"Cuff him. Drop the gun, drop it," Wei Zhenguo, being older, didn't have the adrenaline surge as quickly as Wen Ming. Falling two body-lengths behind over a distance of nearly ten meters, he shouted urgently.
Wen Ming, with his blood running hot, didn't care for caution. First, he forcefully twisted Hu's arm, then kicked away his gun. Just as he was about to reach for handcuffs, Wei Zhenguo caught up.
"Cuff him, cuff him first," Wei Zhenguo clacked the cuffs onto Hu from behind, then flipped him over, only to see a hole in Hu's chest, blood gushing out, and the man was clearly breathing more out than in.
Still in the throes of action, Wen Ming was pressing down hard on Hu's neck with his elbow, embodying the posture of one ready to "tear apart tigers and leopards barehanded."
"He's dying, let go, let go!" Wei Zhenguo slapped Wen Ming's arm hard and pulled him away.
In such a tense moment, actions are instinctual, with no time for careful thought.
