Soul Chuan Ke Xue: I call gin and wine my wife

"If I had known that you looked more attractive than Belmod, I wouldn't have cooperated with her..."

"I slept with you and then took away your power. If such a good thing happened to me, I would probably wake up laughing in my dreams! Hahaha..."

It was clear that McCarron was the one who was restrained, but he spoke freely without caring about his own life and death, so Lancer couldn't help but put the gun into his mouth.

Along with those dirty words, he also swallowed the bullets in his stomach.

Lancer's eyes turned cold.

"Since you wish so much, then I will send you to have a sweet dream——"

The trigger was about to be pulled, but unexpectedly, many people rushed in from other doors. They should be McCarron's men, and they aimed their guns at Lancer.

As soon as he makes a move, these people will immediately beat him into a sieve.

Lancer, who had spent a lot of energy, was sweating on his head. Just when he was thinking about using McCarran as a hostage to escape from here, he suddenly felt his heart beat suddenly and sharp pain spread all over his body!

This feeling... was the same as when he just swallowed the antidote!

Could it be that he is going to change back?

Sensing that Lancer's hand was shaking, McCarron raised his knee and hit him in the abdomen without hesitation. He released his hand that was pressed down and grabbed Lancer's wrist instead. He grabbed the pistol and held him. Counter it.

Apparently his actions were a bit unnecessary.

Because Lancer didn't know why, his body was shaking uncontrollably. He clutched his chest and breathed heavily like a suffocating fish. All his clothes were soaked with sweat.

McCarron frowned in confusion and tentatively let go of his hand, confirming that he was not acting, but was actually in pain.

"What's going on with this guy..."

At this time, McCarran's men gathered around him. A woman holding a rifle chewed bubble gum, kicked Lancer with interest, and asked: "McAllen, let me handle it. Kill him! I don’t think he can survive, right?"

After she said this, when she looked at Macallan's face, she met those sinister eyes and immediately felt a chill down her back.

When Lancer was in pain and his consciousness was gradually blurring, he felt as if his body was being hugged by someone.

That disgusting voice rang in my ears.

"It's still useful if I keep him -"

"Of course I will take action on what I just said!"

The person in his arms looked weak and vulnerable due to unknown pain, which aroused Macallan's desire to abuse.

"Prepare to retreat!"

The group of people planned to exit through the door where they broke through. As soon as the first person walked out, they heard a huge noise from a grenade exploding in front of them.

The already shaky door was blown to pieces, and a large section of the wall collapsed.

Through the flying dust mist, one could vaguely see the handful of people on the other side.

McCarron didn't take these people to heart at first. It wasn't until he saw someone setting up a submachine gun that he realized something was wrong.

Continuous popping noises swept the group of people who were caught off guard to the ground. McCarron took Lancer and hid behind the fallen piano in the room.

He picked up the gun and was about to run away. When he lowered his head, he saw Lancer raising his wrist, opening the case of his watch and pointing it at him, with a cold smile on his sweaty face.

McCarron was immediately on guard.

The next second, a needle flew out of the watch and plunged into McCarron's neck. In just a few seconds, McCarron felt a sense of dizziness coming over him.

He gritted his teeth and jumped out of the window amid the hail of bullets.

Lancer cursed.

Damn it! This is the third floor!

It was probably that the other party had eliminated all their opponents and when they found Lancer, they unexpectedly didn't make a move against him.

Lancer was carried on someone's back again. The bumps during the journey made his body, which was already in extreme pain, feel like it was thrown into a blender. Every breath he took made his lungs sting.

When he was in so much pain that he lost consciousness, he heard these people complaining to each other.

"...If I had known that this place would all be bombed, wouldn't we have just cleared them all out from the beginning?"

"No way, who told us to just be responsible for the aftermath?"

"Who is this person? Why does Sir pay so much attention to him?"

"It can't be the new lover..."

Go to hell lover...

Lancer cursed them in his mind.

He didn't know how long these people had been gone, but Lancer suddenly felt as if he had been handed over to someone. He exhausted all his strength and looked up at that person.

It was reasonable but unexpected to meet a pair of cold and indifferent dark green eyes, Lancer was stunned for a moment.

"...Gin?"

Gin: "..."

The cold, silver-haired man couldn't accept it for a while. The man in front of him who suddenly grew more than ten years old was actually the same young man in his early twenties not long ago.

Whether it's his hair, appearance, or tone of voice, there is a complete sense of familiarity.

Gin wrapped the person's head tightly in his black windbreaker, and then lifted the person onto his shoulders.

Then he said to the others with a cold look: "Clean up this place before dawn and give me whatever you got."

"clear."

The sky turned white, and the vehicles parked in the mountains were blown up one after another. Only the black Porsche drove down the mountain along the rain-stained road.

Gin, who was focused on Lancer, didn't notice that when the vehicle passed through a forest, it passed by a young man who was running to the top of the mountain in the rain.

Or maybe he noticed it but didn't recognize the face.

The person leaning on his shoulder had his eyes closed, and his long eyelashes were trembling with his deep breathing. His chest rose and fell, his brows furrowed, and the breath from his mouth sprayed on Gin's neck, burning the skin.

As if he still couldn't get rid of the doubts in his heart, Gin untied his sweat-drenched clothes, glanced at the fair skin with scars, put his palms into his clothes, gradually moved downwards, and finally touched Reached a familiar circular gun scar.

Suddenly, Lancer opened his eyes, an embarrassed look on his red face.

His sweaty hands firmly held the man's hand through the clothes.

He asked shamefully: "What are you doing?"

"Nothing, just confirming your identity."

Gin retracted his hand calmly, with no fluctuations in his eyes or expression.

Lancer lifted up his clothes and glanced at the mark, frowned and said, "...how are you sure it is the scar you left?"

"Oh, which scar on your body was not left by me?"

"..."

Is it still justified to hit someone? Why do you sound so proud?