Hearing Yang Ce's arrogant, mocking words, even the men in black grew angry. This fellow was far too contemptuous—as if no one else in the world mattered.

To be continued.

903. How Do You Have a Gun Too?

"Come on, all together—take out this arrogant brat and avenge Brother Nan!" Someone among the men in black shouted, and it struck an immediate chord. The black-clad men surged toward Yang Ce in a single mass.

"Avenge, is it?" Yang Ce said coolly. "You'd best think it over—whether this vengeance is worth taking. The real culprit who hurt that fellow just now wasn't me. It was your boss. If he hadn't sent the man to make trouble for me, would he be lying there like that now?"

"Huh?" Some of the men in black visibly hesitated. Yang Ce's words did seem to make sense.

"Don't listen to this fellow—take him out!" Jia Siwen roared impatiently.

"Right, take him out!" The men in black came to their senses and pressed toward Yang Ce once more.

"Ah. Sometimes people walk straight into death even when they know it's coming. Why bother?" Yang Ce shook his head. "You're like that foolish bird—what was it called again?—the one that dreamed of filling up the sea, only to waste its strength for nothing."

Yang Ce was as good as his word: this time he truly used only one hand. But he had not said he couldn't use his legs. And so, one hand and one leg flashed among the shadows. Every strike Yang Ce made was accompanied by a scream, heralding another man's fall. And so, after the last scream rang out, more than a dozen men in black lay on the floor, capable only of groaning.

And Xia Xue was there making trouble on the side—whenever she saw someone she didn't like the look of, she added a kick. The men in black finally understood: such was the disparity in strength that no number of people could make a difference. They truly had, like that foolish bird, done something utterly meaningless.

Seeing Yang Ce effortlessly strike down all his men, Jia Zhengjing's face darkened at once. So Yang Ce was an expert—he had indeed underestimated this fellow's strength.

Just then, a waiter whispered a few words into Jia Zhengjing's ear, and a cruel smile immediately spread across his face. Earlier, he had sent the waiter to find out about Yang Ce's background—what kind of car he had come in, what the license plate number was, and so on.

Such information could indirectly reveal a person's status and standing. But now, when the waiter told Jia Zhengjing that Yang Ce had merely driven over in a Dongfeng cargo truck, Jia Zhengjing laughed. Just a truck driver—and he dared come here to put on airs. So what if his hands were a little tough? That was nothing. However formidable you are, can you be more formidable than a gun?

"Boy, I'll admit it—you're impressive. But take a look at this." In Jia Zhengjing's right hand was already a gleaming pistol, its dark muzzle pointed straight at Yang Ce. "Put your hands up, and I'll spare your life."

"Hahahahaha!" Seeing his elder brother draw the gun, Jia Siwen burst into wild laughter. "How about that? Still acting tough, are you? Keep strutting, and I'll put a bullet through you!"

"Put the gun down, or you'll regret it." Yang Ce lifted his head and looked at Jia Zhengjing with utter contempt.

"Is that so?" Jia Zhengjing sneered. "Seems you won't shed tears till you see the coffin. I'll cripple your legs first and deal with the rest later."

The words ended, the gun fired—"bang"—a crack that rang out especially loud and sharp in the empty bar.

With the gunshot, a man crumpled to the ground—but that man was not Yang Ce. It was Jia Zhengjing.

Jia Zhengjing's obese bulk toppled straight off the DJ stage. Though the drop to the dance floor was only a little over two meters, he went head-first, and his skull struck the ground directly. Blood streamed from his head, and he passed out cold. In his thigh was another bloody hole, oozing blood.

In Xia Xue's hand was a pistol, and she watched the situation in the bar alertly.

As a criminal police officer with a major case on her hands of late, Xia Xue kept her pistol on her basically twenty-four hours a day. But earlier, there had been far too many thugs in the bar. She had feared that if she revealed her identity and drew her gun, it would not only fail to overawe them—if they wrested the gun from her, things would be even worse.

After all, Xia Xue had heard Jia Siwen say before that his brother had a homicide on his conscience. A desperate criminal like that would certainly not fear the police.

But after Yang Ce had struck all the men in black to the ground, Xia Xue finally relaxed. Her hand came to rest on the grip of the gun at her waist, and she prepared to wait for a good moment to reveal both their identities and seize control of the situation.

What she had not expected was that Jia Zhengjing had a gun too—and that he meant to shoot Yang Ce with it. In desperation, Xia Xue could only draw and fire. Xia Xue was not Yang Ce; she could not guarantee that Yang Ce would emerge unscathed from under Jia Zhengjing's gun.

She was a police officer. When someone threatened Yang Ce's life, Xia Xue could only act first and wound Jia Zhengjing. She had not expected the fellow to be so overweight that he fell straight down and knocked himself unconscious.

Xia Xue darted forward and confiscated the pistol from Jia Zhengjing's hand, then searched his body to make sure there were no other weapons before returning to Yang Ce's side.

Yang Ce had originally intended to use Jia Siwen as a human shield the instant Jia Zhengjing fired—that was why he had warned him that he would regret pulling the trigger. But it seemed he had not needed to move at all; Xia Xue had already done it for him.

And if Jia Zhengjing had not been unconscious, he would surely be regretting it too. Competing in marksmanship with a criminal police officer—was that not seeking death? Still, for a girl to be able to fire so decisively, and with such accuracy, filled Yang Ce with admiration.

"You—how do you have a gun too?" Jia Siwen was instantly dumbstruck, staring at the gun in Xia Xue's hand with a mixture of shock and fear, and he asked, stammering.

"So you're allowed to have guns, and we're not?" Xia Xue had an extremely poor impression of Jia Siwen and now meant to needle him on purpose. She glared at him, leveled the pistol at him, and said in a show of force.

Seeing that the tide had turned, Jia Siwen immediately cowered. Even the professionally trained thugs under his elder brother were no match for Yang Ce—how could the two security guards and few waiters at his own side possibly be a match for him?

I'd assumed that with a secret weapon like a handgun in his possession, Big Brother could turn the tables—but who'd have thought the other side had guns too? If that was the case, what was the point of even playing?

Seeing his brother's wretched state, Jia Siwen shuddered. He was timid to begin with, and now, with Yang Minlan grinning viciously and Xia Xue leveling a gun barrel at him, his fear redoubled. "Big Brother, I was wrong! I'll cripple my own right hand—won't that do? I'll do whatever you say!"

"Too late," Yang Jiyan said mildly. "It's not up to me anymore. You'll have to ask this pretty lady beside me how she wants to deal with you."

"You asked me why I have a gun, didn't you?" Xia Xue pulled a small booklet from her coat and held it up in front of Jia Siwen's face. "I'm a police officer. Everyone put your hands up. I suspect you and your brother are an illegal violent gang—in illegal possession of firearms, and wanted for murder."