Thump!
A figure suddenly dropped to his knees in front of Zhang Songyang—it was the middle-aged man.
Cold sweat beaded on the man’s forehead, and his eyes were filled with terror as he stared up at Zhang Songyang. But a strained smile was plastered across his face—a far cry from the arrogant attitude he’d shown just moments ago.
The middle-aged man was even stammering now. “B-big brother, I—I’m sorry! I was wrong, I really know I was wrong! Everything I said just now—it was all a joke! Please, don’t take it seriously! I deserve to die, I deserve to die!”
With that, he started slapping himself across the face, even harder than Zhang Songyang had slapped himself earlier.
He knew now—that Desert Eagle lying on the floor was the real deal.
And someone like Zhang Songyang, who could get his hands on a real gun, was not someone he could afford to mess with!
He’d completely misjudged the situation. Zhang Songyang wasn’t some pushover—he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing!
To put it bluntly, he was just a casino operator. On the streets, people might call him “Big B,” but in front of a gun, he was nothing. He wasn’t even worth a “little B.”
Think about it—in all of Jiuzhou, who could get their hands on a gun these days? And not just any gun—a brand-new Desert Eagle!
That model had been discontinued back in the last century. There was no way anyone should have one now. So whoever could get their hands on something like that—and have it delivered in a cardboard box, no less—had to have some seriously deep connections.
Ten of him tied together wouldn’t even be worth one of that person’s fingers.
Right now, begging for mercy and making amends was his only option. Because he didn’t want to die, and he certainly didn’t want to die a slow, agonizing death.
“I’m so sorry, big brother! We—we were blind! We were idiots! We were asking for it! Please, just let us go like we’re nothing…”
“Big brother, I’ve got a three-year-old mother at home and an eighty-year-old kid! And I have a beautiful wife! I can’t die—her lover’s been wanting me dead for ages! I absolutely can’t die!”
After Big B dropped to his knees, the rest of the young thugs quickly followed suit, weeping and wailing, snot and tears running down their faces as they begged for mercy.
And that shiny yellow Desert Eagle lay there on the floor, perfectly still—and no one dared to even think about reaching for it.
Zhang Songyang glanced at the gun, then at the middle-aged man and the young thugs kneeling before him. His lips twitched a few times, and he finally managed to say, “Get out…”
“Huh?” Big B froze, not quite catching it.
“GET OUT!” Zhang Songyang’s voice shot up an octave as he roared.
Big B finally snapped out of it, scrambling to his feet. “Thank you—thank you for sparing our lives, big brother! We’re leaving, we’re leaving right now!”
The moment the words left his mouth, the security door slammed shut with a loud bang.
The room, which had been full of macho energy and chaos just moments ago, was now eerily silent.
Zhang Songyang was breathing heavily, his pupils shaking violently, his face a mask of bewilderment. He slowly turned his head to look at the Desert Eagle on the floor.
At that moment, terror flooded his heart. He felt an overwhelming urge to flee—to get as far away from that Desert Eagle as possible.
Why…
Why had Jiang Chuan sent him a real gun?
This was a real firearm!
Where had he even gotten something like this?
Wait—could Jiang Chuan be a police officer? Had he sent his service weapon over to reveal his identity, trying to pressure him into returning the money?
The thought barely formed in his mind before he shot it down.
No, that was impossible. No police department in the world issued Desert Eagles. That wasn’t even a domestically produced weapon—there’s no way it could be an officer’s sidearm.
Besides, losing your service weapon was a major offense. If Jiang Chuan really were a cop, he’d never do something like this.
So if he wasn’t a cop, but could still get his hands on a Desert Eagle—a real handgun—then that meant…
“He’s a hidden big shot. Yeah, that’s gotta be it! A big shot who can get a gun even here in Jiuzhou!” Once the realization hit him, Zhang Songyang shuddered.
“But—but why would someone like that get scammed by me? And why would he send me a Desert Eagle? Isn’t he afraid I’ll just go after him with it? No, no! He could kill me with a snap of his fingers—I wouldn’t stand a chance!”
“Maybe—maybe he sent me this gun as a warning. To make me give the money back…”
“No, that’s not right either. It’s only a few hundred thousand. Would he really kill me over that? He’s an underworld boss…”
“Wait—what if he doesn’t even want the money? What if he just can’t swallow the insult and wants me dead?”
“If that’s the case, then right now there’s probably a sniper rifle aimed at me from the building across the street… ready to end me at any moment… Yeah, that’s highly possible!”
Muttering to himself like a madman, Zhang Songyang was on the verge of losing his mind. The overwhelming shock kept gnawing at his thoughts, preventing him from digging any deeper.
But he still reacted quickly. Staying low to avoid the windows, he crawled on the floor, inch by inch, until he reached the hallway outside the bedroom. Leaning against the wall, he gasped for air.
He could feel his clothes soaked through with cold sweat, and his fear had reached its peak.
Hugging his head with both hands, Zhang Songyang started spiraling again. “What if he’s already sent an assassin to kill me? And the real gun—what if the whole point was to make me fight the assassin? If I can kill the assassin, would he let me go? No, no way! Even if I kill the assassin, he’d just find some other way to finish me off. He definitely would…”
Ding!
Suddenly, in the dead silence of the room, the sharp sound of a phone notification rang out.
Zhang Songyang, still lost in his paranoid fantasies, let out a yelp—and the crotch of his pants was quickly soaked through with a spreading dark stain.
He turned his head in terror, staring at his phone.
His phone was lying right next to that Desert Eagle, and now the screen was lit up. From the sound of it, it was a WeChat message.
Should he go get it?
If he moved over there now, and there really was a sniper in the building across the street, he’d be a dead man.
But if he didn’t check it, and it turned out to be a message from Jiang Chuan that he missed, he’d be dead anyway…
Weighing his options, Zhang Songyang gritted his teeth. He struggled to his feet, completely ignoring his soaked pants, and dashed over to his phone in one swift move—then sprinted straight for the bathroom.
BANG!
He slammed the bathroom door shut behind him, his hands trembling as he unlocked the phone. Sure enough, it was a message from Jiang Chuan.
[Did you get the gift? How is it? Isn’t it awesome! I sure hope you didn’t aim it at your head—because if you did, you probably wouldn’t be seeing this message.]
His pupils constricted sharply.
Ding.
Before he could even react, another message came through.
[Oh, I forgot to mention—this Desert Eagle was released in 1980 and manufactured in 1981. Price tag: 13,000 Jiuzhou Yuan. But you won’t be able to buy one in Jiuzhou.
Also, it weighs 2.25 kilograms—about four times the weight of a standard handgun. The magazine uses a single-stack feed, so it only holds eight rounds.
As for its power… well, let’s just say if you put it to your head and pull the trigger, trust me—even the most skilled mortician in the world wouldn’t be able to piece your head back together. And if you aim for the heart? Your internal organs, along with your left arm, would be blown to bits too~]
