Chapter 29: With a Deadly Weapon in Hand, the Will to Kill Rises

“Again?” Wang Xiaoqiang raised his gun once more, and the little brother bit down hard on his teeth, trembling. “Don’t shoot! I’m sorry, bro—I just said you had a soft spot for the orphanage, figured we could use those kids somehow. I was just messing around, really! Please, bro, I’m sorry—spare me!”

Wang Xiaoqiang lifted his head, eyes locking onto Xiong Ge.
“I’ll say it again: is this over? Can we call it quits right here?”

Xiong Ge suddenly turned sharp—dangerous, almost feral. To beat one of his own men in front of him? That wasn’t just disrespect—it was a slap in the face. “Little brother,” he said, voice low and heavy with authority, “you’ve gone too far.”

Wang Xiaoqiang stared back, calm as stone. “We’ve never met before. No history. No grudges. So can you answer my question now, Xiong Ge? I know your kind—the ‘spit’s a nail’ crowd. Just give me one word. One honest word.”

“You’re pushing it too hard,” Xiong Ge snapped, fury rising. This wasn’t just confrontation—it was salt in an open wound. If he gave in now, how could he ever lead again? His crew wouldn’t respect him.

Wang Xiaoqiang rubbed his temples, thoughts colliding like storm clouds. Then—like lightning—a line from an old poem flashed through his mind: *Better that I betray the world than let the world betray me.* In this broken world where morality had collapsed, he couldn’t afford to bet his life—and his family’s—on someone else’s mercy or self-restraint. He exhaled slowly. His eyes went ice-cold.

*Bang.*

The gunshot cracked the air. The thug on his knees exploded—brain matter splattering across the ground in a grotesque spray of red and white. The nearest henchman got soaked in it, reeling back in shock.

Everyone flinched. Took a step back.

Wang Xiaoqiang stepped forward, toward Xiong Ge. The man was shaking now. He’d beaten men into cripples, raped women, done things no decent person would name—but he’d never killed anyone. Not like this.

This guy… he wasn’t human. He was something worse. And Xiong Ge didn’t know if he’d survive another wrong answer.

“Brother,” he stammered, voice cracking. “Let’s talk. Let’s talk. My little brother messed up—he tried to hurt your family. He’s dead now. It’s over. Can we just… call it even? Please?”

Wang Xiaoqiang held his gaze for two long minutes. Cold sweat poured down Xiong Ge’s face.
“Hope you mean it,” Wang Xiaoqiang finally said.

“Brother, I swear on my life—I don’t break promises. I still have some dignity left in this world.”

“Fine,” Wang Xiaoqiang said. “Then you’re free to go.”

He didn’t look back. Turned and walked back toward the security outpost. The woman—terrified earlier—hesitated, then glanced at the gangsters, then at Wang Xiaoqiang. After a second, she followed.

Xiong Ge’s crew shoved the corpse into the trunk and peeled away fast.

Why did Wang Xiaoqiang kill the kid? Simple: showing weakness to an enemy was suicide. Every movie he’d ever seen proved it—kind-hearted, hesitant heroes ended up dead. Because they were sheep. The softer you were, the more they took. And in this post-war chaos, he couldn’t risk his family. He couldn’t afford to lose.

And besides—guns changed people. There was a saying: *Carry a blade, and the killer instinct grows.* The weapon had already started to twist his emotions, amplifying every dark impulse.

He didn’t go inside the outpost. Instead, he leaned against the wall and vomited violently—dry heaves that brought tears to his eyes. When nothing came out, he got back in the car, grabbed a bottle of water, rinsed his mouth, then sat on the steps outside the building, staring blankly ahead.

Old Wang came out, looked at the spot where the shot had landed, said nothing. Sat down beside him. Pulled out a cigarette, lit it, took two puffs, then passed it to Xiaoqiang.

Xiaoqiang took it, sucked hard—thick smoke burned straight into his lungs. He coughed violently. After a minute, he calmed. Took another drag. Passed it back.

No words. Just father and son, passing the smoke, one puff at a time. The woman stood frozen nearby, silent.

After about half an hour, Old Wang spoke first:
“What’s done is done. Don’t carry guilt like a weight. Whatever you did—you’re still my son. I stand by you. Whatever comes, we face it together.”

Xiaoqiang turned to look at him. His eyes shimmered—tears welling, but not falling.

Then—out of nowhere—a harsh, jarring sound cut through the silence.
*Gurgle. Gag. Gag-gag-gag.*

They both turned. It was the woman.

Old Wang stood, walked over, untied her wrists, pulled the rag from her mouth.

Now, for the first time, Xiaoqiang really looked at her. Hair messy, face bruised—but still beautiful. Late twenties, maybe early thirties. Pale skin, full breasts, narrow waist, round hips. Healthy. Fertile. (Damn it—off track.)

“You just killed a man,” Xiaoqiang said, nodding toward the bloodstain on the ground. “You’re not scared?”

She sniffled. “I don’t think you’re a bad man. You had no choice. I was on a business trip. Heard fighting started. Rushed home. My kid’s still in the city—living with my parents. Car ran out of gas near the outskirts. These guys grabbed me. I didn’t do anything…” Her voice broke. She started crying again.

“Oh,” Xiaoqiang said. “Then go check on them. Go home.”

He shook his head, turned, and went back upstairs to load up knives, guns, gear into the car.

The woman stood there, dazed, until the work was done. Then she whispered, “My house is a ways off. Could you… drop me off? I’ll pay.”

Xiaoqiang froze. A strange, ghostly feeling washed over him—like stepping back into a world that no longer existed. He shook his head.
“No money needed. That stuff’s useless now. I’ll see you through. One last good deed.”

He fired up the engine. The car rolled south toward the city.

As they drove, he noticed scattered figures near subway entrances—people who hadn’t made it out in time, hiding deep in tunnels. Gaunt, hollow-eyed, skin stretched tight over bones. Starving. They’d come out only because they had no choice.

When they saw the car, they dropped to their knees, sobbing uncontrollably.

Whatever horrors they’d endured down there—Xiaoqiang didn’t care. He couldn’t. Not now.