Chapter 23: The Clash

Li Gang had no idea how many shots the other man had fired, nor how many bullets had struck him; he only knew that even the arm he instinctively raised to shield his head had been hit, as his brain registered the searing pain radiating from it.

When the gunfire ceased, Li Gang remained curled on the ground, motionless. Apart from the agony of being shot, his mind was filled with terror—and the realization that he was still alive. The overwhelming fear and panic he felt staring down the barrel had momentarily shut down his brain.

Yet the pain jolted him back to awareness. Peering through the gap between his arms, he saw his attacker had not advanced, but was instead pulling a magazine from his pocket to reload the pistol. The flurry of gunshots moments before had emptied the man's magazine.

Li Gang glanced at his arm—though he'd been struck, the bullet had only grazed him, tearing a bloody strip but sparing bone and tendon.

With a loud cry, Li Gang raised his pistol in both hands and fired wildly toward his assailant. He didn't aim, forgetting all his training in the frenzy, shooting purely from instinct—his terror and panic erupting in a hail of bullets.

Gunshots echoed incessantly, most missing their mark; only two or three struck the man. Two bullets hit his body with a metallic clang—clearly, the attacker was also wearing a bulletproof vest. One bullet, however, found his arm, causing the magazine he was about to load to fall to the ground.

The man didn't bother to retrieve it, nor did he reload. He turned and fled without hesitation, his movements hurried and revealing a lack of composure. Li Gang saw through this: his opponent was no seasoned warrior, merely a man not much different from himself—awkward and inexperienced in armed combat.

Li Gang watched all this closely. After emptying both his pistols, he gradually calmed, choosing not to pursue but to stand shakily and inspect himself.

He discovered that aside from the grazed wound on his left forearm, he had been struck in several places, but luck—or perhaps something more—had spared him. Only one bullet had hit his thigh; the others had been stopped by his vest.

Glancing at the wounds, Li Gang saw the bleeding had ceased, and scabs were beginning to form. He realized his extraordinary stamina was working in his favor.

With gritted teeth, Li Gang drew his knife and, enduring the agony, sliced open the wound on his thigh to remove the shallowly embedded bullet. If not for his superhuman endurance, this shot would have penetrated deeper, perhaps damaging bone.

He did not stitch the wound, merely rinsed it with bottled water and wrapped it with a bandage. The pain nearly made him faint, tears streaming as he finished—never in his life had he suffered so much.

Yet thanks to his exceptional physique, the wound began to heal rapidly, the bleeding stopping even as he wrapped it.

As he calmed, Li Gang reviewed the fight. His body stopped trembling. Surviving had been pure luck, and he was grateful his adversary was as inexperienced as he—perhaps facing real combat for the first time, showing only marginally more composure but still nervous and unsteady.

If his opponent had been truly skillful, the close-range gunfight would have ended differently; only two bullets had really harmed Li Gang—one grazing his arm, one striking his thigh.

Li Gang took a deep breath. Surviving a deadly encounter, he had for the first time tasted the raw, brutal reality of kill-or-be-killed. Gradually, he regained control.

Cautiously, Li Gan