Madman's Game

Delong collapsed to the ground, his hands raised high, his humble gesture of pleading for peace in trembling English standing out starkly and ridiculously under the pale lights of the parking lot entrance.

His men, whose eyes had previously retained a trace of ferocity, now had completely dimmed, leaving only fear and bewilderment. Following their leader, they subconsciously raised their hands or let them hang at their sides, not daring to make the slightest unnecessary movement. The air was filled with a mixture of sweat, blood, and the sour, putrid smell unique to the defeated.

Lü Yi's gaze slowly moved from Delong's forced, more grimace than a cry to the pistol on the ground. His lips twitched, revealing a cold, emotionless smile. He didn't immediately look at Delong, but instead slowly walked over, bent down, and with two fingers, as if picking up something dirty, lifted the Glock 19 from the cold ground.

He weighed the gun in his hand, the cool metallic touch seeping through his fingertips. He glanced down, his eyes sweeping over the gun, and expertly checked the magazine—it was full. Then, he gripped the handle with his right hand and pulled back the slide with his left, making a clean "click" to confirm the bolt hold-open. He then reset the slide and chambered a round. The whole process was smooth and natural, showing that this was no stranger to this type of weapon.

After completing this series of actions, Lü Yi finally raised his eyes and looked at Delong, who was slumped on the ground with a pale face. He took a step and slowly walked up to Delong, so close that he could almost smell the strong smell of sweat and blood on the other man.

Lü Yi crouched down, almost at eye level with Delong. His face was expressionless; he simply held the loaded Glock in his left hand, the hard polymer barrel gently tapping it against Delong's sweat- and dust-covered cheek, making soft "slap slap" sounds. The sound wasn't loud, but it felt like a whip lashing at the hearts of Delong and every one of his men.

Lü Yi spoke, in Chinese, her voice calm, even carrying a hint of curiosity:

"What's wrong?"

He paused, then slapped the gun again.

"Not awesome anymore?"

Delong didn't understand Chinese, but Lü Yi's eyes, movements, and the cold feel of the gun against his face conveyed the message perfectly. His body stiffened, his lips trembled, and he tried to say something but couldn't utter a coherent sound. His eyes were filled with humiliation and a lingering trace of bravado stemming from his gang affiliation.

Lü Yi seemed to realize then that the other person couldn't understand. He turned his head and glanced at K, who was standing a few steps away with a calm expression.

K's face remained expressionless; he simply translated Lü Yi's words in clear and precise English, his tone as flat as if he were reading an instruction manual. "He's asking, what's wrong? Not so tough now, huh?"

Upon hearing the translation, Delong's cheek muscles twitched violently. His last shred of bravado was completely shattered, replaced by a shame and indignation as if he had been publicly stripped naked. He abruptly raised his head, his bloodshot eyes fixed on Lü Yi, then on K, and finally sweeping over the surrounding dark gun barrels. A surge of anger, a mixture of fear and a sense of utter despair, welled up within him. He growled hoarsely in English:

"I'm from the Wild Dog Gang!"

He seemed to have grasped at the last straw, raising his voice in an attempt to inject some confidence:

"You killed me, and you think you can walk away? The whole Wild Dog Gang will come for you! They'll skin you alive!"

These words, translated by K, reached Lü Yi's ears.

Upon hearing this, Lü Yi was not afraid at all. Instead, he burst out laughing. It wasn't a cold laugh or a mocking laugh, but the kind of heartfelt, even slightly unrestrained laughter one feels when hearing something particularly funny. His shoulders trembled slightly as he laughed, and the gun in his hand swayed along with him. The muzzle inadvertently grazed Delong's terrified face once again.

After laughing for a while, Lü Yi stopped laughing, but his mouth was still grinning. He leaned forward, stretched out his right hand, and pressed the hard metal tip of the Glock gun against Delong's forehead with force, almost as if it were embedded in his flesh. The cold touch made Delong shudder, and a fine layer of cold sweat instantly appeared on his forehead.

"Holy crap," Lü Yi exclaimed in Chinese, his tone full of mockery, "You're pretty awesome, aren't you?"

He narrowed his eyes slightly, looking at Delong's face, which was forced backward by the gun barrel pressing down on it, and whose eyes revealed undisguised fear, and slowly said:

"Even if I shoot you dead, you'll probably still be upset. When you meet the King of Hell in the afterlife, you'll complain that I bullied you because I outnumbered you."

He tilted his head, seemingly deep in thought, then his eyes lit up as if he had come up with a brilliant idea.

"How about this?"

As Lü Yi spoke, he deftly twisted his wrist, the gun in his left hand making a graceful half-turn between his fingers, changing the muzzle from facing forward to the butt facing forward. Then, he made a move that left everyone present speechless—

He reached out and grabbed Delong's intact left hand, which was now hanging limply at his side. He forcefully pried the other man's fingers apart, and then shoved his own Glock pistol, already loaded and with his index finger still resting on the trigger guard, into Delong's palm! After shoving it in, he used his own hand to tightly wrap around Delong's hand holding the gun, ensuring that the other man could not break free.

Then, Lü Yi grasped Delong's hand that was holding the gun, and guided the muzzle, slowly and steadily, pressed it against his right temple!

The cold metal muzzle pressed against my skin, sending a chill down my spine.

A bright, almost eerie smile bloomed on Lü Yi's face. He looked at Delong's eyes, which were completely glazed over with shock and fear, his pupils dilated, and spoke as casually as if discussing what to have for dinner:

I'll give you a chance.

"Didn't you want revenge? Now, the gun is in your hands."

He slightly adjusted Delong's grip on the gun, making sure the muzzle was firmly pressed against his temple.

I'll give you three chances.

After Lü Yi finished speaking, she glanced at K and gestured for him to translate. K's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, but he still translated Lü Yi's words into English in a steady tone, every word clear and accurate.

Upon hearing the translation, Delong was completely stunned, as if struck by lightning. His hand gripping the gun stiffened like a stone, his mind blank, utterly unable to comprehend the logic behind the Asian Madman's actions. Revenge? An opportunity? A gun in his hand? Pointed at his head? A count of three?

What the hell is this game?! This guy's Madman! This guy's absolutely Madman!

Before Delong could even react to the enormous impact, Lü Yi had already begun.

He took a deep breath, and then, in his heavily accented, grammatically incorrect but understandable English, he began to count clearly and slowly:

"One--"

The voice wasn't loud, but in the deathly silent parking lot entrance, it struck everyone's heart like a heavy hammer.

Delong shuddered, his hand gripping the gun jerking violently, the muzzle sliding against Lü Yi's temple. He could clearly feel the trigger; if his finger bent even slightly, even with a mere unconscious twitch, the bullet would fire, and this Madman's head would explode like a watermelon! But what about the next second? The eight submachine guns around them would instantly riddle him and all his men with bullets! Absolutely! There was no chance of escape!

Sweat streamed down Delong's bald head, stinging his eyes, but he dared not blink. His men behind him held their breath, their eyes filled with terror as they watched their boss hold a gun to the Madman's head, while the Madman continued to laugh and count!

"Two--"

Lü Yi counted out the second number. His smile didn't fade at all, his eyes remained calm, even looking at Delong with a hint of encouragement, as if to say: Shoot! What are you waiting for? Opportunities are running out.

Delong's heart pounded in his chest, threatening to shatter his ribs. His knuckles, gripping the gun, were white from the force of his grip, yet trembled slightly with fear. Shoot? Don't shoot? Shooting meant certain death! Don't shoot... In front of all his men, with a gun pointed at his head, gripping the gun but unable to pull the trigger—how could he ever Wild Dog Gang again? How could he remain their leader? Losing all prestige would be the least of his worries; he'd likely be ridiculed and replaced when he returned!

The immense psychological pressure weighed heavily on Delong's mind like a mountain. His eyes were bloodshot, his vision began to blur, and his ears were ringing. Only Lü Yi's slow countdown sounded like the death knell, tolling deep into his soul.

"Thr--"

Just as Lü Yi was about to utter the last number, her mouth had already formed the shape, and the syllable was about to burst forth in a flash!

Delong's psychological defenses completely collapsed.

That string called "courage" or "ferocity," under the weight of extreme fear and reason, snapped with a crack.

He didn't pull the trigger. He didn't even have the strength or courage to try bending his fingers. His hand holding the gun seemed to have all its strength drained away instantly, completely relaxed, and even slightly loosened its grip.

In that very instant!

Lü Yi's hand, which had been wrapped around Delong's gun-wielding hand, suddenly exerted force, twisting and pulling like an iron clamp!

"Whoosh!"

The Glock pistol was easily snatched from Delong's completely exhausted hand.

As the psychological pressure suddenly disappeared, Delong felt as if his spine had been removed, and he collapsed to the ground with a thud, panting heavily. His eyes were unfocused, and his face showed only the exhaustion and bewilderment of someone who had survived a disaster, as well as a deep-seated shame that could never be washed away.

Lü Yi held the recovered pistol in one hand, casually twirling it between his fingers, then lowered his head, looking down at the limp Delong.

He bent down, extended his left hand—not with the gun, but with his palm—and forcefully, insultingly slapped Delong's cheek, making a "slap, slap" sound. As he slapped, he spoke in Chinese, his tone filled with undisguised contempt:

"Even if I gave you a chance, you still couldn't do it."

He slapped Delong's face quite hard, knocking it to one side, then straightening it again before continuing to slap it.

"Even if I gave you a chance, you wouldn't be able to use it!"

Lü Yi repeated himself, then stopped. He raised the Glock again, this time pressing the muzzle firmly and coldly against Delong's forehead.

Delong's unfocused gaze refocused at the cold touch, and he saw Lü Yi's face so close to his, and those eyes—those eyes held no trace of manic laughter, only a pure indifference, like looking at a roadside stone or trash. Indifference to his life, as if indifference to everything, including Lü Yi's own life and death.

Lü Yi spoke, her voice not loud, but carrying an undeniable decisiveness:

"Now, I'll give you another chance."

"I'll count to three more."

He paused, then tightened the gun barrel slightly.

"You, kneel on the ground and call me 'Master'."

"Let's just forget about it."

"If you don't call..."

Lü Yi didn't finish speaking. She just tilted her head slightly, revealing a cold profile devoid of any smile. Her gaze was like a solid icicle, piercing into Delong's eyes.

"You see, I'll shoot you dead."

After saying that, he no longer looked at Delong's reaction, nor did he need K to translate anymore— Delong understood perfectly; his eyes and the gun barrel said it all.

Lü Yi up, gun raised, pointed at Delong's forehead, and began to count again, clearly and slowly, in his signature accented English:

"One--"

Delong collapsed to the ground, gazing up at the figure that looked down at him like a demon, at the dark muzzle of the gun that could spew flames and take his life at any moment. The death countdown echoed in his ears, the terrified eyes of his men filled his mind, and boundless humiliation and chilling fear gripped his heart.

He knew there was no turning back this time. This Madman really would shoot. Not shooting meant death (being ostracized by the gang or even internally executed, which could be worse than death), and not kneeling down and calling him "Grandpa" meant he would die right now.

Just a second before Lü Yi was about to utter "Two--".

With the last ounce of strength he had left, Delong struggled, using both hands and feet, to rise from the limp ground with great difficulty and utter humiliation.

Instead of standing up, his knees buckled, and he collapsed to his knees on the cold, damp concrete floor with a thud.

He lowered his head, his forehead almost touching the ground, and a hoarse, broken sound, like a trapped animal, escaped his throat as he forced out a single word:

"... grandfather..."

The voice wasn't loud, but it was filled with heavy sobs and utter despair.

The parking lot entrance was deathly silent. Only the faint sound of cars in the distance and Delong's suppressed, humiliated sobs could be heard.

Looking at the burly black man kneeling at his feet, utterly stripped of all dignity, Lü Yi finally revealed a satisfied, almost cruel smile. He put away his gun, stretched out his foot, and casually kicked Delong's shoulder with the tip of his boot.

"Good."

He only said one word.

Then, he stopped looking at Delong, who was lying on the ground like a rag doll, and the silent, ashen-faced Wild Dog Gang members. He turned around, casually tucked the Glock in his hand into his waistband, nodded to Lin Feng and K, and his nonchalant expression returned to normal.

"Let's go, boss."

Lin Feng remained silent throughout, as if the thrilling psychological battle he had just experienced was merely a gentle breeze. He nodded slightly and stepped forward. K followed silently. The eight "Blood Spear" mercenaries maintained their alert formation, slowly closing in to protect the three of them as they walked towards the black SUVs waiting deep in the parking lot.

Behind him, Delong, kneeling on the ground in utter mental collapse, and a group of distraught, stray Wild Dog Gang, formed a tragic and ironic scene under the pale light.

The car doors closed, the engines roared low, and the convoy slowly drove away.

The parking lot fell silent again, as if nothing had ever happened.

Only the faint puddle of water on the ground (whether sweat or tears was unclear), and the lingering smell of gunpowder and humiliation in the air, proved that a game of power, fear, and madness had just taken place here.

The winner of the game has already calmly left.