Chapter Twenty-Two: The Killing Game (Part Ten)

Just as Luo Hanya was lost in grief, mourning the loss of Tan Yue, a shocking and unforeseen upheaval was unfolding in the grand hall downstairs.

Let us turn back the clock twenty minutes. At that moment, Luo Hanya was stumbling desperately toward Tan Yue’s room, while in the hall below, a chilling clang rang out as Bloodhand suddenly drew a machete nearly forty centimeters long from behind his back and brought it crashing down onto an iron table. Behind him, Little Bai casually pulled a small knife from his pocket, eyeing the unarmed women before him with a sardonic smile.

A collective scream erupted from those present; panic-stricken, they instinctively raised their hands high above their heads in a gesture of surrender.

"Well?" Bloodhand sneered, his face twisted with bloodlust as he narrowed his eyes at the three women, showing not a shred of mercy. "Shall you end yourselves, or shall I butcher you slowly?"

Another wave of chaos swept through the hall. Liu Shanshan and Li Xin clung to each other, weeping in terror, while Wang Yue, though slightly more composed, was trembling uncontrollably, terrified the blade would strike her first.

After a brief moment, Wang Yue steadied herself, trying to calm her frantic breathing. She forced a seductive smile, then boldly stepped up to Bloodhand, pressing the softest parts of her body against his arm. Drawing her face close to his, her lips—made all the more alluring by fresh lipstick—brushed his ear as she whispered, her breath warm and fragrant, "Handsome, why speak of killing? Isn't it better to talk about something more pleasant and delightful than all this violence?" She coquettishly twisted against him, hoping to use her charms to save her life.

But the only reply she received was a merciless slap.

Bloodhand struck her across the face, then flung her aside with such force that she stumbled back several steps. His expression was full of mockery. "Bah! I have no interest in the likes of you. Are you volunteering to be the first to die?" He spat on the ground, cold and ruthless, menace etched in every line of his face.

Stunned, Wang Yue lay on the floor for a long moment, unable to get up. She was overwhelmed with humiliation; never before had anyone dared treat her this way. Whether man or woman, everyone had always indulged her, spoken to her gently, doted on her. No one had ever dared strike her.

She realized she had miscalculated; she had never imagined Bloodhand would be so immune to her wiles. In her experience, no matter how tough or shrewd a man was, if she set her mind to it, she could always make him lose himself over her. But her tactics were useless on Bloodhand.

"Still not getting up? Fine, I'll use you to test my blade first!" Bloodhand’s voice was devoid of feeling. Seeing Wang Yue still prone, playing the helpless damsel, his rage exploded, and he raised the machete high, aiming straight for her.

Hearing his emotionless words, Wang Yue shivered from head to toe, a sudden chill running through her. As she raised her head, she saw that gleaming blade already descending upon her. Reflexively, she squeezed her eyes shut, lifted her arms to shield herself, and shrieked, waiting in terror for the blade to fall. Li Xin and Liu Shanshan, unable to bear the sight, covered their eyes, dreading the imminent carnage.

A dull, wet sound split the air—the unmistakable noise of a blade sinking into flesh. Li Xin and Liu Shanshan, faces pale with fear, parted their fingers ever so slightly, peeking through to see what had transpired.

"Bastard!" an enraged roar thundered out—not from one of the women, but from Bloodhand himself! He was the one who had been stabbed. Li Xin and Liu Shanshan gasped in disbelief, hands flying to their mouths, while Wang Yue’s eyes shone with sudden hope.

In that split second, just as Bloodhand’s terrifying blade was about to claim Wang Yue’s life, Little Bai plunged his knife into Bloodhand’s back. Fearing that a single stab would not be enough, Little Bai wrenched the knife free and stabbed again, driving the blade deep a second time as Bloodhand howled in fury.

Before Little Bai could even catch his breath, Bloodhand’s machete came whistling toward him in a desperate counterattack. But Little Bai, anticipating this, reacted with lightning speed, bending back in a dramatic arch to evade the blow.

For most people, a mortal wound to the back would spell the end. Yet Bloodhand managed to whirl around and swing with all his might—a testament to his savagery and brute strength; an ordinary man would have perished instantly. But today, his attacker was his own brother, the one closest to him, who knew him better than anyone, and who had already foreseen his last desperate retaliation. Bloodhand, left without options, could only die in anguish and hate.

Having spent his last ounce of strength on that final, futile swing, Bloodhand could no longer stand. The fierceness in his eyes faded, replaced by a deep, bewildered sorrow. With a heavy thud, his burly body collapsed to the floor.

Coughing violently, Bloodhand tried to speak, but Little Bai’s second knife had punctured his lung. No matter how hard he tried, he could utter nothing—only a few gurgling coughs of blood.

After several desperate, failed attempts, Bloodhand fixed his bloodshot eyes on Little Bai, silently demanding an explanation. Why? Why had the one he trusted most, the one he was closest to, betrayed him so cruelly?

Seeing that the outcome was now decided, Little Bai curled his lips in a sinister smile. He looked down at Bloodhand with a feigned pity, as one might regard a dying dog. "Tsk, tsk. Weren’t you the big boss of the underworld? Look at you now—just a pathetic little bug I could crush with a flick of my finger."

Bloodhand managed a faint groan, his eyes wide as if some realization had dawned. Gone was all trace of his former arrogance, his cruelty, his menace—only a wretched misery remained.

"So, you finally get it," Little Bai sneered, surprised but quickly dismissive. Leaning down, he whispered in Bloodhand’s ear, "Goodbye. Go to hell and reunite with your unlucky brother."

But in that instant, Bloodhand coughed violently, spraying Little Bai’s face with blood. The old underworld king, the dark hero, would not grant Little Bai the satisfaction of his final triumph. In his own way, he repaid all the humiliation he’d suffered at Little Bai’s hands. At last, he closed his eyes, a faint smile hovering on his lips as he left this world behind.

As consciousness faded, Bloodhand felt his life flash by in reverse—like a film rewinding at breakneck speed.

Ten years old: both parents dead, he fled with his newborn brother, hiding from place to place.

At thirteen, he killed for the first time, just to protect his young sibling.

At seventeen, dragging his seven-year-old brother along, he joined his first gang. From that day, he forgot his own name and gave himself a new one: Bloodhand.

At twenty-three, a knife scar marked his face, but he took down his boss in exchange, finally founding his own gang.

Now, at twenty-eight, his brother was eighteen, and his gang had become a rising power in the local underworld. For money alone, he had joined this deadly game.

He had always believed he possessed everything. Only at this moment did he finally realize he had nothing at all. Even his beloved brother had left him first, and he had never even noticed.

"Brother, I’m coming. Don’t be afraid—your brother will protect you. If anyone tries to hurt you, I’ll kill them all." The last thought flickered through Bloodhand’s mind; it was the promise he had made to his brother when he was thirteen.