While rolling through the grass, Qin Feng fired bullets continuously. Pap-pap-pap... Two out of the three shots hit the man in the middle, knocking him down. The gunners were clearly experienced—finally, they locked eyes, then stood back-to-back. One took point shots while the other provided support; as soon as one fired, the other instantly shifted from support to offense, securing time for his teammate to change magazines. Qin Feng held his breath, speeding forward in a straight line—his pace so swift it was astonishing. Eventually, he successfully maneuvered around to the side of the two gunners, who still believed he was at his original position. He leaped out and fired a shot. Pap—The bullet struck the left gunner squarely in the temple, spraying a mixture of blood and brain matter. Die! Qin Feng pressed the trigger a second time, confident that a single shot would finish off the last man. Click... The bullet didn't fire—it was just the striker hitting an empty space. Good heavens! A magazine designed to hold fifteen rounds only contains twelve. Where did the other three go? Did you eat them yourself, or give them to your girlfriend as a keepsake? A serious mistake! Qin Feng is now regretting it deeply. This domestically produced Type 92 pistol—he's using it for the first time. He's only seen it described in documents before: 9 millimeters in caliber, capacity of 15 rounds, effective range of 50 meters, simple and practical in design. If he'd used this pistol before, he could have judged the remaining number of rounds by its weight. But since he hadn't used it, he instinctively assumed the magazine was full. Now, he's exposed directly under the last gunman's aim, moving to evade, only managing to avoid critical hits—some hits are unavoidable. Just as his heart has begun to sink, the gunfire erupts. The outcome wasn't as he had predicted. The gunman was struck—bullet to the back of the head, the skull crushed and lifted off, and he was instantly killed. As the gunman collapsed, Qin Feng saw Shu Yajing standing behind, her right hand raised with the gun, radiating poised strength. He exhaled a long breath. Good thing she arrived just in time—otherwise, he'd have been in serious trouble! Just as he was about to offer his thanks, Shu Yajing suddenly bent down, clutching her mouth and began to retch violently. What on earth? He hadn't even done anything particularly awkward—just rolled around on the grass. Wasn't that a bit too much to handle? He soon learned the reason: it wasn't his appearance that had caused the reaction. Shu Yajing had been stunned by the sheer horror of the scene—especially the gunman whose head had been blown apart. The white, gushing fluid spilled from the wound reminded her of the tofu pudding she had eaten for breakfast. It was actually his first time killing someone, and now Qin Feng felt confident. How could a police officer with such a handsome appearance possibly be so displeased that she'd want to throw up? He chuckled. He Mu Qing, who arrived a bit late, was nearly regretting it. In terms of shooting skills and agility, she always believed herself superior to Shu Yajing, yet Shu Yajing had seized the opportunity to shine while she had missed out on any recognition. There was one aspect where she had to admit defeat—Su Yajing had run so fast that, no matter how hard she tried, she could only watch in frustration. "What exactly is going on here?" Qin Feng asked, his tone full of anger. "You're asking me? Who am I supposed to ask? Several of my people have already been killed—do you really think the shooter was sent by me?" "I don't care who sent the shooter. As for the 'set-up prosecution' issue, won't you at least admit it?" Qin Feng stared at her face and said slowly and deliberately, "You pretended to be one of the waitresses at the lounge, then sent your men to arrest me under the pretext of a 'yellow-press' crackdown. Girl, your appearance in a police uniform is far worse than your flight attendant outfit!" Qin Feng hummed, "Don't worry, I won't damage the bodies! Honestly, if I wish, I could leave not a single trace behind—no footprints, no fingerprints, nothing at all connected to me." This wasn't exaggeration; he truly had that ability. Hei Muqing glared at him angrily, then suddenly said, "Is that so? Then it makes sense—the outdoor firefight case a few weeks back, and the murder case in the city neighborhood—neither one showed your fingerprints." "Of course! I'd never be that clumsy and leave traces for you..." Qin Feng suddenly realized he'd been outmaneuvered and quickly shut up. Hei Muqing crossed her arms, "It's definitely you. Since you've admitted it—well, then..." Qin Feng interrupted her, "Admitted what? Everything must be backed by evidence. Show me the proof first!" Hei Muqing paused, recalling his words—he had indeed slipped up, but he hadn't explicitly said he was the one who had killed the victim. It wasn't really conclusive evidence. Yet to concede so easily wasn't in her nature. Qin Feng found clues on the bodies—on the inner sides of the right arms of several people, there were strange patterns. "Come over and take a look," he invited He Muqing. He Muqing stormed over, furrowed her brow upon seeing the symbol: "I've never seen this before. It looks like a character—yes, a seal script character." Qin Feng raised an eyebrow. "Which character?" "Sheng!" He Muqing was certain. "The character for 'survival,' the one meaning 'to live.' This is an ancient seal script, used only after Qin Shi Huang unified the empire, quite different from the later, more refined small seal script." It was the 'Shengmen'—the gate of life—to avenge Sun Kui. Qin Feng now saw the key. He Muqing also had a thought, expressing it with strong irony: "Don't you admit it yet? If you hadn't killed Sun Kui, why would the Shengmen people have attacked you so fiercely?" Previously, she had felt some guilt toward Qin Feng—now that guilt had completely vanished. Originally, she thought it was her fault that had befallen Qin Feng. Now it seemed clear that it was entirely Qin Feng's responsibility—he had to account for the four special police officers who had been killed. Qin Feng glanced at her: "Don't think I don't know what's going on in your mind! There's no way you're getting off scot-free. The responsibility lies with you. If it hadn't been for your fishing-for-accusations tactics, if it hadn't been for you having them bring me here, how would they have been ambushed?" Heaving a deep breath, He Muqing was left speechless, unable to come up with a rebuttal. Shu Yajing finally exhaled in relief, lifting a weak hand: "Just now, I thought I saw some reflections over there—probably from night vision equipment. I suspect there may be more of their allies besides these eight people."