Sun Li suddenly turned his head and looked at the roof of a bungalow in the distance. Zhang Cheng, holding a hunting rifle, made a gesture to him.
"Such precise marksmanship!" Sun Li was secretly shocked. A headshot from 100 meters away—this was no ordinary person.
"Boom!"
Explosions echoed throughout Jin Village.
Jin Hanyong held a machete, his blood-stained face contorted in a ferocious grimace.
His chest heaved violently as he stared at his wife lying in a pool of blood at his feet. A hint of pain flashed in his fierce eyes as he gritted his teeth and said, "Third Sister, I never imagined that after thirty years of sharing a bed, you would actually turn on me with a knife!"
The Third Sister, still breathing in the pool of blood, stared venomously at Jin Hanyong, her voice weak: "You...you think your mother...is anything good?"
Jin Hanyong's pupils constricted, and he raised his right foot, stomping hard on San Niang's head, roaring, "Don't you dare slander my mother! My mother is Chinese! So am I! Die! You die!"
He kicked and kicked, his eyes bloodshot, looking like a madman.
"Huff... huff..."
Jin Hanyong, panting heavily, looked at Third Sister's head, which he had crushed, gripped the wood-chopping knife tightly, and walked out of the courtyard.
He quickly arrived at the neighboring yard.
An old woman sat on the bluestone slab on the left side of the courtyard, her eyes cloudy.
Jin Hanyong approached step by step, his steps heavy yet firm.
"mother."
The old woman looked at Jin Hanyong and said, "Son, there are pancakes inside. Go heat them up yourself."
Jin Hanyong knew that his mother was hard of hearing and her eyesight was failing.
He knelt down in front of his mother, extended his right hand, grasped her wrinkled left hand, and shouted, "Mother! Tell your son! Who are you really?"
"Huh?" The old woman couldn't hear clearly.
Jin Hanyong leaned close to her ear and roared again, "Mother! Who are you?"
Before she finished speaking, the old woman suddenly reached out and tried to snatch the wood-chopping knife that Jin Hanyong was holding tightly.
With her strength, how could she possibly take it away?
"Ah—!" Jin Hanyong roared in agony, veins bulging on his right hand, "My mother!"
He raised his right hand high.
A cold light flashed as the machete slashed towards the old woman's neck.
Blood splattered.
The old woman collapsed to the ground.
"Clang!"
The machete fell to the ground. Jin Hanyong, his expression blank, knelt before the old woman.
"Mother... your son is unfilial!"
Loyalty and filial piety have always been difficult to reconcile.
Jin Hanyong grabbed the woodcutter's knife with fierce resentment and despair in his eyes and slashed it fiercely at his own neck.
"Clang."
The machete fell to the ground again, and Jin Hanyong swayed before finally collapsing onto the old woman's corpse.
Zhong Te leaned against the wall; his pistol was already empty.
Around the corner ahead, a man and a woman, both in their fifties, carrying hunting rifles, strode closer.
Oh no!
Zhong Te looked anxious, glanced at the wall, mustered his strength, and leaped over it, grabbing the edge with both hands and vaulting into the courtyard.
"Bang!"
Gunshots rang out from behind.
Zhong Te hurriedly turned around and saw that among the pursuing couple, the old woman had been shot between the eyebrows, her hand holding the hunting rifle fell limply to her side, her body swayed, and she collapsed to the ground. The man, in shock, was also hit in the chest by a second shot that followed immediately.
Zhong Te suddenly turned around and looked at the rooftop in the distance. Zhang Cheng glanced at him coldly, then bent down, picked up his hunting rifle, and nimbly leaped to another rooftop.
With a complicated expression, Zhong Te watched Zhang Cheng leave, then turned and rushed towards the house ahead.
Explosions, gunshots, and screams echoed continuously from Jin Village.
The villagers of Huangdian Village, which was closest to the area, naturally heard the commotion.
"What's going on in Jin Village? The New Year is over, why are they still setting off firecrackers?"
"What a firecracker! That's explosives! That's gunfire!"
"Let's go, grab our gear, and check out Jin Village!"
"It seems my grandpa was taken to Jin Village by the police..."
"What are we waiting for? Grab your weapons!"
Jincunguoshan.
Jin Hanshan was completely mangled and no longer resembled a human.
Wang Huanchun's lips twitched as he watched Old Zhao grip the dagger and slash Jin Hanshan's body repeatedly, as if performing some kind of ritual.
Old Zhao's face showed no excitement, only a deep-seated calm, and beneath that calm lay a boundless hatred.
"He's dead." Old Huang looked at Jin Hanshan, who had stopped convulsing, and stepped forward to check his breathing, his voice hoarse.
“More than three hundred people… one knife per person, that’s enough.” Old Zhao muttered to himself, the dagger slipping from his hand.
He spat a mouthful of bloody saliva at Jin Hanshan's corpse, a strange smile appearing on his face, as if he had seen something.
"thump!"
Old Zhao fell straight down.
"Old Zhao!"
"Old Zhao! What's wrong with you?"
Wang Huanchun stepped forward and hugged Old Zhao in his arms.
Old Zhao's face flushed, with a hint of relief in his smile, but his eyes were unfocused.
"Old Zhao... is gone?" Wang Huanchun's voice trembled as he reached out to check his breath.
That's all.
Old Zhao was getting on in years. Having avenged his great grudge, he felt a surge of pride and passed away.
"Old Zhao... passed away peacefully, this is... a happy funeral!" Old Huang's eyes reddened, and his voice choked with sobs.
“Yes, it’s a happy funeral,” an old man chimed in.
"Brother Wang, shall we... go down the mountain?" another old man asked in a trembling voice.
Wang Huanchun's face darkened: "Are you going down the mountain to cause trouble? These old bones of ours, can they even run? Just stay on the mountain and don't cause trouble for the younger generation!"
The old man blushed deeply after being rebuked and fell silent.
Within the Golden Village.
Besides some village women, many young and strong men also picked up hunting rifles and sickles, and taking advantage of their familiarity with the terrain, began to ambush lone police officers.
Zhang Cheng leaped between rooftops like a cheetah, his shotgun transforming into the scythe of death. With each pull of the trigger, he precisely took down an armed and resisting enemy.
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