```
Yang Zheng could hear his own heavy breathing, clear and distinct like a bellows splitting the wind.
The metallic friction of bullets being chambered, the flowing sound of mist-swirling water, the humming buzz of sword edges slicing the air—details that should have been keenly perceived began to blur. He could no longer see his opponent's features. In the heat of close combat, his opponent would sometimes be Li Yan, exhausting his full strength; at other times, a frenzied Pang Chunhao. The two faces bore no resemblance to each other, sharing only a pair of sharp, focused, and icy eyes that merged into one.
Bang!
The moment Yang Zheng pulled the trigger again, firing the bullet, his heart sank abruptly.
Damn it, he missed.
