Having disengaged the safety, Zhou Pi abruptly drew his P22 pistol.
At the very same moment, Hu Che also turned around, though he did not raise the gun in his hand.
Before Zhou Pi could even pull the trigger, flames erupted with two sharp pops from Hu Che’s jacket pocket.
Caught completely off guard, Zhou Pi’s chest blossomed with several crimson splashes of blood.
He toppled backward, rigid and lifeless, his eyes wide and staring, his legs twitching twice before falling still.
The 9mm Parabellum rounds, fired from the MP9 submachine gun, possessed considerable stopping power at close range, felling Zhou Pi before he could even draw and fire his own weapon.
Zhou Pi, it seemed, was lacking in experience.
Had he simply fired the gun from his pocket, he would have gained a crucial half-second, and it would have been Hu Che who fell instead.
Hu Che retrieved the pistol from inside his clothing.
Under the stunned gazes of the onlookers, still reeling from the gunshot, he casually shook his pocket, dislodging several spent casings.
With his other hand, he swiped across his phone screen, dismissing a notification bar.
The notification bar had originally displayed: [Message update: ‘Shoot Hu Che dead immediately’].
Leng Yu’s “Mi-trash” phone had been a gift from Hu Che’s father.
More precisely, it was originally intended for Leng Yu’s own father, who, desiring a high-end, sophisticated 8858 titanium phone, had simply passed this “industrial waste” Mi phone on to Leng Yu.
Hu Che’s father, utterly clueless about mobile phones, had selected a high-end model from a well-known brand, unaware that the brand primarily specialized in budget devices.
Having undergone anti-espionage training, Leng Yu learned that national security personnel were forbidden from using Apple phones.
He reasoned that commercial professionals also handled numerous secrets, and thus, he stopped using his Apple device, switching instead to the “Mi-trash” phone his father had carelessly tossed his way.
Little did he know, this “Mi-trash” phone contained a backdoor that Hu Che’s father had painstakingly installed.
Originally intended to pilfer secrets from the upper echelons of the Gaoleng Group, it had now, through a stroke of unexpected luck, landed in the hands of the second young master.
Leng Yu remained oblivious that all the web novel content he usually browsed had been secretly recorded by Hu Che, their URLs saved for a second “appreciation.”
Hu Che’s father had managed his business poorly, eventually nearing bankruptcy, so the phone’s backdoor had never truly served its intended purpose.
It was only now, as Hu Che used this backdoor to intercept the text message Leng Yu had sent, ordering his assassination, that it finally proved its immense worth.
Approaching Zhou Pi’s lifeless form, Hu Che planted his foot squarely on the hand still clutching the gun, submerged in a pool of blood.
For a non-professional gunman, Zhou Pi’s reaction had not been particularly slow.
Without the phone’s backdoor, Hu Che would undoubtedly have been caught off guard from behind.
He picked up the pistol, tucking it into his waistband as a victor might reclaim spoils of war.
Hu Che then retrieved Zhou Pi’s phone, which conveniently displayed the very text message sent by Leng Yu.
“Boss Leng, having foolishly believed slanderous words, now finds himself in peril, yet he demands we enter to die alongside him.”
Hu Che approached the others, displaying the message.
They pretended to read it with grave sincerity, nodding their heads.
“He even tried to sow discord, to have him kill me,” Hu Che declared. “If I hadn’t reacted so swiftly, I would have become a wrongfully slain ghost!”
None of the others were Leng Yu’s confidantes anymore, and they dared not breathe a word.
Unaware that Hu Che’s counter-ambush was entirely due to the phone’s backdoor exploit, they mistakenly believed he possessed a genuine “killing intent” perception, enabling him to draw his weapon a full second faster than an ordinary person.
Consequently, even the squad members who had been issued firearms dared not contemplate shooting Hu Che again.
One person was the first to shout: “Brother Hu, we’ll follow your lead!”
Immediately, others echoed: “Just let us live! We’ll do whatever you say!”
Hu Che tossed the pistol to one of the assenting men, a porter who hadn’t been assigned a weapon.
“Then quiet down first!” he commanded. “What if that Leng Yu fellow gets impatient and rushes back? I’ll use this scoundrel’s phone to send him a text, stringing him along, then we’ll head back and simply say Leng Yu and the other two are dead.”
“We’d best find some supplies too; we shouldn’t return empty-handed!” another added.
“Naturally!” Hu Che exclaimed.
Picking up Zhou Pi’s phone, he sent a message to Leng Yu: [Hu Che is dead, we’re off to work.]
“Alright, we’re heading to the highway service station now to find some supplies, then we’ll return.
From this moment on, consider yourselves my people; together, we will take over this team.”
Someone immediately inquired: “What about Master Li and the others back at the camp?”
Hu Che turned, his eyes seeming to erupt with bloodshot veins.
“Old Man Li, his second uncle, his nephew—kill them all,” he stated. “This isn’t a task to be specifically assigned; whoever finds an opportunity, act immediately!”
“Among them, only Old Man Li knows any moves; I’ll personally take care of him. As for the rest, you deal with them as you see fit!”
Not everyone in the team readily accepted this order; some mumbled hesitantly, yet three or four eager individuals immediately responded: “Damn right we will!”
Several men boarded two cars and sped away.
Just then, Hu Che received a text message from Leng Yu: [That’s good. Be swift.]
Next, Leng Yu called out to Zhou Pi over the walkie-talkie, asking him to briefly explain his plans for setting up barricades outside the gate.
Hu Che, of course, dared not utter a sound.
****
“If he doesn’t reply, then it’s virtually confirmed,” Jing Lan murmured.
He tightened Little Zhao’s tourniquet, making it more secure, then used his phone to record the corner.
“Zhou Pi’s assassination attempt on Hu Che must have failed; he was even killed in return.
Assuming you weren’t mistaken about the MP9 being issued to Hu Che.”
Jing Lan had never actually heard the sound of an MP9, but he knew the P22 pistol couldn’t fire in bursts.
Leng Yu sighed, lowering the walkie-talkie.
“The crucial point is that Zhou Pi is a local here,” he explained. “The word ‘lianxiang’ in that last text message is a dialect from the northeastern countryside; Zhou Pi wouldn’t say that.
Hu Che, however, is from the Northeast.
So what do we do now? That accursed Hu Che has likely already tricked everyone into fleeing.”
Jing Lan retrieved his phone and glanced at it.
From the garage beneath the office building, twenty to thirty zombies had emerged, now shambling aimlessly after spilling out of the garage.
Leng Yu leaned over to look.
“Oh my god, they’re unleashing zombies to bite us directly!” he exclaimed. “How utterly despicable!”
“That, at least, suggests there aren’t too many people inside the office building,” Jing Lan mused.
“It’s certainly not hundreds; otherwise, they could easily dispatch a squad of a dozen or so to kill us.”
“Do they know we have guns?”
Jing Lan glanced at the surveillance camera overhead, now harboring some doubt as to whether anyone was actually monitoring the feed.
Killing these twenty to thirty zombies would likely deplete a significant portion of their combined ammunition reserves.
Furthermore, if they were to leave the shelter of the granary’s corner and attempt to exit through the main gate, they would be exposed directly in front of the office building, vulnerable to a barrage of M43 machine gun fire.
The three exchanged silent glances, their eyes posing the unspoken question: ‘What now?’
“The granary,” Jing Lan stated. “Its inner walls are fitted with a lot of high-tech equipment requiring regular maintenance, so there must be a way to get to the top.”
Jing Lan stood up, tilting his head back to observe the towering, cylindrical granary.
While the granary’s exterior wall was smooth, a semi-cylindrical, shell-like pipe, approximately two meters wide, ran up one side.
It was a grain conveyor belt.
When new grain arrived, it would be transported via this belt to the very top of the granary, then poured down from above.
Jing Lan walked closer and discovered a ladder hidden behind the outer casing, extending upwards alongside the vertical conveyor belt.
“Come here,” he called. “We can go up this way.”
Leng Yu and Little Zhao approached, and upon seeing the ladder, they visibly relaxed.
“Start climbing immediately,” Jing Lan urged. “Otherwise, if the surveillance cameras spot us, the people in the office building will just take other measures.”
Leng Yu asked, “Don’t they know there’s a ladder next to the granary?”
“Apparently not,” Jing Lan replied.
Without another word, he began to lead the ascent up the ladder.
“That’s a good point,” Leng Yu conceded. “Myanmar likely doesn’t have such impressive granaries.
They probably aren’t familiar with the specific structure of a grain silo.”
“I’m more curious about how they knew this was a granary and why they prioritized occupying it,” Jing Lan remarked.
“It’s as if they’re intimately familiar with this disaster and know exactly what needs to be done.”
However, Leng Yu didn’t immediately begin climbing the ladder.
Jing Lan looked down, only to find Leng Yu looking up at him.
“What do we do?” Leng Yu asked. “Little Zhao’s hand is injured; he can’t climb the ladder.”