Sparks bloomed from the pitch-black muzzle, a pale yellow bullet shot out. He ranked third in the national shooting competition, not to mention a mere distance of three meters from Xiao Qiang; he wouldn't miss even at a hundred meters.
The next moment, he saw something unbelievable.
Xiao Qiang, stretching out his right hand, lightly extended two fingers. His movements seemed incredibly slow, his expression indifferent. Yet, in the brief aftermath of the gunshot, the bullet astonishingly appeared between his two fingers.
"This is impossible!" Zhao Fang's face drastically changed, his body trembling, as he repeatedly pulled the trigger.
But Xiao Qiang was no longer interested in playing along. In a flicker of his form, he had already appeared behind Zhao Fang, pointing a finger out.
Bang!
Zhao Fang's body was blasted away seven or eight meters, smashing through two office desks before crashing into a wall.
