This was a play Fu Tailan had personally arranged and directed.
He had obsessed over it, used every trick in the book, all just to see the final, climactic act.
The play wasn't over yet, the climax hadn't arrived, so of course the director couldn't die—even though one of the actors could erupt at any moment, reach out, and snuff out Fu Tailan's life.
So as he sat in the car, caressing his caved-in forehead, Fu Tailan knew he had to squeeze a path to survival out of this situation; he had to conjure a trump card from thin air.
Luckily, it seemed even the heavens felt his time wasn't up just yet.
The reason Fu Tailan dared to chat with Chaisi, to slowly flay him with words, was because he held four pieces of information that Chaisi's side didn't know.
One: he had a gun.
It was the gun he'd swiped from the head bodyguard, beating Carter to it.
