The sky was clear and bright, with white clouds drifting lazily like frolicking dogs.

The emerald forest stretched endlessly, its verdant waves rippling under the gentle caress of the breeze.

Nestled against the mountains stood a military base, far removed from the clamor and bustle of the city, where only the whispers of rustling leaves filled the air.

Yang Yunfan, clad in a plain white T-shirt, walked away empty-handed from the army he had served for four years. Despite the substantial compensation—whether monetary or otherwise—offered in recognition of his immense contributions, he had refused it all.

If he was to start anew, he would sever every tie to his past.

"Wolfhound, Fatty... Watch over me from above. I *will* avenge you," Yang Yunfan muttered through gritted teeth, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. A palpable aura of killing intent radiated from him before vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

In the next breath, his expression smoothed into calm composure.

As one of the most elite snipers, Yang Yunfan had long mastered the art of controlling his emotions. The burning hatred in his eyes moments ago had now given way to a sharp, calculating glint.

"The commander warned me repeatedly—begged me not to seek revenge. He even agreed to my discharge just to stop me." His lips curled into a humorless smirk. "That means the people behind this... they're not to be trifled with."

The enemies they had encountered during that mission were no ordinary men. Some wielded lightning itself. His entire squad had been wiped out in an instant.

But so what?

A man only dies once. Even if they were gods, he would drag them down from the heavens to avenge his brothers.

The problem was, he didn’t know who they were. The ambush had been swift—too swift. Before losing consciousness, he had barely glimpsed a strange mark on the neck of the lightning-wielder. Too far, too blurry.

But he was patient. Sooner or later, he would uncover their identities.

For now, he would bide his time.

A new life awaited. And with it, a long game.

On his deathbed, the wolfhound asked Yang Yunfan to take care of his unreliable younger sister, telling him that she lived in Yijiang City. And so, Yang Yunfan decided to head to Yijiang to start a new chapter in his life.

...

Yijiang Expressway!

Nestled at the confluence of three rivers, Yijiang’s prime location had turned it into a bustling hub for trade. What was once a small town now thrived with commerce, its streets alive with activity.

Under the blazing sun, cars sped endlessly down the highway.

Suddenly, a figure darted out from the roadside like a monkey. It was none other than Yang Yunfan, freshly discharged from the military and ready to embrace his new life.

For three grueling days, he had trekked through rugged mountain paths and dense forests teeming with snakes and insects. Now, at last, he had emerged from the wilderness.

His once-pristine white T-shirt was torn and filthy, his sharply defined face smeared with dirt, and his short-cropped hair coated in dust. He looked no different from a beggar.

"Finally, some signs of civilization," he muttered.

Spotting a large truck parked on the emergency shoulder ahead, Yang Yunfan decided to ask how far it was to the city.

But as he closed within five or six meters of the vehicle, his steps slowed. His ears pricked up.

"That’s the sound of a round being chambered. Someone’s up to no good."

After four years in the military—and as the most formidable sniper in his division—Yang Yunfan knew firearms like the back of his hand. Though the noise had been faint, he was certain: it was the metallic click of a bullet sliding into place. More than that, he could tell it was an American-made Remington sniper rifle.

A high-end weapon like that wasn’t something just anyone could get their hands on.

Yang Yunfan approached and rapped his knuckles against the truck’s rear door.

It swung open, revealing a middle-aged man with a thick, unkempt beard. Yang Yunfan flashed him a grin.

"Hey, buddy. Got a smoke? I’m dying for a cigarette—mind sparing one?"

"Get lost, you filthy beggar!"

"Beard, don't make trouble. Just give him a cigarette and send him on his way," a voice inside the car muttered, though Yang Yunfan heard every word clearly.

"Damn it, can't even afford a meal but still wants a smoke? No wonder you're starving," the middle-aged man called Beard grumbled, but he tossed Yang Yunfan a cigarette anyway.

"Hey, bro, I don’t have a lighter."

"Such a pain in the ass," Beard snapped impatiently before flinging his lighter at Yang Yunfan.

Lighting the cigarette, Yang Yunfan took a deep drag and exhaled slowly, savoring the moment. "Ah, that hits the spot," he said with a contented grin. "Here’s your lighter back, bro."

"Keep it."

"Nah, I’ve got principles—I don’t take things from people for no reason. Besides, cheap lighters like this aren’t really my style."

"Hand it the hell over!" Beard barked, irritated at being looked down on by a beggar.

Yang Yunfan smirked as he passed the lighter back, but when his eyes landed on Beard’s hands, a sharp glint flashed in his gaze. The man’s palms were rough with calluses—clearly from frequent training. The thickest patches were around the webbing between thumb and forefinger, a telltale sign of someone who handled guns often.

Not a cop, but regularly armed? These guys were definitely trouble.

Even though he’d left the military, Yang Yunfan’s sense of duty to protect his country hadn’t faded. If these men were up to no good, he couldn’t just walk away.

Pretending to leave, he waited until they weren’t looking, then flipped onto the roof of the truck with the effortless grace of an eagle taking flight.

Inside the vehicle, someone suddenly asked, "Hey, where’d that beggar go?"

"Gave him the cigarettes, he should leave now. Ignore him—the target's in sight. Heads up, the target's in a red Porsche. The client wants her alive, so be careful not to hurt her."

On the truck's roof, Yang Yunfan spotted a red Porsche approaching in the distance. In the passenger seat sat a stunning blonde.

She appeared to be in her early twenties, wearing sleek black-framed glasses, her delicate eyebrows arched like willow leaves. Her full lips were painted a bold red, and she wore a crisp white blouse. Though she tried to dress maturely, her youthful, doll-like face betrayed her true age.

"President Liu, landing this hundred-million-dollar deal should finally shut up those board members opposing your promotion to CEO, right?"

The driver, though not as striking as the woman beside her, was attractive in her own right—curvy and confident.

"A single contract won’t silence everyone. Only taking the company public will truly earn their respect."

"You’ll make it happen, President Liu."

Beep! Beep!

The Porsche’s system blared an alert, followed by the AI’s calm voice: *"Low tire pressure detected in the front left wheel. Decelerating. Please pull over for inspection at the earliest convenience."*

"What’s going on? These are run-flat tires—how could they lose pressure?"

"Let’s just pull over and check," Liu Rumei said coolly.

The Porsche slowed and veered to the shoulder, stopping less than twenty meters from the truck. Liu Rumei and her assistant, Wang Shishi, stepped out.

"Move in!"

From the truck’s cargo hold, several men jumped down, strolling casually toward their targets.

"Having car trouble, ladies? Need a hand?"

Unaware of the danger, Wang Shishi brightened at the offer—changing a tire was a hassle for them. "Oh, thank you! Our tire pressure’s low—could you help us swap it out?"

"No problem at all. Leave the dirty work to us."

But the moment the men reached Liu Rumei and Wang Shishi, their friendly grins vanished. One growled, "Don’t move. Come with us quietly, or this gun won’t hesitate."

The cold, dark barrel pointed at them sent both women pale. Wang Shishi turned to Liu Rumei, her eyes wide with helpless terror.