The black marine boots crushed the dead leaves hard, making a crisp cracking sound. Qin Feng stopped. This is deep in the Daxingan Mountains, and the air is filled with the smell of rosin and humus. He raised his hand to wipe the sweat from his face, and his fingertips touched a ferocious white scar on his eyebrow bone. That's the souvenir left by the shrapnel. "Chirp--!" A frightened tit suddenly burst out from the bushes, fluttering its wings and passing overhead. Qin Feng's pupils instantly shrank into needles. His right hand almost turned into an afterimage, touching the outside of his thigh like lightning. Empty. There was no quick-draw holster, just a pair of frayed jeans. Qin Feng froze on the spot, maintaining that extremely aggressive posture for three seconds before his rapid breathing slowly calmed down.
