The autumn wind brushed past, the weeds swayed.
The short man cursed as he walked further into the tent, but before he could move, he felt a chill on his neck. Reflexively reaching up, he found his palm covered in warm blood.
He tried desperately to shout, but his neck, pierced by the edge of a porcelain bowl, could only produce a faint gurgling sound and nothing more.
"Bang! Bang!" He fired two shots aimlessly, and the bullets from the Type 92 pistol narrowly grazed Guo Xiaohua's ear.
He coldly stared at the beast in front of him, the right hand holding the bowl dripping with blood.
After firing two shots, the short man collapsed weakly to the ground, his pierced neck gushing blood like a fountain.
He never imagined that this supposed surprise attack, devoid of danger, would mark the end of his life.
He gazed despairingly at the man in front of him, hoping desperately for a rescue.
But the other remained indifferent, his eyes icy cold.
