{Chapter: 224 Gu Qingshan's death! Ye Feng's desperate situation!}
How could Lin Yuan possibly be here?!
How did he know they were hiding in this very building?
No—something was off.
Lin Yuan wasn't just here—he had arrived before them. He was calmly sipping tea, as if he had been waiting for a long time.
The realization struck like lightning. He had known all along.
In a split second, countless thoughts flooded the minds of both Gu Qingshan and Ye Feng.
But before they could make sense of the situation, it was already too late.
Bang! Bang!
Two sharp gunshots rang out—clean, efficient, merciless.
Lin Yuan had fired twice, aiming directly for their hearts with the cold precision of someone who had done this many times before. With divine-level marksmanship, the bullets tore through the air like fangs of fate.
Ye Feng's reaction was instinctual—honed by countless battles. He crouched instantly, narrowly dodging death.
Gu Qingshan followed suit, but he was a fraction too slow.
Puff!
A splatter of blood burst from his neck as the bullet struck.
It hadn't hit his trachea dead center, but the sheer force was devastating. Unlike what people often see in movies, where bullets graze or leave clean wounds, this was brutal reality. The bullet ripped through tissue and sinew, tearing a gruesome hole in his neck.
Ye Feng, now pressed tightly behind the rooftop's cement cover, looked over with horror.
Gu Qingshan had collapsed, writhing briefly before his limbs began to lose strength. Blood sprayed from his neck in uneven pulses, painting the rooftop in red. His breathing was labored, gasping. The bullet had clearly shredded part of his windpipe.
The sound of his choking breaths filled the air like a death rattle.
He was dying.
Gu Qingshan trembled violently. With barely any strength left, he turned his eyes—hazy and dim—toward Ye Feng.
"Xiao Feng…" he choked out weakly, his voice rasping like broken glass. "Live… live on…"
"Don't… don't be impulsive…"
"…Avenge… me…"
And with that, his hand fell limp. His eyes shut. His chest no longer rose.
Gu Qingshan—Ye Feng's sworn brother, his comrade in hardship—was gone.
Ye Feng froze. For a second, everything was silent.
Then he closed his eyes as two lines of tears streamed down his face.
"I… I killed him…" he muttered, his voice trembling.
"Brother Qingshan… I brought this on you…"
"Aaaaahhhhhhh!!!"
His cry echoed across the rooftop, raw and filled with anguish. He hadn't wept in years. But now, tears flowed freely, blurring his vision, choking his breath.
Yet his grief was short-lived.
A strange clanging sound cut through the air—a metallic object bouncing nearby.
Ye Feng barely had time to react as a warped iron can landed in front of him.
At the same moment, in the building across the street, Lin Yuan stood with a cold smirk on his face.
He had just heard the voice of his system:
[Ding! Gu Qingshan has been killed! Counterattack Points +2000!]
A rush of satisfaction filled him. Gu Qingshan had been a minor obstacle at best. A fish caught in the web. But his real target was still alive.
Ye Feng.
The one who truly mattered.
And so, Lin Yuan had thrown a small bomb—disguised cleverly as an ordinary canned drink.
It wasn't something he made himself, but rather one of the many explosives he had taken from the Jianbo Building—Gu Qingshan's own warehouse.
In Kyushu, owning firearms legally was already rare. Explosives, however, were strictly forbidden. Even the slightest trace could mean life imprisonment.
Which was exactly why he had disguised the bomb so casually.
Ye Feng's instincts screamed at him.
His gaze snapped to the twisted can, and danger flared in his mind like a siren.
Ye Feng is a very decisive person.
The death of Gu Qingshan had taught him a lot in an instant.
Without hesitation, he gently lowered Gu Qingshan's lifeless body and sprinted. With a powerful leap, he jumped toward the adjacent rooftop, smashed through a window, and rolled into the neighboring house.
BOOM!!!
The rooftop behind him exploded in a blazing inferno. The blast wave shattered windows, cracked the ceiling, and sent debris flying in every direction.
Flames licked the sky.
Smoke billowed upward.
The place that once held memories, where two childhood friends had reunited, was now a pile of scorched ruin.
And Ye Feng—covered in dust, wounded in spirit but still breathing—stood up from the shattered floor, his fists clenched tightly.
The pain in his heart was now transforming.
Turning into rage.
Looking back, he saw that the roof of his house and Gu Qingshan's body all exploded beyond recognition!
Fragments of scorched flesh flew through the air.
A few tiny pieces of meat even splattered near Ye Feng's feet where landed inside the building.
He didn't flinch.
Instead, Ye Feng clenched his jaw, grinding his teeth together with silent fury. He didn't let the horror of the moment shake him. There was no time for shock, no space for sorrow.
He didn't speak a word—just etched the hatred deep into his soul.
Then, with swift steps and a steady breath, he slipped into the adjacent bedroom, taking temporary cover.
Across from him, Lin Yuan stood calmly on the rooftop of the neighboring building, a light breeze stirring his coat.
He hadn't heard the sound he expected—the familiar digital chime of a system notification. There had been no confirmation of Ye Feng's death. And having seen Ye Feng's desperate leap before the explosion, he could easily guess the outcome.
Ye Feng had survived.
Lin Yuan narrowed his eyes, slightly surprised by the man's reaction time. That kind of speed wasn't natural.
"His instincts are sharper than before," he murmured to himself. "The death of Gu Qingshan must have triggered something in him."
The explosion hadn't weakened Ye Feng. If anything, it had awakened the beast inside him.
But Lin Yuan wasn't worried. He was prepared.
He wasn't alone—his men were already positioned around the area to cut off every possible escape route. Ye Feng was a beast cornered in a cage. All that remained was to tighten it.
Bang!
A loud crash echoed from behind as a window shattered.
Ye Feng didn't even blink.
He heard a gunshot the moment someone landed behind him.
Without thinking, Ye Feng with his mercenary instincts. His entire body moved on its own—sharp, fluid, practiced. He rolled to his left in an instant, the bullet missing him by inches.
Like a coiled tiger unleashed, Ye Feng sprang up from the ground and launched a fierce kick.
Thud!
The attacker was sent flying backward, crashing against the wall. Ye Feng lunged forward and seized the enemy's pistol.
His hands moved fast—flicking the safety off, lining the barrel up.
He pulled the trigger.
Click.
Nothing.
Empty.
Ye Feng's eyes widened.
"No bullets?!"
His mind spun with lightning speed. In that brief second, he understood.
Lin Yuan had planned for this too.
He knew Ye Feng's background—his past as a mercenary king. He knew his skills, his ruthlessness, his adaptability. His power with weapons.
So he gave his men only one bullet each.
Just one chance.
If they hit, Ye Feng would fall. If they missed, he would end up with a useless gun.
Ye Feng dropped the empty pistol, his fingers tightening into fists.
He was skilled, yes—but without a weapon, against an armed squad? Even the best fighters had limits.
Looking out through the broken window, Ye Feng spotted a group of men in matching tactical gear. They were already swarming the lower floors of the building.
More were pouring in from the surrounding alleyways.
Dozens of them.
All of them heavily armed.
They were coming for him.
His position was exposed. His options were vanishing fast.
There were no nearby rooftops he could leap to—no narrow passages to disappear into. Even if there were, Lin Yuan's traps would already be waiting.
The noose was tightening around his neck.
Ye Feng stood silently, breathing evenly. The sweat on his brow mixed with dust and ash.
He was in a desperate situation.
Meanwhile, Lin Yuan remained seated in his chair on the opposing rooftop, the sun glinting off the edge of his polished boots. His posture was relaxed, a porcelain cup of tea cradled in his hand.
He didn't seem worried. Not the slightest crease of concern marred his face.
Even now, with the moment of Ye Feng's execution approaching, Lin Yuan looked almost bored.
Sip.
He took another gentle drink of tea, his eyes never leaving the building.
It wasn't arrogance—it was certainty.
He believed everything was going according to plan.
But then, something unexpected happened.
Lin Yuan's eyes narrowed.
His expression shifted just slightly.
A long black limousine screeched to a stop in front of the building where Ye Feng was trapped. It was a custom extended Lincoln, glinting in the sunlight.
It parked horizontally—perfectly blocking the entrance to the building.
Several of Lin Yuan's men, who had been rushing toward the door, stumbled to a halt in surprise. Their line of attack was cut off.
But soon, Lin Yuan slightly raised his brow.
Lin Yuan slightly raised his brow.
He didn't say a word.
Just a small motion of his hand—barely noticeable, yet full of meaning.
The African American man beside him understood immediately. There was no hesitation.
With a calm, professional air, he stepped toward the black guitar case resting beside Lin Yuan's chair. He picked it up with ease, then began backing down—lowering himself until his entire body was hidden from view by the edge of the rooftop. From the street below, he had completely disappeared—just a shadow against the concrete.
Now crouched low, invisible from the ground, he placed the heavy guitar case across his lap.
Click.
The latches opened.
But there was no music inside.
No strings. No frets. No melodies.
Instead, nestled in custom foam, were components of a deadly machine—precision-crafted metal, cold and gleaming under the dim rooftop light. This was no instrument for playing songs.
It was an instrument for taking lives.
The man worked quickly, his fingers moving with practiced skill and unwavering calm. Each piece fit together with a mechanical certainty, as if rehearsed a thousand times before.
Above him, Lin Yuan remained perfectly still, sipping his tea in silence, his expression unreadable.
No words passed between them.
None were needed.
Because in that moment, the rooftop had become a stage.
And the performance had just begun.
*****
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