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*****
{Chapter: 229 Ruthless! Too ruthless!}
Bang!!!
The deafening crack of a Barrett M82A1 sniper rifle shattered the silence like a thunderclap tearing through the sky. The shot, fired from over a kilometer away, echoed faintly in the distance.
Inside the extended Lincoln sedan, the faint reverberation of the gunshot reached the ears of Ye Feng, Chen Meng, and Luo Yinghao. Though the sound was muffled by the reinforced, bulletproof interior, a subtle sense of unease prickled in their minds.
They heard it—but didn't think much of it. After all, it was distant, subdued, and hardly cause for concern to three seasoned men in a secure vehicle. They continued their conversation, laughing lightly, their nerves finally beginning to settle after the earlier chaos.
But their calm was obliterated in the very next moment.
CRASH!
An explosive burst shattered the tranquility as the thick, bulletproof rear window disintegrated. A massive, smoking hole ripped open in the triple reinforced glass—one that hadn't just cracked, but had been obliterated with violent force.
Time seemed to freeze.
Lin Yuan, still crouched in his sniper position, lowered the Barrett with a glint in his eyes. The muzzle steamed slightly from the recoil. He watched through the scope, eyes locked on the result of his lethal shot.
The .50 caliber round had punched through the rear window like a sledgehammer through paper, ripping through the barrier as if it didn't exist.
Inside the car, the aftermath was instantaneous and horrifying.
Luo Yinghao and Chen Meng both jumped halfway from their seats, their instincts screaming at them that something had gone terribly wrong.
"What the—?!"
Neither had time to make sense of the impact. Glass fragments flew like shrapnel, embedding into the leather seats and dashboard. The air was filled with the acrid stench of gunpowder and burned rubber.
Then they turned—and saw Ye Feng.
They froze.
The left side of Ye Feng's head had been torn apart. A large chunk of his skull was simply gone—as if carved out by an invisible hand. Blood streamed down his face and soaked his shoulder. His brain matter was partially exposed, his temple cratered inwards grotesquely.
And yet… his lips still carried the ghost of the smile he'd worn just seconds earlier. He hadn't even had time to react. His body slumped to the side like a puppet with its strings cut.
Chen Meng was the first to snap out of his shock, though his limbs moved stiffly as if underwater. Blood splattered across his coat, but he didn't care. He grabbed Ye Feng by the shoulders.
"Xiao Feng! Xiao Feng, talk to me! Are you okay?!"
Luo Yinghao, pale with disbelief, barked orders. "Pull over! Stop the car now!"
The Lincoln screeched to a halt on the side of the road. Luo Yinghao jumped out, calling for backup and medical support with urgency in his voice. Meanwhile, inside the vehicle, Chen Meng gently leaned Ye Feng against the seat, frantically checking his condition.
Ye Feng's lips moved. "No…" he murmured weakly, as though trying to say something more—but no words came out. His eyes fluttered shut, his consciousness slipping.
Panicking, Chen Meng pressed his fingers beneath Ye Feng's nose, praying for any sign of life.
And then—a breath.
Shallow. Fragile. But there.
"He's alive!" Chen Meng exhaled, eyes wide. "He's still breathing!"
Ye Feng, though nearly unconscious, reached out and gripped Chen Meng's wrist with surprising strength. His body was weak, but his will to live burned fiercely within him.
No one else knew how close to death he truly was in that moment. But Ye Feng knew. He could feel it.
The Barrett round had traveled over a kilometer, tearing through military-grade triple reinforced glass with monstrous speed. If Ye Feng hadn't reacted exactly when he did, he would be a corpse.
But he wasn't alive by chance.
A split second before the shot rang out, a strange chill had run down Ye Feng's spine—an instinct honed through countless battles. Something in his gut screamed that he was being targeted. It was a feeling he had learned to trust over years of international mercenary work, a sixth sense that had saved his life more times than he could count.
As that chill intensified, he caught a faint glimmer in the rearview mirror.
It was far off, but he recognized the silhouette—Lin Yuan crouching behind a barrier, holding something long and black. A rifle.
Then the shot rang out.
In the very same instant, Ye Feng jerked his head to the right.
That single motion had saved his life.
Instead of the bullet piercing through the center of his skull, it grazed the side, destroying part of his cranium but sparing his brainstem.
Even now, with blood pouring and vision dimming, Ye Feng's heart beat fiercely with hatred and the overwhelming will to survive.
The palm-sized round fired from the Barrett M82A1 tore through the air like a meteor, its terrifying velocity creating a sonic boom as it traveled. It spun toward Ye Feng's head with deadly precision, a manifestation of raw force engineered for war.
Though Lin Yuan didn't land a direct hit to the center of Ye Feng's skull—thanks to Ye Feng's split-second instinct to move—the bullet still struck with devastating impact. It collided with the left side of his head and tore through bone and flesh with brutal efficiency.
The result was catastrophic.
The sheer kinetic energy of the .50 caliber round blasted part of Ye Feng's skull apart. Blood sprayed across the interior of the car, and a fine red mist filled the air for a moment before settling on the leather seats.
Ye Feng's world went black in an instant.
His mind swirled with confusion before he lost consciousness. There was no time to scream, no time to react—just that deafening sound and the explosion of pain.
Even in that brief, fading moment, Ye Feng knew one thing for certain: he wasn't dead.
Not yet.
He hadn't been killed outright by Lin Yuan's shot.
But Lin Yuan had come close. Very close.
Ye Feng had always known Lin Yuan was dangerous, but now—after facing him head-on—he truly understood what "ruthless" meant.
Too ruthless.
No hesitation.
No restraint.
He finally understood the cryptic warning Gu Qingshan had once given him about Lin Yuan.
Words alone had never conveyed the threat. But the experience was harsh and undeniable teacher.
Even with high-profile figures like Chen Meng and Chief Luo Yinghao sitting beside him, Lin Yuan hadn't flinched. He still pulled the trigger. He still aimed to kill.
He did not care who else was in the car.
He had only one target: Ye Feng.
That kind of boldness... that kind of cold-blooded certainty...
Terrifying.
---
Meanwhile, on the ground level, Chief Luo Yinghao yanked the car door open and stepped out. The moment his shoes hit the pavement, doors slammed behind him as dozens of uniformed police officers emerged from their vehicles, weapons at the ready.
His voice roared like thunder across the plaza.
"Lin family brat! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" he shouted furiously. "Were you trying to kill me? Or did you just decide to murder someone in front of a Chief of Police?!"
As his words echoed, police officers quickly aimed their sidearms upward at Lin Yuan, who still stood calmly on a balcony floors above, Barrett rifle in hand.
Luo Yinghao drew his own firearm, his hand trembling with a mix of fury and adrenaline. The sight of Ye Feng bleeding beside him had shaken even a seasoned officer like him.
But up on the balcony, Lin Yuan didn't look concerned in the slightest.
His expression was cool. Unbothered. He slowly lowered the massive sniper rifle and rested it beside his feet.
Then he spoke — casually, almost dreamily — as if he had just returned from feeding koi in a tranquil garden rather than standing before a group of stunned officers.
"Ah… yes. That," he said, gesturing toward the smoking weapon. "Luke left the gun here earlier. I told him to retrieve it. Unfortunately…" He glanced skyward, sighing with mock regret. "It seems a bird must've pecked the trigger. The shot fired on its own. Are you all alright?"
He turned, his gaze falling on the African American man beside him, his tone suddenly sharpening with theatrical disappointment.
"How can you be so reckless, Luke!"
"I-I am so sorry, Master Lin—"
Lin Yuan didn't even glance at him. Instead, he pointed coolly at the group of officers still reeling from the gunshot.
"Don't apologize to me. Apologize to them."
"O-of course! I'm sorry! I'll accept full responsibility!"
For a moment, silence devoured the room. No one spoke. No one breathed.
It was the kind of silence that crackled — not with peace, but with disbelief.
And then—
"A bird?!" one officer finally exploded, unable to contain it.
The air shifted like a dam breaking. Murmurs surged. Expressions twisted between outrage and incredulity.
Did he truly believe this? That they would all nod and accept the idea of a trigger-happy pigeon?
A sacred bird? A firearm-trained hawk? Perhaps a divine eagle sent from the heavens with a vendetta?
The sheer absurdity of it all scorched the moment.
No one was buying it. Especially not Chief Inspector Luo Yinghao.
His eyes narrowed like a blade being drawn. Every muscle in his face screamed one truth:
'You're toying with us.'
But Lin Yuan simply stood there — unbothered, untouchable — like a man who had already decided the rules of the world didn't apply to him.
And at that moment, maybe they didn't.
*****
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