Chapter 232: Splitting the Land to Seize Hegemony, Deciding the Fate of Heaven and Earth

Facing Qian Zhi Yuan's hoarse shouting insults and accusations, Lin Yu's smile vanished completely. That playful expression receded like a tide, replaced by extreme disgust and icy killing intent. He looked at this old thing like a jumping beam clown, his eyes full of impatience.

In those sharp eyes, there was no trace of pity left.

"Noisy." Lin Yu uttered the two words softly, his voice not loud, yet it sent a chill through everyone present.

Just as Qian Zhi Yuan was about to continue shouting "rebellious traitor" and try to stir up more chaos, Lin Yu's right hand had already risen. The Browning pistol that had just shot the Oriental reporter now steadily pointed at the Editor-in-Chief of the Da Qian Daily. This time, there was no warning, no pause.

"Bang bang bang bang bang bang!"

The crisp, continuous gunfire rang out again! Lin Yu emptied the remaining six rounds from the pistol's magazine in one breath!

The bullets rained down like hail on Qian Zhi Yuan, shattering his exquisite long robe and jacket, sending flesh and blood flying.

Qian Zhi Yuan's anger and indignation on his face froze instantly; the murky eyes that had just been spewing rage now held only disbelief.

Qian Zhi Yuan's body seemed to be struck repeatedly by an invisible heavy hammer, he lurched backward and crashed heavily to the ground. Blood quickly spread beneath him, dyeing the braid he prized a bright red; his body twitched a few times, then lay still, a gruesome sight.

This second public shooting, especially killing the Editor-in-Chief who represented the court's mouthpiece, plunged the scene into utter panic and chaos! The old-school reporters who had just echoed Qian Zhi Yuan now all went limp in their seats, faces ashen.

Sun Yao Ting's cane clattered to the ground with a "clang," his whole body drained of strength. Xu Tian You collapsed directly onto the ground, a wet patch spreading at his crotch.

Screams, wails, and the sound of overturned tables and chairs blended together. The reporters could no longer bother with interviews, scrambling to flee the hall like escaping a Shura field. Marie Dupont's notebook fell to the floor, pages scattering, but she didn't have the presence of mind to pick them up.

John Wilson's camera kept clicking "click-click," as if trying to forever capture this bloody scene.

The guards had to intervene forcibly, forming a human wall with rifle butts and their bodies, barely controlling the scene to prevent a stampede. Even so, the venue remained in chaos—some wept, some shouted, many trembled uncontrollably, unable to stand.

Amid the chaos, Lin Yu still stood on the podium, indifferently gazing at Qian Zhi Yuan's corpse on the floor. He casually placed the empty Browning pistol on the podium, producing a crisp sound. Though not loud, it made the reporters present shudder again.

Lin Yu stood on the presidential platform, looking down at the corpse on the floor. The pistol still smoked, the smell of blood spreading through the air. His gaze swept across the crowd like a drawn sword; wherever it fell, silence fell.

"Is that all the courage you have?"

His voice wasn't loud, yet it made the reporters' hearts jump. Those officials who had just been fervent now lowered their heads, not daring to meet his eyes.

Lin Yu gave a light smile, his smile carrying a bone‑chilling chill: "A bunch of weaklings! When foreign guns cannons entered Yanjing City, where were you? When the Great Powers trampled this land, where were you again?"

His voice grew colder, like a north wind in the depths of winter, making people shiver.

"Now you've learned to bite your own people?" Lin Yu's gaze fell on Qian Zhi Yuan's corpse, "Keeping that braid, do you really think you're a loyal subject of the court?"

The grand hall fell deathly silent—you could hear a pin drop. Lin Yu's leather boots struck the marble floor, each sound like a hammer on everyone's hearts.

He walked up to Qian Zhi Yuan's corpse, staring at that forever‑frozen face: "Aren't you the most loyal? Let me ask you, what has the court ever given the people?"

"People like you, who only talk nonsense and ruin the country, ignoring the lives of the populace—such so‑called loyal ministers, if they remain in this world, are merely stumbling blocks to the progress of the age!"

Those words echoed in the grand hall; Lin Yu surveyed the shocked crowd below, his gaze sweeping over the two bodies lying in pools of blood, the corners of his mouth twitching up slightly as a hint of satisfaction appeared.

Dead silence.

What was even more terrifying than the dead silence was that everyone was waiting, waiting to see what the man who had just fired two shots—Lin Madman—would do next.

Lin Yu leisurely adjusted his uniform collar, wiped a speck of blood from his lapel with his finger, then stepped back to the microphone, speaking calmly: "Today's press conference, I believe I've said everything that needed to be said."

No one dared to respond, no one dared to move.

"The new rules of Shen City, I hope everyone—" Lin Yu paused, his gaze sweeping meaningfully over a few foreign reporters, "especially those 'friends' still staying in Shen City, will observe them well."

Though the words were spoken politely, everyone could hear it as a naked threat. Several foreign reporters unconsciously swallowed. Marie Dupont lowered her head, fingers clenched tightly around her notebook, knuckles whitening.

After Lin Yu finished speaking, he no longer looked at anyone below, turned around, and his military boots made a steady sound on the floor.

Qi Ming Yuan and Zhou Wei immediately followed, flanking him on left and right.

The guards quickly formed two rows, rifle barrels angled toward the ground. Lin Yu strode through this human corridor with composed steps, his back straight as a spear.

Sunlight streamed in through the gate; Lin Yu's shadow resembled a drawn sword, lying across the divide between the old and the new eras.

Until Lin Yu's figure vanished completely, the grand hall remained deathly silent. Reporters stood frozen in place, not daring to breathe. Blood continued to seep from the two corpses on the floor, the air thick with the smell of gunpowder and gore.

No one spoke, but everyone understood that today's press conference was destined to go down in history. The words just spoken, those two world‑shocking gunshots, would become a watershed in history.

A warlord, in broad daylight, before dozens of domestic and foreign media outlets, successively shot an Oriental reporter and the court's mouthpiece. This was no longer mere provocation—it was an outright declaration of war!

Once this news spreads, all of Shen City will tremble. The Da Qian Court will be furious, the Great Powers will roar, and all factions will stir. An unprecedented storm is quietly brewing in this bloody afternoon.

And Lin Yu's lips bore a faint smile, as if he had already seen the magnificent spectacle the storm would bring.

After all, this storm was precisely one he had stirred up with his own hands.