On the other end of the phone, inside a low, shabby house filled with smoke, more than thirty burly men had already gathered.
Lai Er sat squatting there, his hand wrapped in gauze—his pistol had exploded, and four of his five fingers were gone.
He didn't know Qin Feng was behind it. He just thought he'd bought a fake gun—it was bad enough that it didn't kill anyone, but it even backfired.
This time, all the weapons he had people prepare were double-barreled shotguns.
On the table, more than twenty shotguns were laid out neatly, along with a dozen machetes, two military submachine guns, and ten hand grenades.
His jeep had been destroyed, five of his men and himself had been attacked—he was ready to go all out against Qin Feng.
Since he was young, Master Lai Er had always done whatever he liked—he'd never suffered a humiliation like this.
After growing up, he'd gone alone to Jinmen to work the cultural relic smuggling trade—he'd made piles of money over the years.
