Chapter 211: Number One in the World

Chapter 211: Number One in the World

Mao Rusong was genuinely panicking.

He had taken Wu Chen for an assassin sent by one of his enemies.

Not just any assassin, either, but the sort of world-class killer who could be hired only for an astronomical sum—the kind seen in movies.

He had even begun to suspect that Wu Chen belonged to some international assassin organization.

It was an absurd thought.

But anything less absurd would have failed to match the abilities Wu Chen had just displayed.

His marksmanship was that outrageous.

It surpassed not only the understanding of ordinary people, but even what professional shooters would consider possible.

Mao Rusong was stunned.

So were his bodyguards.

So was everyone else in the room.

Wu Chen had known this would be the effect.

He knew that his own marksmanship had already reached a level beyond anyone else on Earth.

After discovering during the loop that his memory was improving, Wu Chen had also realized that his learning ability and concentration in certain areas had increased tremendously.

And the improvement had continued to grow.

When it came to firearms training, Wu Chen possessed an advantage no one else had.

He could fire more rounds every day.

To become truly skilled with a gun, one had to shoot a great deal.

Guns had recoil.

Someone who did not know how to handle one could sprain a wrist with a single shot.

Even a trained shooter might fire only one or two hundred rounds in a day before the wrist became swollen and painfully inflamed the following morning, temporarily rendering the hand useless.

A special police unit training a sharpshooter might have him fire only around thirty thousand rounds in an entire year.

Even top shooters—for example, ace marksmen in a special police unit—might manage only five or six hundred rounds in a single day of intensive training.

Firing that many rounds in one day often tore the skin in the web between the thumb and index finger, leaving it split and bleeding.

Even elite shooters could not sustain such high-intensity training for more than a few days.

Wu Chen, however, had fired thousands of rounds a day when he trained.

He could shoot until both hands were covered in blood, wrap them in bandages, and continue.

He had even trained through cracked and broken bones.

None of the injuries caused by overtraining mattered to him.

Because every day reset.

Any injury caused by firearms practice vanished when the new day arrived.

In several hundred days of obsessive training, Wu Chen had fired more bullets than a top marksman might in an entire lifetime.

Most importantly, the feel and the memory never disappeared.

Not only did they remain—

They stayed permanently.

While Wu Chen was still trapped in the loop, he had not understood why his condition and skills remained permanently at their peak.

Other people grew rusty after going several days without shooting.

Wu Chen did not.

Only after his new life began did he understand.

His mental stat had risen beyond ten thousand.

That was why Wu Chen was confident that, in handgun marksmanship alone, he was number one in the world.

And not by a narrow margin.

He stood an entire tier above whoever ranked second.

The other world-class shooters occupied one level.

Wu Chen occupied another.

A level belonging to him alone.

Wu Chen still had the gun trained on Mao Rusong, a smile on his face.

No one dared move.

It was not merely that Wu Chen’s shooting seemed godlike.

It was as though he had eyes in the back of his head.

“One… one hundred million…” Mao Rusong raised the offer again.

Fine beads of sweat had appeared on his forehead, and his already dry voice had grown even rougher.

“I’ll pay one hundred million! No! I’ll add another hundred million! Don’t kill me! Whatever they paid you, I’ll add another hundred million on top!”

Mao Rusong was truly afraid.

The more he thought about it, the more frightened he became.

His imagined version of Wu Chen’s identity grew increasingly extreme.

He could already picture Wu Chen putting a bullet through his head, then simply walking away while not one of his men dared stop him.

There was another point worth mentioning.

This was a bar.

The greatest difference between a bar and an ordinary apartment or office building was soundproofing.

Bars were specifically designed with it.

And Ninth Dimension was one of Modu’s premier bars.

No expense had been spared on comprehensive soundproofing during its construction and renovation.

So although Wu Chen had fired seven shots inside the office, anyone outside who heard them would hear only a few muffled thuds.

No one would identify them as gunshots.

The office was silent.

“I really hate it when people swear at me,” Wu Chen finally said with a smile.

His tone was mild.

“I’m sorry! I was blind and failed to recognize Mount Tai. I’m sorry, friend!” Mao Rusong apologized at once.

A wise man knew when not to fight a losing battle.

Mao Rusong was the sort of man who knew when to bend and when to stand tall.

First he had to stay alive.

Only then could he resist.

Only then could he take revenge.

Wu Chen kept the gun raised and smiled at Mao Rusong.

Then he fell silent again.

“You’re the boss here, sir. Swearing is just a habit of mine. Don’t hold it against me, all right?”

As Mao Rusong spoke, he even raised a hand and slapped his own cheek—not too hard, but not lightly either.

Then he grinned at Wu Chen.

He was short and thin.

With that grin, he looked exactly like one of those collaborationist spy chiefs from an old wartime drama.

Wu Chen lowered the gun.

He had not come here to kill anyone in the first place.

Sitting down once more, he smiled at Mao Rusong.

“How about we talk alone?”

“Well…” Mao Rusong hesitated, then immediately agreed. “All right. Yes, yes, yes… Everyone out. All of you, get out for now.”

He had hesitated because he was afraid.

If all his men left, what was to stop Wu Chen from simply shooting him?

But then he reconsidered.

No.

If Wu Chen wanted him dead, he could kill him right now.

Whether the others stayed or left made no difference.

They were already too terrified to move.

Besides, sending his men out had another advantage.

His trusted subordinates could notify others.

They could also go and fetch guns.

Mao Rusong ordered everyone out.

The others hurried toward the door.

Not one of them wanted to remain in the office for another second.

Their position was impossible.

They were terrified that Wu Chen might suddenly begin killing people. If he did, were they supposed to charge in and protect their boss?

Charge in and die?

Or stay back and look disloyal?

Leaving was best.

Everyone filed out, including Mao Rusong’s heavily made-up woman, Sun Jiamei.

Very soon, only Wu Chen and Mao Rusong remained in the office.

The door closed.

“Sit down, Boss Mao,” Wu Chen said with a smile, gesturing toward the chair.

“Ah, all right…” Mao Rusong had recovered some of his composure.

A faint, artificial smile appeared on his face—the sort he might wear while receiving an honored guest.

But as he sat, his eyes still flicked instinctively toward the handgun in Wu Chen’s hand.

Once Mao Rusong was seated, Wu Chen simply placed the gun on the desk and slid it toward him.

Smack!

Mao Rusong slapped a hand down on it, pinning it at the edge of the desk.

He froze for a moment.

What did this mean?

In truth, Mao Rusong himself could no longer remember exactly how many rounds had been loaded in the gun.

He had not used it in a long time.

But Wu Chen had fired seven shots, and the slide had not locked back.

That meant there was still ammunition in it.

Mao Rusong could not understand why Wu Chen had returned the gun to him.

“There’s still one round in it,” Wu Chen said with a smile. “Put it away. It wouldn’t be good if someone got hurt by accident.”

Mao Rusong froze again.

Even he did not know exactly how many rounds remained, yet Wu Chen had stated the number with complete certainty without ever checking the magazine.

Was that true?

Was it even possible?

He had no idea that Wu Chen could determine how many rounds a handgun held simply from its weight.

“Well…” Mao Rusong began cautiously.

Moving very slowly, he picked up the gun and removed the magazine.

He checked it.

Empty.

Wu Chen was right.

There really was one round left.

It was in the chamber, ready to fire at any moment.

Mao Rusong reinserted the magazine, opened the drawer, and put the handgun away.

He was a smart man.

Wu Chen had not merely intimidated him.

He had made him understand something.

Even after Wu Chen returned a loaded gun with one round still chambered, Mao Rusong had no opportunity whatsoever.

If he dared try anything again, there was no telling whether Wu Chen would spare him a second time.

At such close range, in front of a true top-level fighter, temporary cooperation was always the correct choice.

“So… friend…” Mao Rusong looked at Wu Chen again with a false smile.

“I hear you’ve prepared a woman for Ding Ruilong. A very beautiful girl, isn’t she?” Wu Chen asked with a smile.

Mao Rusong’s expression changed instantly.