and its large, bell-like eyes stared him down without blinking.

The old man froze, his arrogance instantly evaporating. He threw up his arms to protect his chest, his voice trembling. "Don’t... don’t gore me!"

"We’re on the same side, buddy! You already got them, you can't get me too!"