Sweet Nostalgia of the 80s

Yan Ye tightly gripped the knife in his hand and lunged forward, fiercely slashing at the wrist of the man holding the gun.

The blade cut directly through his artery, and blood sprayed out in an instant.

"Ah!" The man cried out in pain, releasing his grip, and the handgun fell to the ground. As Yan Ye bent down to grab the gun, a loud bang erupted—the bullet pierced his right wrist.

"Ah!" Yan Ye screamed in pain, clutching his injured wrist tightly with his left hand to stem the flow of blood.

The gunshot stunned An Hao.

At that moment, the bullet had embedded itself in Yan Ye’s right wrist—the very hand he used to wield a surgical scalpel. If the bullet merely injured his tendons and bones, it might be salvageable. But if it damaged his nerves, wouldn’t Yan Ye’s perfect hands be completely ruined?

A surgeon who can no longer hold a scalpel—how could he still be called a surgeon?

A surge of fury ignited in An Hao like boiling magma coursing through her veins. In an instant, without giving anyone time to react, she darted swiftly behind Mu Qiankun. Raising her left arm, she coiled it tightly around his neck and used her right hand to retrieve a scalpel from the pocket of her military uniform.

The scalpel was wrapped in a soft leather sheath.

The last time An Hao had been in her dorm at the hospital, Qin Jian had suddenly barged in, pinning her firmly down. If it hadn’t been him but someone else, she might have been completely helpless.

Before Qin Jian left, he half-jokingly told her to carry a weapon for self-defense when going out, since the border was unstable. He warned her to avoid unwanted attention or being taken advantage of.

An Hao had taken him seriously back then and obtained a scalpel, wrapping it in soft leather to carry with her. She would even place it under her pillow when she slept alone as a safeguard.

She hadn’t expected that a casual joke would prove useful in such a critical moment.

An Hao gripped the scalpel tightly in her right hand, its blade pressed against Mu Qiankun’s neck. Her voice trembled with both anger and tension: "Drop the gun in your hand! Do you know what I’m holding? A scalpel! It’s only three centimeters long, thin and sharp. With just a slight force, it will slice through your skin and pierce your trachea! Death would come in mere seconds—wanna give it a try?"

Mu Qiankun felt the icy touch pressing against his neck, his body instantly tensing, though he still retorted, "You wouldn’t dare!"

"There’s nothing I wouldn’t dare!" An Hao’s hand holding the blade pressed further inward.

Mu Qiankun winced as a faint stinging pain grew, followed by a steady trickle of blood escaping from the slender cut.

Thɪs chapter is updated by N()velFire.net

"If you kill me, all of you will die!" Mu Qiankun growled through gritted teeth.

"No, it’s not just us who will die—it’s everyone here!" An Hao’s voice had turned ice-cold, with no trace of her earlier nervousness. "You’re holding hostages to avoid capture. If we die, will you think you can escape unscathed? You’ll face not just anti-narcotics police but also the national army hunting you down. Clearly, you know our value; otherwise, you wouldn’t have bypassed random bystanders to specifically take us hostage!"

From the moment An Hao had locked his throat with the scalpel, Mu Qiankun hadn’t intended to kill anyone anymore.

"Alright. Since that’s the case, let’s each take a step back. You let me go, and I’ll release them!" Mu Qiankun finally conceded.