Chapter 110: The Mad Zhou Shirui—Turning Himself into Inspiration for All Artists!

“Bang!!!”

A piercing gunshot rang out, and smoke spread through Xizhou.

A dark golden bullet spun rapidly through the air, racing straight toward Zhou Shirui…

The Type 92 police handgun fires with an initial speed of about 480 meters per second—a speed even faster than a blink, taking less than a tenth of a second to reach its target.

“Clang—”

A crisp metallic collision rang out.

The dagger that Zhou Shirui had been pressing against his neck was shockingly knocked right out of his grasp, landing two meters away on the platform.

At that moment, if a high-speed camera had been present to slow down the footage dozens of times and focus on the sharp dagger Zhou Shirui had been holding, it would have clearly captured—The bullet fired by Su Ming had struck the side of the dagger with pinpoint precision!

With its tremendous impact force, the bullet caused the unsuspecting Zhou Shirui to lose his grip on the weapon.

In such a short span of time…

And without any deliberate aiming—Su Ming had simply drawn his gun, leveled it, and fired—yet his accuracy was so terrifyingly precise that words could hardly describe it.

Even a sniper rifle equipped with a scope might struggle to achieve such an unbelievable degree of accuracy.

…

At that moment, Zhou Shirui’s left hand, numbed from the shock, froze momentarily in reflex before he instinctively turned his head to look at the dagger that had fallen nearby.

Without the slightest hesitation—Zhou Shirui immediately lifted his leg in a large stride toward the dagger, reaching out to grab it again.

But just as his fingers were about to close in, less than half a meter away—

“Bang!!!”

The second gunshot roared through the hall.

Once again, smoke rose from Su Ming’s Type 92 police handgun.

A bullet whistled through the air, striking the handle of the dagger dead center.

With a powerful impact, the dagger spun away in a circular arc, landing even farther from Zhou Shirui—now at least seven or eight meters away. This was already beyond a distance he could retrieve with a simple step.

Yet Zhou Shirui did not stop. He glanced at the dagger, nearly ten meters away, and was about to rush toward it without hesitation—But Lin Tian, having recovered from his initial shock, swiftly fired several consecutive shots ahead of Zhou Shirui.

“Bang!”

“Bang!!”

“Bang!!!”

…

A series of bullets struck the ground in front of Zhou Shirui, sending sparks flying as they collided with the platform.

His body froze instantly. He turned his neck to the side, glaring toward the entrance where Lin Tian and Su Ming stood.

His eyes burned with unconcealed rage and frustration, his clenched jaw muscles bulging visibly as he ground his teeth in fury.

Lin Tian, gripping his gun with both hands, locked his icy gaze on Zhou Shirui and commanded in an unquestionable tone:

“Zhou Shirui.”

“Do not make any reckless moves. And don’t even think about making a deal.”

“Remember… if you try to run for the dagger again, we have more than enough time to shoot through your knees and legs.”

“Now, put your hands on your head, squat down, and surrender!”

“Otherwise, the next bullet from my gun will go straight through your arms and legs!!!”

Many of the artists and reporters present had no idea what had just happened in those brief three seconds.

Why had the situation changed so drastically?

Just moments ago, Zhou Shirui had been using his own life as leverage for negotiation—yet now, he was surrounded by multiple guns, having lost his most crucial bargaining chip.

He had become a lamb to the slaughter.

With so many officers present, if Zhou Shirui tried to retrieve the dagger, they could easily shoot through his legs, rendering him immobile.

No one doubted that Lin Tian would follow through on his warning.

Previously, they had held back only because they feared Zhou Shirui would slit his own throat or stab himself in the heart, causing catastrophic blood loss before medical aid could even arrive.

But now…

With that threat neutralized, Lin Tian had no reason to hold back.

Gunshot wounds to the limbs were severe, but they weren’t immediately fatal.

Right now, the only value Zhou Shirui held was to be kept barely alive—so they could extract every last piece of information about the massive drug trafficking organization behind him.

…

At that moment, Zhou Shirui looked at the distant dagger, then at the dozen or so guns aimed at him from the entrance.

Suddenly, he broke into a crazed smile—There was no fear in his expression. Instead, he charged toward the dagger like a rabid dog.

He was gambling—Gambling that Lin Tian and the others wouldn’t dare fire first. Gambling that even if they shot, their bullets might miss.

As the most deranged sculptor—He was not afraid of death.

His only fear was that he wouldn’t be able to leave behind his final, most perfect masterpiece.

Just as he took his first step—Lin Tian, still holding his pistol firmly, pulled the trigger without hesitation.

“Bang!!!”

Smoke and fire burst from the muzzle.

In the next instant—A spray of blood erupted from Zhou Shirui’s left leg, instantly staining most of his pants red.

His running momentum shattered—his left leg lost all strength—and he collapsed onto the floor.

“Ahhh!!!”

A blood-curdling scream tore from Zhou Shirui’s throat.

The entire hall erupted into gasps of shock.

Several people with weaker stomachs immediately bent over and vomited upon witnessing the brutal gunshot wound.

Lin Tian, however, remained completely composed. He motioned forward with a wave of his hand.

Immediately, several fully armed SWAT officers rushed toward Zhou Shirui.

It was clear—Lin Tian was done wasting time.

All they needed to do was make sure Zhou Shirui didn’t die—so they could extract information about the drug cartel.

Now clutching his wounded leg, Zhou Shirui gritted his teeth in pain, his face twisted with hatred as he glared at Lin Tian.

“Damn it!”

“Lin Tian, you bastard!”

“You destroyed my chance to create my final masterpiece! You ruined my opportunity to stuff my own organs into a sculpture! You…!”

“You should just die!!!”

As he spoke, Zhou Shirui’s eyes swept over the panicked artists in the hall.

A look of complete madness overtook his face.

He grinned maniacally, his expression contorted and extreme, and he roared:

“Hahaha…!”

“If I can’t create the greatest masterpiece myself—then I hope all my fellow artists here will find inspiration from what happens next!”

“Remember—help me! Yes, help me—create the perfect work of art!!!”

As his words fell—Zhou Shirui suddenly pulled out a small, nondescript remote control from his pocket, featuring a single button.

The moment Su Ming saw it, his eyes widened in alarm.

He immediately raised his gun, preparing to shoot Zhou Shirui’s hand before he could press the button—But Zhou Shirui didn’t hesitate at all.

Without a second of fear or doubt—he pressed the button.

“BOOM!!!”

A deafening explosion, powerful as a high-yield grenade, erupted on the stage…