Chapter 116: Don

"Put on the cuffs. Drop the gun, drop it." Wei Zhenguo was old, and his adrenaline didn't surge as fast as Wen Ming's; at a distance of nearly ten meters, he was already two body lengths behind, shouting urgently.

Wen Ming's blood boiled; he didn't care anymore—he first forced Lao Hu's arm around with all his strength, then kicked the pistol away, reaching for the cuffs, when Wei Zhenguo arrived from behind.

"Cuff him, cuff him first!" Wei Zhenguo snapped the cuffs shut twice from behind Lao Hu, then flipped him over and saw a hole in Lao Hu's chest, blood gushing out, his breaths shallow and uneven.

Wen Ming was still in a frenzy, his elbow pressed hard against Lao Hu's neck, looking like a man who could tear tigers and leopards apart.

"He's dying—let go, let go!" Wei Zhenguo slapped Wen Ming's thick arm hard, yanking him up.

In such a tense moment, actions were pure instinct—there was no time for careful thought.

It was like the final minute of the middle school or college entrance exam—you realize you forgot to write your name, copied the answer sheet wrong, and know the teacher will collect papers on time with 80% certainty—what do you do first, what next?

For Wen Ming, Wei Zhenguo, and Jiang Yuan, this was the moment to decide.

Mu Zhiyang had been shot twice, lost too much blood, and fainted from fear.

"Press the wound, don't move. I'm coming." Jiang Yuan had stuffed two rolls of bandages in his pant pocket before leaving—he pulled them out now, wrapped them tightly around Mu Zhiyang's shoulder, then checked the wound.

A large chunk of flesh had been torn from the inner side of his left arm, but Jiang Yuan exhaled in relief.

Good—he was only two centimeters to the left, and Mu Zhiyang would've been dead.

Now it was just a flesh wound.

The first reinforcements were armed police—two officers with long rifles sprinted two or three hundred meters, arrived to find no one standing, their hearts clenched, and immediately chambered rounds.

"Engage the safety, it's over—the ringleader's been shot!" Wei Zhenguo hurried to warn them, fearing they'd fire accidentally, then opened his radio: "All done. Ringleader shot and down. Mu Zhiyang hit again—send an ambulance!"

"Hit again?" On the other end of the radio, Huang Qiang's heart, just settling back into his chest, shot up to three inches above his head, pounding frantically: "How could he be hit again…? What's the situation? The ambulance is on its way!"

"We exchanged fire—can't say yet." What could Wei Zhenguo say? He didn't want to trade lives, but they'd reached this point.

"You two, come help." Jiang Yuan called out, summoning the two armed police officers.

Both officers were very young—they'd run over from a nearby parking lot, where a six-man team had been stationed to prevent the five-man gang from breaking out and stealing cars.

When they heard the ringleader had escaped, the parking lot squad leader dared send only two men as backup.

The police had assumed five enemies total, never expecting the other four to be captured so easily, nor the ringleader to flee so decisively, choosing a route completely different from their prediction.

"Hold the wounds, don't move." Jiang Yuan had no needles or medicine—he could only arrange this for now, wiped his hands on his clothes, then ran to Wei Zhenguo's side.

Lao Hu's lung had likely been punctured—he breathed with a wheeze, eyes dim, yet his expression remained indifferent.

Jiang Yuan still wrapped his chest with bandages, had Wen Ming press down, then checked for other injuries.

Roughly speaking, Lao Hu had been shot four or five times—maybe seven or eight.

Mu Zhiyang was shot immediately upon meeting; the "Kindness 05" hadn't even activated; the remaining three had fired all 21 rounds—regardless of whether the gangsters fell, they had emptied every bullet.

The ringleader was drenched in blood; Jiang Yuan couldn't clearly distinguish the positions or types of wounds.

For living people, his options were limited—he stuck to the bandage method. Bandaging gangsters felt perfectly reasonable.

After treating the worst bleeding spots, the second wave of reinforcements arrived—four criminal investigators.

Compared to the two young armed police, the investigators looked older and heavier, but experienced—they instantly understood the situation. Two stepped forward to help, one contacted headquarters via radio, the other stretched yellow tape to cordon off the area.

At this point, Jiang Yuan had calmed down and returned to Mu Zhiyang's side.

Lao Hu's life mattered to the case, but Mu Zhiyang mattered more.

Perhaps the noise around him stirred him—Mu Zhiyang's eyelids fluttered, and he forced them open.

The first thing he saw was Jiang Yuan.

Mu Zhiyang's expression relaxed, then pain slammed him back—he whispered in terror: "Don't cut me open—I'm still alive, I'm still alive."

"What?" Jiang Yuan couldn't hear—he leaned closer.

Mu Zhiyang's face was full of sorrow: "Don't autopsy me…"

"We haven't autopsied you yet—not time yet." Jiang Yuan found it funny, chuckled twice, then quickly stopped smiling.

If not for that sniper, he might have really autopsied Mu Zhiyang's corpse—if luck had been worse.

"Ambulance's here—head to the hospital."

Wei Zhenguo ran over, his body soaked in blood.

Mu Zhiyang saw Wei Zhenguo, his emotions steadied—he finally asked: "Where am I hurt?"

"A chunk of flesh torn off your left arm—don't touch it." Wei Zhenguo slapped his hand away, then added: "Your chin was splashed by the brick wall—some bleeding, but you've stopped it yourself. Nothing serious. Understand? Just relax and head to the hospital."

Mu Zhiyang looked pitifully at Jiang Yuan: "Don't let Jiang Yuan bandage people—it's terrifying. My heart nearly stopped."

"Alright, alright." Wei Zhenguo cooed like a parent soothing a child, lifted Mu Zhiyang onto the stretcher, and loaded him into the ambulance.

The ambulances had been pre-arranged—two total, both now in use: one carried Mu Zhiyang, the other Lao Hu, speeding toward the town hospital.

"How long until the doctors arrive?" Jiang Yuan climbed into Mu Zhiyang's ambulance and asked Wei Zhenguo across from him.

Wei Zhenguo checked his WeChat, then looked up: "Doctors from Qinghe City First Hospital are on their way—about two hours. Mu Zhiyang should be fine. Whether the ringleader survives depends on how tough his luck is."

Jiang Yuan looked at Mu Zhiyang, who had slipped back into sleep: "If the town handles this properly, if he's still alive in two hours, the ringleader won't die."

"Yeah. If he dies, it's his own fault. If he'd shown up on schedule, we'd have had our people ready. He picked the day—who could've prepared doctors for him?" Wei Zhenguo shifted all blame outward, yet his tension remained.

Silence fell in the ambulance, broken only by the beeping alarm, stirring restless nerves.

Today was destined to be chaotic—arrested suspects needed interrogation, new leads needed to be followed up, Liu Jinghui was probably on his way, but even he would be overwhelmed by such a massive case.

Jiang Yuan stared at the unconscious Mu Zhiyang before him, and only now felt a chill of fear.

He'd been too focused on the tension.

Now, in stillness, he realized his back was drenched in sweat, his limbs weak—he wanted to lie down beside little Mu.

His heartbeat thudded loudly—he could feel it working hard.