Police officer Chen Shu.

Zorro Song knelt three steps away, sprawled on the ground like a dog.

Zhu Yiba stood opposite him, his head wrapped in bandages, but his eyes, which were exposed, were frighteningly bright. He looked down at Zorro Song without moving.

"Old Zhu, you're not going to chicken out at the crucial moment, are you? You're not a woman, are you?" Chen Chuan said slyly and cheekily.

However, everyone present knew that he was putting the option that Zhu Yiba should never have said out loud into the open, or rather, giving a reason that everyone could accept, and then making a decision.

Chen Shu stood beside Zhu Yiba, his hand holding the gun still suspended in mid-air. It was as if he wouldn't take the gun back unless Zhu Yiba took it. However, Chen Shu didn't urge him or try to persuade him; he simply waited quietly for Zhu Yiba to make his choice.

The campfire crackled and popped, its flickering light casting shadows on everyone, creating an alternating pattern of light and shadow.

In fact, Chen Shu was not as calm as he appeared on the surface. In his heart, there were two identical voices saying completely opposite things. To be more precise, the two identical voices were fighting.

One reason is that, as a police officer for so many years, I have to prevent Zhu Yiba from becoming a murderer here, even in this lawless place in northern Myanmar, even if he is a heinous criminal, even if no one will pursue the matter.

This is called procedural justice.

Another is empathy and compassion. A year ago, during the Qingyueqiao anti-terrorism incident, my colleague Xu Mingliang was killed by K militants with explosives when he rushed into the room. Chen Shu accidentally threw a pistol at the K militants from the rooftop, and then had no choice but to kill them with his own hands.

Chen Shu knew that Zhu Yiba had been trapped by this hurdle for so long. If he didn't get through it this time, it would trap him for the rest of his life, and he would never be able to escape it until he died.

This Type 64 pistol was a stock gun that Wang Yan casually took from the armory of the Mandalay Special Police Unit. It had no serial number or record, and no one knew where it went. It would not appear in any reports.

"This is the only thing I can do for you..." Chen Shu said silently in his heart.

Zorro Song lay on the ground, his small eyes fixed on the gun in Chen Shu's hand, his whole body trembling uncontrollably. He was terrified. He knew he was going to die, but as death approached, he couldn't utter a single word.

They could only watch helplessly as that deadly pistol was handed to the man.

That man was from the Yunnan Special Forces, and they had always been the nightmare of Zoro Song and his fellow mules who patrolled the China-Myanmar border year-round. Among their ranks, there was a saying: when encountering these ruthless special forces soldiers, the best course of action was to kneel down without hesitation.

Kneeling was not a sign of surrender. Those people didn't care whether they surrendered or not; all they cared about was the mission. The mule knelt down simply to make room for these people to take out the target.

But now, Zorroson knows that even if he kneels for ten thousand years, he will not survive.

Because I am the target this time.

Back then, it was he who spent money to buy children from the village and then shot and killed two of this man's comrades.

Zorozon wanted to beg for mercy, but his tongue wouldn't move, and he could only make "uh, uh" sounds, which were very clear in this deserted and silent logging camp.

His body went from uncontrollably trembling at the beginning to now having violent seizures.

He tried to stand up and run away, but his knees had barely supported him halfway up when he suddenly gave way and his face slammed heavily onto the ground, landing amidst the rubble and wood chips.

He thought someone kicked him to prevent him from escaping, but in reality, in his field of vision with his eyes pressed to the ground, the three policemen had been standing there without moving; he had simply fallen down on his own.

He gave up resisting, felt a heat in his crotch, and collapsed to the ground, panting heavily, his voice trembling with sobs.

Snot and tears, along with the blood from the recent fall on his forehead, flowed into his mouth.

Looking at all this, Zhu Yiba suddenly recalled that evening many years ago. That day, the squad leader leaned against a rock, Little Fatty lay beside him, and he, as the platoon leader, stood in the grass. The three of them watched the sun gradually setting in the west and laughed loudly.

As for why they were laughing that day, Zhu Yiba couldn't remember.

Zhu Yiba still didn't take the gun. As if suddenly remembering something, he pulled a folding dagger from his belt, the handle gleaming brightly. This dagger had been given to him by his squad leader, who had said something similar at the time.

He said that although the knife was a weapon, it wasn't for killing people, but for protecting himself and his comrades so they could return home safely after a mission. But in the end, the squad leader who said this didn't come back alive.

And he went from being a special forces soldier to a police officer.

In another sense, aren't the police also a knife in the hands of ordinary people? This knife is described in students' textbooks as a machine of violence, but it is never intended to kill.

It is meant to protect the people, which is why it puts "People" before its name.

Zhu Yiba understood and had thought about these profound principles, but standing here now, thinking about them again, he couldn't help but wonder if this was just an unconscious excuse. Ultimately, he was still that cowardly boy who would run away thousands of miles away whenever something happened.

Perhaps, before he died, the squad leader held his hand and told him to "come back alive," not to avenge them, but to come back alive and live well for the squad leader and Little Fatty.

Be an upright police officer, not a murderer who only knows how to vent his anger in deserted corners of northern Myanmar.

"Hehe, what if this guy escapes again after we go back this time? Who will you look for then? Where will you look? I'm telling you, you won't even have a place to cry then."

Chen Chuan's words drifted over again, his tone still as irritating and indifferent as ever, as if he were just a passerby sitting in the audience watching a show, waiting for the main characters and supporting actors to put on a good performance.

Then this young master Chen waved his hand and bestowed a reward!

Zhu Yiba did not refute, only two tears welled up in his eyes and fell down his cheeks.

He didn't raise his hand to wipe away his tears, nor did he make a sound. He just stood there, letting his eyes fall one by one.

Countless times I've dreamt of firing bullets at that pig-dog-like person, and countless times I've woken up in the early hours of the morning, surrounded by endless darkness and a wet pillow.

He thought that when he saw Zorozon, he would be angry, lose control, hesitate, or perhaps calm. He had many emotions, but the result would definitely be that he would pull the trigger without hesitation.

But now, standing here looking at this man crawling on the ground like a dog, he suddenly felt his hands were very heavy, so heavy that he couldn't lift them at all.

At this moment, he desperately wanted Chen Chuan to scold him awake, to scold him hard and fiercely.

But after waiting for a long time, he still didn't get his wish. Perhaps Chen Chuan had given up on him, on this cowardly man.

Finally, all that remained was a long, drawn-out sigh.

Immediately following was Chen Chuan's sudden voice, but this time the voice did not have the previous nonchalant feel; it was more like a scream made when a person is extremely nervous.

"Chen Shu! What are you doing?!"

I like Policeman Chen Shu.