When did he completely devote his loyalty to Tama Riyadi?

Chacha wondered.

Was it many years ago, in the abandoned factory where underground boxing matches were held, when he, as a spectator, slammed a stack of banknotes at himself, who was covered in blood but still standing?

Was it when he smiled faintly and invited him to join the gang?

Was it when he paid for his seriously ill father to be treated?

Chacha hadn't considered it, but he was definitely not as stupid as he looked.

He knew very well that Tama Riyadi's kindness to him largely came from the value he himself displayed.

This was normal. Those without ability were not even worthy of being exploited.

As a humble black market boxer who was once trapped in a quagmire and couldn't even afford a penny, a little bit of kindness from others in despair was worth repaying with a spring.

Even if the price was abandoning his former values of good and evil, and committing many evils he had never dared to imagine.

The small, dark, and unremarkable Chacha stood in the center of the corridor, with many gang members holding long qiangs and short cannons gathered behind him.

Tap, tap, tap.

Footsteps came from the distant corridor.

Everyone's muscles tensed instantly, their sweaty hands gripped the qiangxie, and their fingers gently rested on the trigger.

Li Ang, dressed in special operations team equipment, pushed a bright red motorcycle up the stairs.

He straddled the Ducati Panigale V4 motorcycle, his hand, through the glove, twisting the motorcycle grip.

Boom—boom—boom—

The exhaust pipe roared hoarsely, and the streamlined body trembled slightly. This swift and ferocious beast was already impatient.

In the distance, Chacha suddenly squatted down, picked up the individual soldier rocket launcher placed on the ground, knelt on one knee, and pulled the trigger toward Li Ang.

Bang—

The huge flame ejected from the rear of the rocket launcher blew away the gang members closest to Chacha.

But the sound of the cannon seemed to be some kind of signal, causing the gang members gathered in the corridor to pour bullets toward the end of the corridor.

One bullet after another whistled through the corridor, like a torrential downpour.

Li Ang watched the rain of bullets and twisted the throttle to the maximum.

The tires of the Ducati Panigale V4 spun wildly, and the enormous grip made the entire motorcycle rush out like a wild horse.

At this moment, he was like Don Quixote challenging the windmill, sprinting toward the qiang forest and rain of bullets.

The motorcycle advanced bravely, and at the moment when it was about to touch the raindrops of bullets, Li Ang took out a shield from the backpack rack.

The front of the shield was triangular, and the overall shape was slightly larger than a door panel, made of two 10mm homogeneous high-strength steel plates spliced together at a 60° angle.

The intersection was supported by several short steel pipes.

A diagonally downward threaded long steel pipe extended from the center of the intersection, serving as a handle for Li Ang to hold.

Three pulleys were welded to the bottom of the shield.

Above each pulley, a steel plate extended backward in parallel, intersecting with the threaded steel pipe handle in the center of the shield. A pulley was also welded at the intersection to provide stability at the rear.

This strange-shaped, rustic-looking man-made shield was built by Li Ang himself, and it took a considerable amount of time and energy.

Its only function was to resist the front-facing danyao.

Just like now.

Li Ang released the motorcycle grip, pushed the shield with one hand, and took out the SCAR-H assault buqiang with the other, shooting at the speeding rocket.

A series of bullets accurately hit the slightly curved rocket warhead.

There was only a loud bang, and a dazzlingly bright fire burst out in the center of the corridor.

The shock wave transmitted and rippled, and the gang members at one end of the corridor felt their hair being blown backward.

Rolling thick smoke drifted, obscuring people's vision.

In the smoke, the motorcycle's engine was still roaring dully.

Chacha said nothing, threw the rocket to the subordinates next to him to reload, and quickly picked up the qiangxie himself, continuing to shoot at Li Ang at the end of the corridor.

The motorcycle under his crotch was Don Quixote's steed, and the triangular steel shield was the knight's long qiang in Don Quixote's hand.

Finally, the "knight" collided head-on with the rain of bullets.

Clang, clang, clang, clang.

The bullets kept hitting the steel plate, but were defeated by the 10mm thickness, constantly bouncing off and chiseling out one hole after another in the wall.

The motorcycle's forward momentum was slightly hindered, but in the wild roar of the engine, Li Ang was still moving forward.

He crushed the floor shattered by the rocket dan baozha, broke through the heavy smoke, and arrived at the center of the corridor.

Li Ang suddenly pushed the steel shield forward, released the hand holding the shield, swung the vehicle direction, so that he was always within the shield's defense range.

He raised his qiangzhi, pulled the trigger, and let the bullets penetrate those unprepared enemies.

Having anticipated this scene, Chacha hurriedly rolled to the side, avoiding the death line woven by danyao.

He turned his head and saw his subordinates constantly falling to the ground, blood flowing everywhere.

At the rear of the team, some people had already begun to flee in panic.

However, before Chacha could open qiang behind them,

One bullet after another came from the room on one side of the corridor.

Li Ang's four teammates, while he was sprinting on the motorcycle, had already climbed up the building through traction ropes.

They quietly sneaked into the room, aimed at the unsuspecting gang members through the door panel with qiangkou.

Under the surprise attack, the battle line temporarily built by the poisonous insects collapsed instantly, and the entire corridor became a deadly channel for spreading death.

Blood flowed, and there was almost no place to stand in the corridor.

Chacha hurriedly rolled, broke through the factory's wooden door, and hid behind the load-bearing wall.

He listened to the continuous qiang sounds, his heart calmed down after a brief period of frantic beating.

Was it today?

He recalled his not-so-glorious life, and memories of pain, joy, or both flashed before his eyes, with no sorrow or joy between his brows.

Finally, the qiang sounds gradually subsided, and no more shenyin wails could be heard.

The factory's wooden door was kicked open violently.

Chacha, hidden behind the wall, bounced up from the ground in an instant. He held a hand qiang in his right hand and a tiger claw knife in his left, aiming the qiangkou at the door.

He had already prepared. Once the door opened, he would hijack the person who opened the door and use him as a hostage in exchange for a glimmer of life for himself.

However, behind the wooden door that was kicked open violently, there was no one.

Instead, a shouliudan, whose pin had been pulled by someone, was gently thrown into the door.

It rolled and stopped right behind Chacha's butt.

"..."

Boom—

The grenade exploded, and Chacha was cleanly blasted into two pieces before he could express his last words in life.

One piece was in the corridor, and the other was inside the door.