Chapter Fifty-Four: The Glorious Bullet

As the sun set, Liu Jingye finally boarded the ship. The massive cruise liner, carrying hundreds of tourists, slowly left the anchorage. The afterglow of the sunset spilled across the sea, radiant and magnificent, and the travelers stood by the railings, exhilarated by the breathtaking scenery where sea and sky merged into one.

Liu Jingye stood in a quiet corner, silently gazing at the distant dock—a vast, shadowy expanse, stacked high with containers like a forest of steel. The cruise ship moved slowly, meandering through the wide ocean, the deck filled with laughter and merriment. Yet the nearby dock was shrouded in an aura of terror and death.

This feeling was all too familiar to Liu Jingye; something momentous was bound to happen there tonight.

Half an hour later, the ship circled around and began to approach the Huang Dynasty Dock, though it was still more than a thousand meters away. By then, darkness had fallen, and a bright moon silently climbed above the sea. The atmosphere on deck remained lively and boisterous.

Just then, Liu Jingye’s ears buzzed; he caught a strange sound from the dock.

“Gunshots!” Liu Jingye frowned and moved to the rail, listening intently.

The gunfire grew more frequent, more intense. He was acutely sensitive to such sounds, but the distance, the noisy crowd, and the crashing waves meant no one else noticed.

Meanwhile, Liu Jingye spotted a small freighter speeding away from the dock, racing across the sea and soon vanishing into the vast darkness.

Then, two thunderous explosions echoed, and suddenly, flames erupted from the dock, painting half the sky red.

“What’s going on? Did something just explode?” The tourists on deck peered curiously, chattering among themselves.

“Hey… someone just fell into the sea!” someone shouted, pointing toward the rail—the very spot where Liu Jingye had stood moments earlier. For him, the bonds of comradeship endured even after leaving the army. Without hesitation, Liu Jingye plunged into the sea, disregarding the distance and the icy water, swimming toward the dock with bare hands.

As he neared the shore, amidst roaring flames, the rattle of gunfire, and a series of explosions—small but relentless—filled the air.

“What on earth is happening? I wonder how Li Yue is holding up?” Liu Jingye increased his pace, paying no heed to the gap ahead, barely tiring himself.

He climbed onto the dock, and as soon as he emerged, saw a corpse at his side, a pistol still clutched in its hand, a bullet hole drilled through the brow.

He picked up the pistol; a quick check revealed it was fully loaded, the safety still engaged. Clearly, the man had never learned to use a gun, and his death was nothing if not deserved.

Liu Jingye quickly rose and melted into the darkness, hiding behind the containers and observing the unfolding chaos.

The gunfire was no longer as intense, only sporadic shots now. He edged closer to the heart of the scene. The burning vehicle was a large truck, its cargo doors flung open, smoke billowing out, flames lighting up the night. Explosions sounded from within, and bullets flew out wildly.

“That must be the vehicle carrying a cache of weapons,” Liu Jingye thought. “But why did it suddenly catch fire and explode? The ammunition inside is detonating under the heat.”

He carefully concealed himself, inching forward. Suddenly, he spotted several corpses by the burning truck, the most conspicuous being a foreigner, also shot through the brow—the very man who was Yuan Xiaoying’s uncle.

“Shot through the brow,” Liu Jingye squinted. “Such a familiar technique.”

At that moment, the gunfire ceased. A voice shouted, “He’s been taken down! Go tell the boss—we’ve been played. Those Arabs who came for the goods thought we were double-crossing them; they ran. Stop them, or they’ll come back for revenge!”

“Hey… anyone still alive?” After waiting in silence, the voice trembled as it called out.

“Too bad you’re still alive,” came a weak, resentful reply.

“You’re alive?” The man was startled.

He quickly hid in the shadows. When no shots came, he suddenly laughed. “Even if you’re alive, you won’t be for long. Let me send you off—ease my heart. I hate being deceived most of all, and you, you lied to me the worst.”

He stepped out of the darkness, moonlight revealing a spider tattoo on his neck. This was Zhu, the second-in-command of the Huang Dynasty gang.

He dragged a limp body up beside the burning truck—Liu Jingye was stunned; it was Li Yue.

Li Yue’s body was drenched in blood. Liu Jingye could see clearly—his arms and legs were all riddled with gunshots, his life hanging by a thread.

Even so, Zhu smashed his face twice with his fists, then struck his head with the pistol grip, covering his face with fresh blood.

Rage surged in Liu Jingye’s chest. He could accept death in defeat, but never humiliation at the hands of the enemy.

He was about to leap out and kill Zhu, but suddenly heard Li Yue burst into laughter—bold and unrestrained, coming from deep within.

“Damn you, you’re still laughing? I’ve suffered so much because of you!” Zhu kicked him to the ground, cursing, “No wonder you suddenly came to me, inviting me out, showering me with cash, all to gain my trust and draw me into this arms deal. Who are you—why did you set us up?”

Zhu grabbed Li Yue’s collar, questioning him face to face.

Li Yue laughed skyward, a sense of relief and vengeance in his voice. “Why? Ask Huang Xing. Oh, he probably doesn’t know either. Scum like him does so much evil—how could he possibly remember? My poor innocent sister was used by that beast, and lost her life for him. I regret not killing him myself tonight.

But I know your drug business just went south—you owe the Vietnamese a fortune. That’s why you rushed to sell arms, to fill the hole. Now, Huang Xing’s last chance is ruined. With this shipment destroyed, he’ll be bankrupt. No money to pay up—the Vietnamese will come for him. And with the vendetta of those Arab thugs, it won’t be long before he dies a miserable death!”

Liu Jingye froze. Clearly, deep hatred fueled all this—no wonder Li Yue was so reckless.

“So he’s avenging his sister,” Liu Jingye thought. “He’s been waiting for the chance to take down the Huang Dynasty gang. It’s obvious—he blew up the arms truck, shot the uncle, all to drive them into the abyss.”

“You mad dog!” Zhu spat with fury. “I’ll hand you to the boss—let him torture you properly.”

Just then, commotion sounded in the distance. Liu Jingye knew immediately—it must be at the main gate. The explosions and gunfire had alerted the patrolling police.

The fate of the arms deal determined the gang’s survival, so those fake security guards would fight desperately to keep the police out.

Time was running short. Zhu pressed his gun to Li Yue’s head. “Bastard, all thanks to you. Come with me to the boss—I need to explain myself.”

He dragged Li Yue by the collar; Li Yue could no longer stand, his limbs crippled by gunshots. The ground was littered with corpses—at least a dozen, all killed with a single bullet to the brow. Li Yue was but one man, setting off explosions, executing enemies, driven by vengeance, and now wounded himself. Though not fatally, he’d lost the strength to fight; he’d come to die together.

Zhu held the gun to his head, wary despite Li Yue’s helplessness—the bodies all around were proof enough.

He planned to deliver Li Yue to Huang Xing to shift blame.

But just then, Liu Jingye’s cold voice emerged from the shadows: “I advise you not to move, or you’ll be the first with a bullet in your head.”

“Who’s there?” Zhu froze.

Li Yue, weak but alert, opened his eyes, staring into the darkness.

Meanwhile, heavy footsteps approached—the Huang Dynasty gang reinforcements had arrived.

“Xiao Liu…” Li Yue suddenly spoke, “Shoot. Kill him!”

Zhu reacted instantly, hiding behind Li Yue. He was taller, crouching slightly to make Li Yue shield him completely.

“You’re Liu Jingye?” Zhu said, terrified.

“Ah, I’m surprised you know me. My honor,” Liu Jingye replied coolly, his gaze sharp as a hawk, searching for a moment to fire.

He’d had plenty of chances to kill Zhu, but every soldier has his pride—Li Yue had never asked for help, wanting to take revenge alone. Liu Jingye didn’t want to tarnish that dignity.

But now, he couldn’t watch Li Yue die, nor let him suffer humiliation, so he had no choice but to intervene—even as Zhu seized the upper hand.

Reinforcements drew closer; time was short, and a fierce battle could break out at any moment.

Just then, Li Yue slumped, leaning into Zhu’s arms, their bodies pressed together. In the moonlight, Li Yue’s bloodied face wore a smile.

He whispered weakly, “It’s so good to see you here. Though we can’t share a drink, we can bid farewell. Xiao Liu, there’s still one bullet in my gun.”

Zhu didn’t understand, but remained hidden behind him. Liu Jingye, however, was stunned.

Every soldier knew: in such circumstances, the last bullet is always kept for oneself—a bullet of honor.