Desperate people, accept the seed of my soul!

When Shen Qinghou reached the third-floor landing, Yue Sheng and two team members blocked his way from the front.

The tactical flashlights of the three rifles were turned on simultaneously, and the bright beams shone directly into his face.

Shen Qinghou narrowed his eyes, plucked the strings heavily with his fingers, and the fourth sound wave blasted across the ground.

The sound waves rolled over the cement steps, causing the surface to crack like a spiderweb. Dust spewed out from the cracks and churned in the beam of light.

Yue Sheng sidestepped and bumped past the team members behind him, but was hit on the left shoulder by the edge of the sound wave.

A cracking sound came from my shoulder socket, and my entire left arm instantly lost feeling, dangling at my side and swaying twice.

He groaned, but the gun in his right hand didn't fall; he stubbornly held on and didn't collapse.

Taking advantage of the break, Shen Qinghou carried Su Wan from the third-floor landing and turned into the staircase leading to the second floor.

Each step on the stairs was heavier than the last, echoing with a dull thud throughout the stairwell.

Gu Mingyuan did not remain in the firefight zone.

After Han Qiming ordered the building sealed off, he quietly took two steps back, getting out of Han Qiming and Yue Sheng's sight.

Shen Qinghou's sonic attack was twice as powerful in the enclosed corridor, and the Sharp Blade team members standing in the front row were sitting ducks; he wouldn't make that mistake.

He went down the stairs on the other side to the first floor and called over the four men he had brought from headquarters.

These four people were not from the Sharp Blade Brigade; they were his trusted confidants transferred from the provincial department under the guise of "special envoy security," and they only obeyed his orders.

All four were dressed in black combat uniforms, with spare magazines hanging from their bulletproof vests on their chests, and the barrels of their rifles gleamed matte under the hallway lights.

Gu Mingyuan did not leave the building.

Outside the door was the outer perimeter of the Sharp Blade Brigade. Yue Sheng's men didn't recognize his subordinates, and going out rashly would make them targets.

He chose a spot at the end of the first-floor corridor, directly opposite the unit door exit, and had his four men spread out in a fan shape in front of him, two crouching and two standing, all with their guns pointed at the open space outside the unit door.

He stood five steps behind his subordinates in the doorway of the electrical room, half of his body hidden in the shadows, only revealing an angle from which his line of sight could pass through.

The electrical room was filled with dusty old meters and discarded fuse boxes, and the air was filled with the smell of rust and dust.

His back was pressed against the cold casing of the electrical box, the metallic chill seeping into his skin through his suit jacket. His breathing was steady, and his heart rate was as stable as usual.

His plan was very clear.

If the Sharp Blade Brigade captures Shen Qinghou, he will take over the prisoner as a "command member".

If Shen Qinghou rushed out of the building and his four men opened fire at the same time, the crossfire of the four guns could cover the entire open space outside the unit door. He didn't believe that Shen Qinghou could deflect bullets from four directions at the same time.

His safety was guaranteed by the four-person wall in front of him, so even if Shen Qinghou counterattacked, these four people would be the first to be hit.

Fragments of his son Gu Yanzhi's gold medal were stuck to the inside pocket of his chest, rubbing against his skin through the fabric of his shirt.

He reached out and pressed that spot, feeling the cool touch of the broken gold on his fingertips.

Yanzhi, wait.

Dad will send him down to keep you company tonight.

Shen Qinghou carried Su Wan on his back and climbed out of the window at the corner of the second-floor staircase.

Lin Shen followed behind him, and the two landed one after the other on the muddy ground of the green belt on the side of the apartment building.

Lin Shen turned around and created another illusion around the window, which then appeared as a complete wall in the pursuers' view.

The three of them had just straightened up and hadn't even taken a step when they heard the sound of gun bolts being pulled back in unison coming from the direction of the building entrance.

Four henchmen formed a fan shape outside the unit entrance, their guns already locked on Shen Qinghou and his two companions who were coming out from the side of the building.

The dim yellow light from the streetlights fell on the four gun barrels, the nozzles still emitting a slight warmth, and the fingers inside the trigger guards had already pulled the first trigger.

Gu Mingyuan stood five steps behind his subordinate inside the doorway of the electrical room, half of his body hidden in the shadows.

He saw Shen Qinghou carrying Su Wan on his back in the open space—carrying a woman on his back, with a zither hanging in front of him, he had just jumped down from the second floor and hadn't even stood up yet, panting heavily.

The wounds on his right shoulder and left forearm were still bleeding, and the blood dripped down the edge of the instrument onto the muddy ground.

This is the moment he's been waiting for.

From the day he received news of his son's death, he had the same image playing repeatedly in his mind every night: Shen Qinghou kneeling in front of him begging for mercy.

He had looked at the photos of Gu Yanzhi's shattered limbs countless times, scrutinizing every single detail.

The son's face was smashed beyond recognition, his limbs were twisted at impossible angles, his shirt was covered in mud and blood, and even one of his shoes had been kicked off.

That was his only son, the flesh and blood he had raised for over twenty years, who was shattered inch by inch by this lowly musician with sound waves, crushed to death in the alley like an ant.

Shen Qinghou is now twenty meters away, carrying another burden on his back, with nowhere to hide under the crossfire of four guns.

His son is watching from heaven; today he will personally send this lowly musician down to be buried with him.

He didn't speak, didn't warn, but hissed, "Fire."

All four henchmen pulled the trigger at the same time.

Shen Qinghou had just jumped down from the second-floor window, with Su Wan still clinging to his back, when Lin Shen turned to face the window and began to fill in the illusion.

All three of them were focused on the pursuers behind them, and none of them looked towards the building entrance.

However, after Shen Qinghou lost his hearing, his vision became exceptionally sharp.

As he straightened up, he caught a glimpse of metal reflection on his left out of the corner of his eye—the streetlights shone on the four gun barrels, and the cold light pierced the edge of his vision like needles.

He turned his head sharply and saw four gunmen crouching in a fan-shaped formation outside the unit door, their guns already locked on the three of them.

In the shadow of the electrical room door frame behind the gunman, there was another silhouette: a man in a suit, with gray hair, and a familiar coldness frozen on his face.

There wasn't time to pluck the strings.

The bullet has been fired.

Four warheads left four scorching trajectories in the air as they approached at a speed of 800 meters per second.

The piercing whistling sound of the bullet tearing through the air was so intense it hurt your eardrums, and the flashes from the muzzle were particularly blinding in the dark night.

Shen Qinghou grabbed the sides of the zither with both hands, turned the whole instrument sideways, and slammed it onto the muddy ground in front of him.

All the strings broke simultaneously upon impact.

The six strings emitted a deafening roar that tore through the air, and six sound waves exploded outwards from the body of the instrument.

The shockwave ripped up all the gravel and dead leaves on the muddy ground, mixing them with bits of grass and dry soil to form a visible gray wave that swept outwards with overwhelming force.

This was not his usual precise and targeted attack.

Indiscriminate shockwaves consume several times more mental and physical energy than targeted attacks; the larger the coverage area, the more intense the consumption.

But he had no choice.