Wave after wave of gunfire rained down relentlessly. Several bullets struck the ground not far from Yao Weihai, sending shards of stone and sparks scattering.
Without time to think it through, Zhao Ping broke through the storm of bullets and sprinted toward Yao Weihai.
Zhou Jin was right behind Zhao Ping. She saw him step out from the cover zone, and caught a glint of red light dancing across his body. She shouted urgently, “Zhao Ping, don’t go!”
She surged forward and seized the back of Zhao Ping’s jacket, yanking him back with all her strength!
Time seemed to freeze. A bullet erupted from the muzzle, tore through the air, and came spinning forward at a ferocious speed — aimed to pierce straight through Zhao Ping’s body — and instead grazed his shoulder by the narrowest margin, a streak of blood spraying through the air.
Zhao Ping went blank at first. His mind was empty; he had no idea what had just happened. Only when he registered the pain did he feel the prickling chill rise from every pore along his spine, and cold sweat flooded his body.
With Yao Weihai confirmed shot, Tan Shiming immediately issued an order: no one else was to approach recklessly.
The police sniper was rapidly working to pinpoint the exact position of the enemy sniper.
In the darkness, Zhao Ping pressed his hand against his bleeding shoulder. His lips trembled with lingering dread. “S-senior sister…”
Tension and fear enveloped Zhou Jin too — she was afraid, of course she was afraid. But she was different from Zhao Ping. She also had hatred.
The “8·17” gun robbery case — her brother Zhou Chuan had gone down exactly like this. First struck by a single bullet in the leg, stripped of any ability to fight back — and even then, those people had refused to let him go. They had finished him off with one final shot to the chest.
That overwhelming hatred was enough to tear through her fear.
Zhou Jin forced herself to calm down. She picked up the gun Zhao Ping had dropped, placed it back in his hands, and said quietly, “Stay right here.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to flush him out.”
“Senior sister, senior sister…” He scrambled to grab her, caught nothing but air, and cried out in alarm, “Zhou Jin!”
Zhou Jin moved along the shipping containers, feeling her way toward the rear. She closed her eyes. Those two gunshots seemed to still be reverberating in her ears.
Zhou Chuan’s steady, bright face rose before her.
Time rolled backward. Dust drifted through the air, old and weightless. In the warm amber glow of a setting sun, Zhou Chuan appeared — sitting on the living room sofa, reading a newspaper.
He treasured his eyesight and had little interest in electronics of any kind, preferring to follow the news through print. The new smartphones appearing on the market meant little to Zhou Chuan; he could barely use one, and still needed Zhou Jin to teach him.
Zhou Jin taught him how to send messages. He studied very earnestly — after saving a phone number, he typed slowly and deliberately, and after roughly five or six minutes, he sent the other person a text.
Zhou Jin leaned in to look, and read:
“Today — can we still meet?”
The other person clearly wasn’t sure who it was: “Zhou Chuan?”
Zhou Jin burst out laughing and asked, “A girlfriend?”
Zhou Chuan hid the phone behind his back. “Stop peeking.”
Zhou Jin quickly covered her eyes. “Fine, fine. But if you won’t let me look, then when your future sister-in-law flies off, don’t come crying to me to help you chase her back.”
Zhou Chuan’s face was steady and bright with quiet confidence. “She won’t.”
Zhou Jin shuddered at the sheer mushiness of it, and decided not to press further. She spread her fingers and let her gaze slip through the gaps, pivoting immediately to collect her debt: “I taught you to send a message — you should teach me something in return, shouldn’t you?”
Zhou Chuan raised an eyebrow. “What do you want to learn?”
Zhou Jin: “Shooting! Aren’t you the ‘Divine Sniper’ of your entire class? Let’s go to the park and shoot at balloons — show me what you’ve got!”
Zhou Chuan: “You won’t be any good. You don’t have the patience.”
Zhou Jin snapped irritably, “What do you mean I don’t have patience?”
After a brief pause, Zhou Chuan conceded, “Fair enough. You’ve been quite patient with Jiang Cheng.”
Zhou Jin: “…Are you teaching me or not?”
Zhou Chuan, in an even tone: “No.”
He said he wouldn’t, but he couldn’t hold out against Zhou Jin’s persistent wheedling.
Zhou Jin was playful by nature — she wanted to learn mostly to satisfy her curiosity, and since Zhou Chuan was home for a visit, she jumped at the chance to keep him busy.
But Zhou Chuan taught her in earnest.
“One shot, one target — that’s all a sniper needs to fulfill the designated elimination task. Anti-sniper detection technology is advancing too fast these days. The moment you fire, your position can be pinpointed almost instantly. Usually, there’s no opportunity for a second shot.”
…
“That said, in my view, detection equipment cannot yet fully replace the human ear in the short term. Situations on the field shift constantly. When the enemy has a sniper, your ears are the best anti-sniper system you’ve got.”
…
Another earth-shaking gunshot rang out — especially jarring in the stillness of the night — piercing through the memory and dragging Zhou Jin back to reality.
He still hadn’t changed position.