Chapter Fifty-Five: Deep Sorrow

Had he already prepared himself for sacrifice? Liu Jingye’s heart wrenched violently. Though he was no stranger to death, each time a comrade departed, the pain was seared into his soul.

Li Yue no longer had the strength to fire another shot; he could not savor his final moment of glory. Instead, he was asking Liu Jingye to pull the trigger.

Liu Jingye understood. That move just now—pressing himself tightly against the second-in-command—was not merely a result of exhaustion. No, at such close proximity, a bullet would pierce through his body and strike down the second-in-command as well.

Footsteps approached from not far away. Li Yue’s voice came, calm yet weary, “Go on, Xiao Liu. My wishes are fulfilled. It’s time to enjoy the last honor. Having you send me off is my good fortune.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Liu Jingye’s heart ached as he spoke.

“This was my burden to bear. I didn’t want to drag you down with me,” Li Yue replied, fighting for breath. “We both know how precious days of peace are for us. But I was consumed by vengeance. Now, it’s all over. I may not drink with you again, but soon I’ll see our old brothers. I miss them so much.”

Li Yue’s trembling words shook Liu Jingye to his core. His eyes grew moist in an instant. Those old brothers—they were already waiting for them in another world.

“Go on,” Li Yue suddenly shouted. “Their men are almost here. The police outside are about to break in. Don’t hesitate—live on for all of us, brother!”

Brother—the word echoed in all directions, as if it resounded through the heavens. Accompanying this cry was the crisp report of a gunshot.

The bullet streaked through the night like a shooting star, piercing mercilessly through his chest in a spray of blood. Relief and gratitude curled on his lips as he fell to the ground with the second-in-command.

A heart-wrenching roar burst from Liu Jingye’s throat, as if a furious lion thundered in rage.

By now, the men of the Sovereign Tide were closing in. Liu Jingye squeezed his eyes shut, forcing tears to roll down his cheeks. When he opened them, they blazed red, the chill of murderous intent radiating outward.

Bang, bang, bang—Liu Jingye opened fire.

Flames spat from the muzzle, bullets rained down. The men in the lead fell instantly; five lives were snuffed out in a heartbeat. The rest dropped flat to the ground.

Anger and grief completely ignited Liu Jingye’s killing intent. Like the embodiment of death, he charged forward, reaping lives without mercy.

The survivors didn’t even see his shadow before they parted with this world. Ruthless to the extreme, Liu Jingye stomped so hard on one prone man’s neck that it snapped with a sickening crack.

“We’re the police—everyone freeze! Drop your weapons or face deadly force!”

Just as Liu Jingye was about to annihilate the Sovereign Tide and slay Huang Xing himself, members of the Justice League appeared at the critical moment.

Liu Jingye fired several shots into the air in a frenzied salute to his fallen comrade. Only when his bullets were spent did he turn and run toward the sea, plunging headlong into the water. The salt stung his eyes, but even the icy embrace of the ocean could not quench the murderous fire in his heart.

He swam straight for the cruise ship. Because those onboard had seen him fall into the water, the vessel had stopped, assuming he was a drowning passenger. Lifeguards were already searching for him.

Liu Jingye flashed his ticket and was naturally pulled aboard by the rescuers. No one would believe he’d swum over a kilometer just to witness the explosion at the dock.

He lay on the deck, as though his very soul had been stripped away, staring blankly at the ink-black sky. A solitary shooting star arced across the heavens, vanishing in an instant.

“They say, when someone dies on earth, a star falls from the sky. Perhaps it’s true,”

he murmured, closing his eyes with effort as tears slid silently down his cheeks.

Back on land, Liu Jingye, still dripping wet, sat at a roadside barbecue stall. He ordered a bottle of white liquor and a case of beer, setting two place settings. He filled both cups, downed one in a single gulp, and poured the other onto the ground, paying tribute to Li Yue and making up for the drink they never had together.

He had endured too many farewells like this, too many partings by death. Yet he seldom had the chance to honor his fallen comrades—after all, he might well join them the next day.

But now, he had the chance. He just wished it hadn’t come to this.

After draining the white liquor, Liu Jingye cracked open beer after beer, pouring them down his throat as if possessed, determined to drink himself numb.

He was not just mourning Li Yue, but suppressing the violent urge to kill that raged within him. Otherwise, he might truly have lost all control. Though the so-called trauma of war was often an excuse, it did have an effect—his emotions too easily provoked, especially in moments of danger, and once the will to kill was stirred, it was almost impossible to rein in.

At that moment, as if fate itself wished to test him, a group of troublemakers approached.

It was summer; the streets were alive with open-air barbecue stalls, favorite haunts of hooligans and petty thugs. Bare-chested, tattoos on display, beers in hand, they ogled passing beauties and boasted loudly, savoring their carefree lives.

These places were also notorious for brawls—drunken fights broke out nearly every night.

As Liu Jingye guzzled beer, three shirtless young punks, sporting tattoos of mantis shrimp and ribbonfish, swaggered over from the next table. They’d clearly had plenty to drink: their eyes were glazed, their steps unsteady.

“Hey, buddy, you’ll never finish all that booze by yourself. Let us lend a hand,” one of them said, plopping down opposite Liu Jingye and reaching into the crate for a beer.

Their faces brimmed with disdain and mockery, as if Liu Jingye was just some migrant worker showing off after payday.

But the instant his hand touched a bottle, Liu Jingye’s bloodshot eyes snapped open. His voice was icy: “Don’t touch that.”

“Oh, come on, man, don’t be so stingy. It’s just a beer. It’s not like I’m asking you to pay our bill, is it?” the punk replied with a smirk. “Unless you do want to pick up our tab. Consider it a gesture of friendship.”

“Put the bottle down,” Liu Jingye said, his gaze fixed on the man’s hand, which was already gripping a beer.

“What, you can’t even give a little face?” the punk sneered, clearly out to provoke and maybe score a free drink.

The other two circled closer. Sensing trouble, several nearby patrons hurriedly settled their bills and left, the owner retreating to a safe distance.

Lucky for them—they moved just in time.

Liu Jingye had already warned the punk twice. He never repeated himself a third time.

Suddenly, he stood up and smashed his bottle over the punk’s head. Glass shards flew as the young man collapsed onto the table.

Liu Jingye still held the jagged bottleneck, its edge as sharp as a knife. Without hesitation, he drove it toward the punk’s throat.

The crowd gasped in horror at the deadly attack. Shouts and screams jolted Liu Jingye back to his senses at the last moment. He twisted his wrist, driving the bottle into the table instead, sparing the punk’s life.

The other two thugs, shouting and brandishing bottles, charged at him.

“Courting death!” Liu Jingye sneered. He grabbed an iron skewer from the table, leaping up to meet the nearest assailant.

As the man raised his bottle high overhead, Liu Jingye struck—thrusting the skewer diagonally into the man’s armpit. The iron rod, like a steel spike, drove through his armpit and out his shoulder blade, pinning his arm in place.

It’s often said that arthritis feels like a needle in the shoulder—now the punk truly had a steel needle in his.

The crowd was stunned into silence by such ruthless efficiency, brutal enough to kill. But Liu Jingye knew that, though vicious, the wound was only minor—it wouldn’t be fatal.

The punk clutched his arm, wailing in agony. The third man lunged in with a bottle, but Liu Jingye sidestepped with lightning speed.

He seized the thug by the hair, yanked his head back, and delivered a fierce chop to the throat. The man doubled over, retching dryly, unable to vomit—only burning pain and the agony of suffocation.

In a matter of seconds, Liu Jingye had subdued all three. He calmly returned to his seat, calling out to the owner, “Bring me two grilled kidneys.”

His composure was chilling to behold. To others, he seemed a demon—swift, ruthless, clearly not an ordinary man.

Two of the thugs writhed on the ground. Ironically, the first—his head bloodied by the bottle—was the least seriously injured.

He staggered to his feet, terror in his eyes. “Fine, you’re tough. Just you wait!” he blurted, turning to flee without a second thought for his companions.

But Liu Jingye’s voice stopped him cold. “Hold it. Did I say you could go?”

“What do you want?” the punk whimpered, clutching his bleeding head.

Liu Jingye pointed at the bottle lodged in the table. “I hadn’t finished that beer. You ruined it. You owe me a replacement.”

“What?” The punk was dumbfounded, on the verge of tears. “You smashed it over my head—how is that my fault?”

“Not going to pay?” Liu Jingye’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“I’ll pay, I’ll pay!” the punk stammered, fishing a crumpled ten-yuan note from his pocket and tossing it on the table.

He tried to slink away, but Liu Jingye called after him, “After all that, I’m exhausted. Shouldn’t you buy me something to eat for my trouble?”

Blood streaming down his face, the punk threw a hundred-yuan bill onto the table. “This should cover your meal.”

“I was having a quiet drink, but you lot started trouble, scared me half to death, and then attacked me. I’m shaken, my liver aches. Shouldn’t you compensate me for emotional distress? Bodily harm, perhaps…”

The punk was nearly in tears, about to collapse. “Brother, that’s all the money I’ve got. Please, let me go—I’m losing too much blood… I’m warning you, don’t push me or I’ll call the police!”