Chapter 317: The Bloodshed

The latter, influenced by Vincent’s words, unconsciously fixed his gaze on his lips.
His lips were soft, rosy, and glistening; the small, plump shape indeed made it seem like they were “very soft,” just as Vincent had described.
As for his body… his waist was both slim and firm, creating a curve that a single hand could easily wrap around.
Because of Vincent’s frank and unreserved comments, the tense atmosphere was tinged with an inexplicable hint of ambiguity.
The young and beautiful Asian store owner would have been unable to protect himself, especially with a crazy staff member nearby.
Although the atmosphere was strange, everyone present couldn’t help but follow Vincent’s line of thought.
The slender, black-haired Asian man, presumably not strong at all, could only push away anyone with ill intentions using his soft, pale hands if caught.
In such a scenario, his beautiful, fair face would surely display panic, and he might even softly plead for mercy, using a voice that sounded tender and weak to refuse anyone attempting to harm him.
This would likely have the opposite effect.
Yaxiu was momentarily taken aback.
Yan Chuan furrowed his brow, questioning with his eyes what was wrong with him.
Suddenly, a drunken gold miner stood up, mumbling incoherently as he made his way toward Yan Chuan.
He stumbled and knocked over a table, and even the liquor bottles could not escape his clumsiness.
Yaxiu stepped in to block Yan Chuan from behind.
The police officer finally managed to shake off the drunken man and, holding up his gun, warned, “Stop!”
But the inebriated man was completely oblivious to the warning and stretched out his sturdy arm towards Yan Chuan.
Hans, who had been watching the spectacle, finally realized that things were not looking good. He was hurriedly pulled away by his girlfriend, glancing one last time at the scattered gold nuggets on the ground.
Taking advantage of the distraction, he secretly pocketed a piece and quickly went upstairs.
Only Yan Chuan and his group remained in the lobby, along with the middle-aged man who had drunkenly fallen asleep; his wife had already taken their child upstairs to hide.
Yan Chuan listened to the cacophony of noise, his expression growing even less pleasant.
“Bang!”
The noise ceased abruptly following the sound of a gunshot.
Yan Chuan leaned in closer, startled as the bullet grazed his side.
A dull thud echoed as the bullet struck a body, followed by a heart-rending scream that shattered the momentary silence.
The heavy scent of rust filled the air.
The wooden floor, worn down over time, was clean but covered with moisture-resistant oilcloth and carpets.
After the scream, patches of blood splattered across the carpet, streaming out of the man who had been shot like an endless well.
The sound of a heavy object falling echoed, and the screams ceased.
Yan Chuan, catching up to the moment, touched his cheek.
A streak of red stained his fingertips.
It was from when that person fell and splattered blood on him just now.
Yan Chuan trembled, his eyelashes quivering as he pressed his lips together tightly.
He glanced at the man with chestnut hair whom the gold miner had called “Duncan.”
When the drunken man lunged at him, the young man sitting up straight took the gun that Vincent had placed on the table and pulled the trigger at the advancing figure.
His hand was steady; the gunpowder scent wafted from the barrel as the bullet precisely struck the man who was about to grab Yan Chuan’s arm.
But that wasn’t the end, as Vincent was furious.
Seeing his companion shot and falling, his earlier drunken haze was instantly shaken off, replaced by a furious expression.
Vincent immediately went to reach into his pocket, cursing, “You don’t need a guide…”
Before he could finish, another familiar gunshot rang out.
“Bang!”
The bullet struck Vincent’s right hand, which reached for his gun, piercing through the back of his hand.
Blood gushed out, and the tall, strong man rolled on the ground in agony, roaring in despair.
Yan Chuan had never known a person could bleed so much.
The carpet became even dirtier.
“Need…” Duncan stood up, pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket, casually wiping the hot gun barrel with a calm demeanor.
Even after firing twice, his expression remained unchanged, his gaze still heavy.
Duncan approached Yan Chuan, eyeing the writhing Vincent on the floor, and coldly remarked, “So doesn’t that leave your life intact?”

【What a bloody script…】
【At such close range, isn’t he afraid of scaring his wife? No wife, no sentence!】
【My poor face has turned pale, sob sob sob】
【Quickly deal with this cannon fodder, how dare they get close to our wife!】
【Oh my gosh, what a violent man…】
Yan Chuan’s face turned white.
He had seen terrifying scenes before, but never had he witnessed something so direct and unfiltered upon entering a script—such gory imagery.
The scenes of monsters harming people were completely different from gun violence.
The former was shocking, but the latter was much more visceral, even the wounds exaggeratedly horrific.
The human body is always fragile in the face of firearms.
The blood that splattered had stained Yan Chuan’s clothes.
He lethargically touched his ear lobe.
He was so close that the gunfire seemed to erupt right next to him, causing his scalp to tingle even now.
The bullet had brushed past his side, and the scent of gunpowder still lingered in his nostrils.
Yan Chuan shivered, gradually realizing the gravity of the situation.
Duncan, unfazed, finished wiping the gun, disengaged the safety, and raised his hand to the tense officer.
“Sorry,” he said apologetically, but there was no hint of remorse in his eyes, “Circumstances forced me to.”
His tone lacked sincerity, but it was clear that he and his people had the upper hand.
Yan Chuan watched as the tall, handsome man continued to approach.
Uncertain of his intentions, Yaxiu grew anxious, stepping protectively in front of Yan Chuan.