"Zhang Qi, drive!" Cheng Muyun suddenly opened his eyes, his brows furrowed even more, his voice low but carrying an undeniable coldness.

Zhang Qi gripped the steering wheel tighter, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

He looked at the dense crowd of people in front of the car; their waving fists and angry faces were almost pressed against the front of the car, making it impossible for the wheels to move.

He turned to look at Cheng Muyun, his face showing difficulty: "Young Marshal, the road is blocked. If we force our way through..." it might result in deaths.

Cheng Muyun reached for his sidearm at his waist, but Zhang Qi immediately stopped him, "Young Marshal, there are reporters all here. Wait a moment, our men will come out and stop him right away."

Cheng Muyun clenched his fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and it felt as if ice shards were stuck in his bones. He barely managed to suppress the anger that was about to burst out of his chest.

The torchlight illuminated half the sky, reflecting in his eyes, but it couldn't penetrate the increasingly intense, scorching heat.

Sweat from his palms dampened between his fingers, the sticky sensation making his whole body tense. His heart pounded against his ribs like a drum, each beat accompanied by a frantic, dull pain.

This familiar feeling of suffocation suddenly brought back memories from many years ago.

Back then, he was just a young lad. It was his first time going to suppress bandits. The gun butt was heavy on his shoulder, and his hands were shaking so badly that he couldn't even aim the sights properly.

When the bandit's machete came slashing down, his mind went blank. The first shot he fired hit a tree trunk next to him, making his hand go numb from the impact.

Cheng Yuguang was right behind him, not even glancing at him, when he kicked him aside, his rough voice booming through the wind and snow: "Coward! You have so little guts, you don't even deserve the surname Cheng?"

The sweat on my palms, the tightness in my chest, and the panic in my heart are exactly the same as they were back then.

This time, however, there was no one behind him to hide from, and the crowd in front of him was more turbulent and harder to break through than the bandits of yesteryear.

Two squads of soldiers rushed out of the military camp, separated the rioters, and made way for them.

But then people started throwing torches, even hitting soldiers on the head, and chaos ensued.

Someone is angry.

Someone got angry.

The scene descended into chaos.

The throbbing in his temples felt like a rapid drumbeat, making Cheng Muyun feel dizzy.

He suddenly turned his head to look in the direction of Cheng Mansion. The night was as thick as ink, but a burst of firelight exploded uncontrollably in his mind—the fire that Xu Zhuohua had mentioned.

At this moment, it transformed into a raging inferno, seemingly shooting towards the sky from the direction of Cheng's mansion, causing him excruciating pain in his heart.

"Bang!"

A deafening gunshot suddenly ripped through the night sky. Cheng Muyun had already pushed open the car door at some point, the muzzle of his gun still pointed at the sky, the smoke slowly dissipating in the flames.

The surrounding noise, curses, and banging on the car door froze instantly after the shot, and a deathly silence spread.

He stood by the car in his crisp military uniform, the brass buttons on his collar gleaming in the flickering firelight, which only made his face appear even colder and harder than ice.

The terrifying aura emanating from him was like tangible frost, carrying the killing intent of someone who had been through countless battles, making people afraid to look directly at him.

“Everyone,” he began, his voice low but sharp like icy steel needles piercing everyone’s ears, “get the hell out of my way.”

His gaze swept over the crowd frozen in place, his eyes swirling with an almost bloodthirsty red, as if he wanted to etch every face into his very bones. "Otherwise, whoever blocks my way, I will kill them."

That look in his eyes was terrifying—it was the ruthlessness of someone who had truly seen blood and taken lives, the madness of someone driven to the brink of despair.

The people who were just moments ago so indignant were now frozen in place by that gaze, not daring to even breathe. Their previous clamor had shattered completely in the face of that sudden chill.

A sharp scream suddenly pierced the deathly silence: "Murderer!"

Before he could finish speaking, a burnt-out torch, along with sparks and charred sticks, slammed down on Cheng Muyun's shoulder with a "thud."

The black kerosene seeped down the fabric of his military uniform, staining half of his arm, and the pungent smell of kerosene mixed with gunpowder wafted towards him.

Cheng Muyun slowly lowered his head, looking at the filth, his brows furrowing. Then he raised his eyes, his gaze locking onto the person who threw the torch like a hawk.

He was a young man, in his early twenties, with a youthful face. His faded work clothes were stained with oil, indicating he was a worker at a nearby factory.

But in those eyes burned a kind of unwavering determination, almost blind, that was unique to that age, as if they were convinced that they were on the side of justice.

"court death."

A very soft, cold laugh escaped Cheng Muyun's throat, and the anger in his eyes suddenly exploded like a lit powder keg. He raised his hand, the muzzle of the gun steadily aimed at the man's forehead, the movement so fast that no one had time to react.

"Bang!"

Another gunshot rang out.

The bullet sliced ​​through the air, but instead of penetrating the young man's head as expected, it grazed the air and finally embedded itself deeply in his arm.

The man groaned, clutching his bleeding arm and staggering backward, the sharpness in his eyes instantly replaced by terror.

Cheng Muyun's hand holding the gun trembled slightly.

Just a second before he pulled the trigger, he clearly intended to shoot this arrogant brat dead, but when his gaze swept over that still immature face, his fingertip inexplicably deviated by half an inch.

In the end... I just couldn't bring myself to do it.

However, Xu Zhuohua once said that it is not easy for anyone to survive.

Cheng Muyun turned around and sat back in the car. The oil stains from his military uniform smeared onto the leather seats, leaving a dark mark.

He didn't look, but squeezed out two words through gritted teeth, as cold as if they had instantly frozen: "Drive."

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