In a restroom on one of the upper floors of the teaching building, Zhao Le stood alone before the mirror.
His hair was wet again, hanging down in clumps, and his lips were somewhat pale, the result of forcibly enduring the pain... He took deep breaths, both hands trembling as he slowly undid the buttons of his shirt.
Through the opened shirt, bruises could be seen across his chest and abdomen... Zhao Le ran his fingers over them... Every touch brought a searing agony.
Bang—!
Suddenly, Zhao Le slammed a fist onto the washbasin.
Bang—!
Once again, he slowly hammered his fist against the washbasin—against the exact same spot.
Bang bang bang bang—!!
He kept pounding away, lifting his head as he stared unblinkingly at his reflection in the mirror. At that moment, he was silent—utterly silent.
He continued pounding for several minutes before finally stopping. The knuckles of Zhao Le's fist were bright red, the skin scraped raw... He drew a deep breath, slowly fastened his buttons, then returned his expression to normal and left the place.
The next moment, one of the restroom stall doors slowly opened. It was Chen Mingming... Leaning against the door, Chen Mingming looked at the spot where Zhao Le had stood, seemingly lost in thought.
He had not deliberately come here. He had simply intended to find a quiet, empty place to study the properties of the strange pistol in his hand.
After three experiments, Chen Mingming had gained a preliminary understanding of the pistol's abilities.
First, the bullets it fired could ignore space and distance—but how far that distance could actually extend remained unknown. Perhaps he could find someone on the other side of the ocean to test it on—but the fact that it ignored space had already been proven by the