Outside the inn was a world of chaos; inside, the corridors had already been emptied of everyone.
Qing Chen carried the Glock 34 as he headed outside.
Ye Wan had been right. Though Qing Chen was cautious, he had never lacked courage.
Just as when he arrived at Prison No. 18 after crossing over, he had never begged anyone for mercy, not even inside the black box or while facing water torture.
With sheer grit, he had forged himself through an attitude of living in the face of death.
That was the fundamental reason Li Shutong valued him.
Compared to the gift of Hyperthymesia, Li Shutong had always cared more about one's character.
Perhaps because no one had ever waited for him, or perhaps because he had never clung to the past, Qing Chen had always moved forward without ever looking back or regretting anything.
Just then, Wang Yun ran out of one of the rooms.
Her eyes filled with surprise when she saw Qing Chen in the corridor, but she was not familiar enough with him to recognize him at all.
Qing Chen looked at her coldly. Her clothes were neat, with no sign that she had been violated, and even her makeup remained immaculate.
"You..." Wang Yun froze when she saw the masked Qing Chen.
The next moment, Qing Chen raised his hand and fired four shots. The first two missed, while the last two struck the girl's left and right legs with precision.
Then he continued forward without the slightest pause.
Qing Chen suddenly realized that he had a talent for firearms.
When anyone used a gun, they needed to expend a great deal of ammunition to develop a feel for it.
A feel for a gun meant becoming familiar with its recoil, its muzzle velocity, the