Chapter Twenty-Nine: Do You Still Have Any Bullets Left?

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Do You Still Have Bullets?

At this moment, the man with the long mole was in utter torment. He couldn’t see how many enemies there were, nor did he know anything about their situation. The approaching footsteps grew clearer, like the tolling of death’s bell pounding against his heart, until cold sweat beaded on his forehead and his breathing grew ragged. Were it not for a sliver of reason clinging to him, he might already have collapsed.

The footsteps finally halted. A mysterious shadow flickered in from outside the door. The man with the long mole reacted instantly, firing a wild barrage at the silhouette as it entered. But when he paused to check, his face darkened—he had just killed one of his own team. At that moment, a figure in black—Baize Shao—appeared at the threshold.

“It’s you?” the man exclaimed incredulously. He hadn’t expected Baize Shao to be the one attacking this safehouse. He still remembered Baize Shao because, back when they’d left the Special Service, Mr. Li had collapsed right beside this very man.

Now it all made sense. The man with the long mole gave a cold snort. “So, you’re Red Party too. Don’t come any closer, or I’ll shoot him.”

“Are you sure you still have bullets in your gun?” Baize Shao advanced, not bothering to shield himself, his voice light and mocking.

“Hmph, what do you think? Want to bet on it? Want to gamble if I still have bullets?” Though his heart wavered, the man’s words remained stubborn.

“Shall we try it then?” Baize Shao replied with a negotiator’s tone, but as he spoke, he raised his pistol. “Let’s see—will I shoot you first, or will you shoot him, or will we both die together? How about it, want to try?”

“I don’t believe you’d really risk it. We both know who he is. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have shown up here tonight,” the man said, gradually regaining his composure. “Besides, those gunshots must have alerted plenty of people. The residents here are all important men—police, gendarmes, Special Service. I bet in ten minutes, they’ll all be here.”

Baize Shao hadn’t expected the man with the long mole to be such a challenge. He was right—gunshots had been fired, and the police would come soon. Time was running out, but a direct assault was out of the question; Mr. Li was still in the enemy's hands and unconscious, his condition dire.

Despite his anxiety, Baize Shao managed a calm smile. “You’ve said a lot, but let me ask you again—are you willing to bet?”

“You—” The man was agitated, especially as Baize Shao’s right index finger now rested on the trigger. A gentle squeeze would mean his death.

Just then, Mr. Li suddenly stirred. With a faint moan, his body twitched instinctively. On edge, the man with the long mole was startled and his right hand jerked—he pulled the trigger.

Bang!

The sharp crack of the gun startled Baize Shao; his breath caught. He quickly looked to Mr. Li and saw that the bullet had only grazed his scalp, causing no serious harm. Only then did he exhale in relief.

“Hahaha, kid, still want to gamble? Do you dare? Hahaha!” The man with the long mole noticed Baize Shao’s shifting expression and broke into hysterical laughter. “Just wait for death! In three or four minutes, the police will surround this place! Hahaha!”

Looking at the man, wild with relief at having survived, Baize Shao’s face darkened. Now, he truly dared not gamble. But time was running out—he might not even have four or five minutes left.

“Fine, you win. I really don’t dare bet anymore,” Baize Shao said with a deep breath, shaking his head. He sighed, then relaxed his right hand and holstered his pistol.

The man with the long mole gave a low chuckle. He, too, felt relieved. He’d truly feared Baize Shao would drag him down with him.

Though Baize Shao lowered his weapon, his mind raced back over the earlier gunshots he’d heard. The Special Service team all carried the same model pistol with the same number of bullets. Considering the wild firing earlier and the shot just now, Baize Shao was ninety percent sure the man's gun was empty. Still, he hesitated—what if he was wrong? What if he ran into that cursed ten percent?

In the silence, Baize Shao glanced at Mr. Li, who managed a faint, forced smile and gave an almost imperceptible nod.

Baize Shao understood. Time was short, the mission urgent. He had no choice but to gamble. He took a heavy breath, raised his right hand once more, and aimed his pistol at the man with the long mole.

“What are you doing, kid? You don’t want him to live, do you?” The man tensed up again, voice harsh but unsteady. “Come on, shoot! Let’s see who dies first!”

“Go on, shoot!” Baize Shao stepped forward, shouting.

“Shoot!” the man with the long mole shouted back.

“Come on!”

“Shoot!”

“Ah—!”

Bang!

Baize Shao fired. The man with the long mole fell, unwilling to accept defeat, his index finger still clenched on the trigger—but his gun was truly empty. He had lost the bet. Baize Shao let out a sigh of relief and rushed to Mr. Li’s side.

“Well done, Xiao Bai,” Mr. Li murmured, his parched lips barely forming the words.

“There’s no time. We need to get out of here,” Baize Shao said as he untied Mr. Li and quickly helped him toward the door. But as they reached the threshold, a commotion of footsteps and shrill sirens sounded outside.

Without hesitation, Baize Shao hurled his two grenades into the gathering crowd. The arriving police were startled and hit the ground.

Boom! Boom!

The deafening explosions lit up the night sky. Minutes later, the police—thrown to the ground by the blasts—rose, groaning, but Baize Shao and Mr. Li were already gone. The bewildered officers looked at each other, not knowing what to do.

Just then, a military jeep roared up. Wu Zhengke and Ye Mao jumped out. Surveying the sulfurous, dust-choked chaos, Wu frowned and ordered, “Surround the area!”

“Yes, sir!”

Ye Mao hurried into room 11. Seeing the mess inside, his heart sank. Suddenly, he noticed one of the bodies on the floor move. He rushed over.

The man with the long mole glanced at Ye Mao, dazed. His lips moved silently. Ye Mao pressed his ear close, catching the first few words, but the rest were lost—the man was dead.