Fu Tingyu had seen many similar wounds, which was why he thought it looked like one. The longer he stared at Qin Shu's leg, the more he felt his heart leaden—his suspicion was confirmed. Only piercing bullets could have caused such circular wounds.
He raised his pitch-black eyes and looked at the person beside him in deep slumber. As her eyes were closed, her sleeping face was serene. Her cheeks were dyed in scarlet, charming like an angel.
At the thought of a muzzle being pointed at her, he felt his body turn cold. His breath seemed to have stopped. No one could understand better than he did—the pain of being hit by a bullet. He would have ignored it, but it would be too much for her.
