The main residence of the Cheng family, the central villa.

Cheng Yanqiu sat on the sofa made of the first layer of cowhide imported from Italy, silently staring at the table in front of him - this position used to belong to his father, but now, it was his turn to sit here.

The only difference is that outside this villa, there are thousands of soldiers wearing Cheng's private army uniforms surrounding the villa, and in every window and door of the villa, there is far more than one sniper locking the crosshair in the scope to it.

"You...... Ever imagined your own death? Cheng Yanqiu suddenly lowered his head and said to the ghost face standing behind the table and peeking through the gap in the curtain.

"Death?" Ghostface grinned suddenly, making his already hideous face even more distorted, and it looked particularly eerie in the shadows.

"You also know that my work, every mission, may not come back, and the more times I do, I will become numb."

Ghostface held a light brown cigar between his fingers, the end of which flickered out, and an intoxicating smell permeated the room.

Cheng Yanqiu's father was an avid cigar enthusiast, and opened a room in this villa to collect the precious cigars he bought from various well-known sources in the world, but after Cheng Su entered this villa, in order to win people's hearts, most of those expensive cigars were taken by him as gifts, and the inventory that originally filled a room was now less than one-third.

In Ghostface's possession is a remnant of the Padrón 1926 Series No. 90, a vintage produced in 2016 as a commemorative product that José Orlando Padrón, the founder of Padrón cigars, withdrew to celebrate his 90th year of life.

The Padron 1926 Ninety had been stored in a storage cabinet that could maintain constant temperature and humidity until half an hour ago, when Ghostface removed it from it, sliced its tip flat with a military dagger, and then lit it with a cheap lighter.

If a cigar lover sees this, he will be saddened to think that the ghost face is a violent delicacies, and this high-end product should be lit with a special long-handled match, rather than a windproof lighter with a strong gasoline smell in the flames.

However, Ghost Face doesn't care, and Cheng Yanqiu doesn't care either.

They probably only had the last few hours of their lives left, and Ghostface just wanted to experience the difference between the cheap cigarettes they smoke on weekdays at a price of enough to buy a fine sniper rifle.

"It seems that this time, this villa is probably our cemetery." Cheng Yanqiu said in a low voice, reinforcements or something, he didn't believe it from the beginning, and the origin of the memory card was most likely from Cheng Su's hand.

As long as Cheng Yanqiu is stabilized, then after Vault 909 is emptied, Cheng Yanqiu will have no bargaining chips in his hands.

As for the hundreds of thousands of ordinary residents in the residential area who had no time to evacuate, in Cheng Su's eyes, they were just things that could be discarded at will.

"It should be our graveyard, not yours." Ghostface took a puff on his cigar and said.

"That's right, if you can capture me alive, Cheng Su shouldn't directly beat me to death here, I still have a lot of value for him." Cheng Yanqiu smiled a little self-deprecatingly.

People are not as good as heaven, this may be the arrangement of fate.

I don't know why, Cheng Yanqiu suddenly remembered these two lines that had a high appearance rate in various films, television and literary works in the old era.

"As long as there is the slightest chance to live, you should not give up, even if it is to survive." Ghostface suddenly pointed to his half of his demon-like face, and extinguished the cigar in his hand in the ashtray in the corner of the table.

"Alas, a rough man like me is still not suitable for this thing, but I miss inferior hand-rolled cigarettes a little."

"Is there any smoke left?" Cheng Yanqiu suddenly raised his head and looked at the ghost face.

"Smoke? There are also a lot of cigars in the pantry—"

"I'm talking about the kind of inferior hand-rolled cigarettes you mentioned." Cheng Yanqiu said.

"And the last two."

"Give me one."

The ghost face glanced at Cheng Yanqiu, then took out a crushed carton from his jacket pocket, took out two crumpled cigarettes from it, and threw one to Cheng Yanqiu.

Cheng Yanqiu took the cigarette, lit it, and took a hard puff.

Choking, the pungent taste of low-quality tobacco echoes in the throat and respiratory tract, like inhaling a mouthful of hot chili noodles — a low-quality cigarette with traces of military stimulants added to it, a part of an era that is as synonymous with devastation as bullets, radiation and death.

Onimian lit the last cigarette, and the mellow aroma of the cigar that had filled the room was instantly washed away by the smell of the inferior cigarette.

"Actually, I've always been very strange," Ghost Face took a hard puff, and the already short cigarette immediately shortened by nearly a third of its length, "You, a rich young master of the Cheng consortium, why don't you like cigars, something that only high-class people should smoke, but like this kind of thing?" ”

"Because I grew up in this environment—" Cheng Yanqiu said slowly, his eyes hidden behind the rising smoke, making Ghost Face look unreal.

"Perhaps in the eyes of outsiders, I am a child of a family born with a golden spoon in my mouth and living in a privileged environment since I was a child, the only young master of the Cheng family, and the future heir of the Cheng Foundation."

"But what outsiders don't know is that, for as long as I can remember, the whole world, except for my parents, has been full of hostility towards me, and those who have the same blood in their veins as mine, they smile and stretch out their hands to pick me up, but I stick out of their pupils to see the disgust hidden behind the smile."

"No one but my parents rejoices in my birth, and my presence means that they and their children and nephews will lose something that they have worked so hard to get."

"Like the position of the head of the house?" The ghost face tilted his head, this usually cold soldier king, now like a neighbor's big brother, quietly leaning against the mahogany bookshelf, listening to Cheng Yanqiu's story.

"One of them. At a very young age, I learned to read words and looks, and I could discern the true thoughts of a person from the subtle changes in his face, but because of this, there was little joy in my childhood. ”

"It's really bloody, it's like those serials that aired late at eight o'clock before the war." Ghostface shrugged.

"Later, I learned that almost every child born in a big family is the same, in the eyes of outsiders, when we were born, we all had a spoon of pure gold in our mouths, but only we know how sharp the edge of this spoon is, and if we are not careful, we will cut our mouths and tongues to blood."

Cheng Yanqiu said while smoking a cigarette.

"So at the age of twelve, I volunteered to leave the family and, at my father's behalf, set off for a three-year training at the family's mining company in Nepal."