Gunshots rang out, striking Li Lianhua right between the brows. The bullet burrowed a bloody hole in his forehead without deviation, and Li Lianhua's head tilted back, leaning against the back of the sofa chair. He was dead beyond any doubt. A while later, his arm dropped listlessly, pulling his head to collide with the sofa cushion, a large pool of blood forming around him.
The other family elders, accustomed to grand spectacles, remained composed, all turning their gaze toward the man. In their eyes, there was no fear, only calculation and estimation.
"You've run out of bullets, haven't you? That thing can only shoot once," one of the family elders said.
The man paid him no attention. He stepped forward, placing his finger under Li Lianhua's nostril. Finding no breath, he double-checked by feeling for a pulse and probing the chest, confirming that the person was indeed dead before he felt at ease.
