Chapter 126: Er, Hands Up?

The bullet whistled through the air with terrifying speed. Even though Lin Yang had prepared himself and leaned to the side, the distance was less than ten meters, making his hurried evasion appear sluggish.

Having cultivated the "Thirteen Blades of Heavenly Spirit," Lin Yang’s physical fitness was far superior to that of an ordinary person; otherwise, that lethal strike from Fang Ming, intended to be a guaranteed kill, would have ruthlessly claimed his life.

The sidestep had a marginal effect. The bullet pierced through Lin Yang’s left shoulder. Fortunately, it only tore through the muscle tissue without shattering bone; had it hit bone, his combat effectiveness would have been cut by more than half.

The handgun in Fang Ming’s hand had been specially modified, its lethality significantly higher than a standard firearm. After mercilessly tearing through the flesh of Lin Yang's shoulder, the bullet retained enough momentum to gouge a deep hole into the concrete wall behind him, embedding itself deep within.

With the muscle pierced and blood vessels ruptured, a massive amount of blood gushed from the wound, quickly soaking his clothes. The vibrant red stood out against the original grey, the colors bleeding together until the area turned a dark, bruised black. A pungent, metallic smell of blood rapidly filled the air.

The intense, sharp neural pain forced Lin Yang to clench his teeth, the grinding sound audible if one listened closely.

It was pain—bone-chilling, heart-wrenching pain.

Beyond the agony, the loss of blood caused Lin Yang’s face to turn pale. He quickly pressed his fingers against several points around the wound to seal the meridians, preventing further blood loss that might cause him to lose consciousness.

The rapid loss of blood already made his head swim. In such a precarious situation, even a slight bout of dizziness was a fatal weakness.

To say Lin Yang was like meat on a cutting board would be no exaggeration. Having lost the cover of the complex metal lathe structure, he was now targeted by dozens of dark gun barrels. If this wasn’t being served up on a platter, what was?

Watching the cornered Lin Yang, Fang Ming strode over from behind his men, his face twisted in triumph. His smug, punchable expression betrayed his excitement. Looking at the boy’s helpless state, he couldn't help but taunt him, his demeanor as if to say, "Run, kid! Let’s see you run now! Hahaha!"

Sarcasm, mockery, a cold sneer, and a hint of disdain—it was truly bizarre how one person’s eyes could hold such a complex array of emotions.

Carelessly dangling the still-smoking handgun, Fang Ming curled his lip into a cold smile and lashed out at Lin Yang without hesitation: "Kid, how does it feel to be bitten by a bullet? Comfortable, isn't it? Weren't you so capable? Why are you helpless now? Didn't think karma would come knocking so fast when you tossed me around, did you?" After finishing, he didn't forget to comically pout and blow on the smoking barrel, appearing obsessed with the idea of tormenting Lin Yang to death.

Lin Yang’s situation was dire. In front of him stood a group of vicious thugs armed with submachine guns, ready to turn him into a sieve at any moment; behind him was a concrete wall that had forced him into this dead end. With no cover on either side and fully exposed to the enemy's line of sight, death was ticking down like a countdown clock.

"Hmph, it’s not decided who wins just yet," Lin Yang said, showing no trace of fear. He grinned and let out a cold, sharp laugh, though his left hand, hidden behind his back, tightened firmly.

Fang Ming looked at Lin Yang as if he were an idiot, casting a disdainful glance his way. In his eyes, Lin Yang was already meat on the block, ready to be kneaded at will.

"It’s over. Everything is over. I’ll find out your objective soon enough." When he first spotted Lin Yang, Fang Ming had noticed the camera bag hanging at his waist. Having spent years in the political arena, Fang Ming could vaguely guess what it contained.

Collecting evidence? Hmph, if it were that easy to take them down, wouldn't the Fang family have been toppled long ago?

He raised his handgun, aiming it directly at Lin Yang’s forehead. Just as Fang Ming prepared to pull the trigger and sentence Lin Yang to death, a piercing, deafening roar erupted outside the workshop. The sound was so massive that, combined with the enclosed nature of the workshop, the shockwaves shook the entire building violently, as if an earthquake had struck.

Fang Ming lost his footing and stumbled to the ground. The handgun in his grip misfired as his hand jerked, the trigger being pulled an instant after he hit the floor. The result was an unexpected and terrifying consequence.

The bullet deviated, missing the targeted Lin Yang and striking the large, heavy-set man behind Fang Ming who was carrying a rocket launcher. No one could have foreseen this. The bullet, mindless and indifferent, punched through the man's thick-skinned waist. In agony, the man’s reflex caused him to pull the trigger of the rocket launcher on his shoulder.

With a shrill blast and a thick plume of smoke, the rocket whistled directly toward Lin Yang’s position.

Lin Yang, who had been mentally calculating a way to escape, saw the brightly-tailed projectile hurtling toward him and instinctively dove toward the ground.

The rocket slammed squarely into the concrete wall, followed immediately by a deafening, thunderous roar. The blast radius caught the group of men who had been surrounding Lin Yang, leaving their ears ringing. A jagged, human-sized hole was blown into the concrete wall, and blinding light flooded in from the outside.

In the glare, dust, concrete, bricks, and shards of scrap metal filled the air, pinging and clattering everywhere. Visibility within ten meters was reduced to zero.

Fang Ming and his men had been just ten meters away from Lin Yang, so they were naturally caught in the shockwave. One man was slammed face-first into the ground, suffering inevitable cuts and bruises. Others were knocked unconscious by the sheer force of the blast, while a few unlucky ones were pierced by flying scrap metal through the throat or heart, dropping dead on the spot.

Fang Ming, being the closest, was the first to be blown away. He arced through the air for two meters before crashing down hard. Because he landed face-first against the concrete floor, tragedy struck: his two front teeth, yellowed from excessive smoking, were knocked out by the impact. A large amount of blood streamed from his mouth, making for a gruesome sight.

After a few heavy, hacking coughs, a spot about two meters from the debris of the wall began to stir. A blood-stained, dirt-caked right hand emerged, followed by a similarly filthy left hand. After a full half-minute of recovery, Lin Yang crawled out from the rubble.

His face was as black as coal; if not for his lantern-like eyes darting around, he might have been mistaken for a piece of animated, monstrous refuse.

Fang Ming, nursing his painful, toothless mouth, climbed to his feet and locked eyes with Lin Yang. His expression turned pitch-black with fury. He spat out incoherent, angry curses, his right hand instinctively making a grabbing motion as if to pull a trigger. But after his fall, the handgun he had been holding was nowhere to be found. He gnashed his teeth in rage, wishing he could tear the survivor to pieces.

Lin Yang, having crawled out of the wreckage, was still reeling. Although he had shielded himself well during the explosion, he hadn't fully escaped the terrifying blast wave. His head felt like it had been struck by a heavy hammer, buzzing incessantly.

"Get up, all of you! Kill that brat!" After shouting for a long time without seeing a soul move to finish the job, Fang Ming looked down at his groaning subordinates on the ground. He felt like killing them himself, spewing more vicious curses: "Damn it, trash! I raised a bunch of useless trash!"

Seeing the "innocent" look on the fat man’s face, Fang Ming didn't hold back. He swung his foot and delivered a vicious kick toward the man’s crotch. The kick was so precise and ruthless that the fat man instinctively tried to dodge—but in doing so, he maneuvered himself perfectly to take the blow directly in the testicles.

The pain was hysterical.

The fat man’s eyes bulged, his pupils contracting. His face flushed a fiery, irritated red, as if he’d just downed several liters of hard liquor. He reflexively clutched his crotch and hopped around, looking both ridiculous and pathetic.

"AAAH!" The shrill, piercing scream carried incredible distance. Through the giant hole in the workshop wall, the agonizing cry echoed across the entire scrapyard.

Taking advantage of the distraction caused by the fat man’s wailing, Lin Yang cleared his dizzy head. Without a second’s hesitation, he scrambled toward the jagged hole. He knew that whatever was happening outside, it had to be safer than his current environment. He also suspected that, if he wasn't mistaken, Secretary Zhu must have arrived and taken extraordinary measures—otherwise, how could there have been such an earth-shaking blast?

Just as he scrambled through the opening, a sharp pain stung his eyes. The workshop had been dark, and even with the lighting, it was dim; after staying inside for so long, his eyes were sensitive, and the afternoon sun was blinding.

But before Lin Yang could rejoice, a harsh voice blared from a loudspeaker, cold and filled with lethal intent.

"Raise your hands! Or face the consequences."

His heart sank. The man who thought he had escaped the tiger’s den only to find himself in a lion’s pride, Lin Yang felt a wave of despair.

Despite his intense reluctance, he dared not hesitate. He slowly raised his hands above his head.