It's a terrible thing for people to calculate with each other, and if he could, John didn't want to touch it at all, he just wanted to be a creative rich young master, paint two pictures and build two guns, make some money, and then live his life happily ever after. Pen | fun | pavilion www. ｂｉｑｕｇｅ。 ｉｎｆｏ

But there are no ifs, and reality does not allow him to do so.

His brother wanted to kill him, his mother wanted to kill him, and his only father was not on his side.

Two brothers fight over the family property, but everyone is not optimistic about you, what can you do?

Kill all the brothers like Tang Taizong, or like Zhao Kuangyin unknowingly add a yellow robe.

Historical events seem to be unrelated to reality, but the essence is strikingly similar.

The sun is sinking in the west, the sunset is scattered, and night is falling.

The moon is still bright tonight, but I don't know if last night's woman will appear in the moonlight tonight?

No, she's bound to show up!

The corners of John's mouth turned up slightly, with anticipation in his eyes, took a sip of coffee, and continued to sit in his chair and draw, but he did not do the same painting as he did yesterday, using a pencil, and drawing not a beauty, but a simple drawing of a metal bullet.

In addition, there are even three original drawings of the revolver in the paper basket next to it.

Of course, the design ideas and data scales were all carefully calculated by Number Zero, and all John did was draw them on manuscript paper.

After many complaints about the world's firearms, John finally decided to take matters into his own hands and design a revolver that was simpler, more advanced, and acceptable to today's industrial facilities.

Although it is very likely to disrupt the course of history and make everything that was originally in the background chaotic.

But what does that matter to me?

John pursed his lips and smirked.

……

Boom! Boom! Boom!

After three knocks on the door, Debbie pushed the door in, with a cup of black coffee and a black cloth wrap on the plate in her hand.

"Young master, I brought what you wanted."

"Hmmm! I see, put it on the table! ”

John answered, intently annotating the various data on the sketch.

Debbie put down the package, put the steaming black coffee on the table to John's right, cleaned up the garbage in the house, and carefully exited the house.

Time passed slowly, and before I knew it, it was past eight o'clock in the evening, and the outside world had completely quieted down, except for a few disturbing nightingales still cooing.

John put down his pencil, walked to the window, and said to himself,

"Count the time, it's time for you to come!"

The waiting time was unbearable, and even the moon in the sky seemed to feel John's impatience, and quietly hid in the dark clouds, leaving only half of the ugly corners, which made people unconsciously disgusted.

When did I start to feel emotional.

John shook his head and sighed, maybe he really cared, right?

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

Just then, a strong and powerful knock broke the silence of the night.

John was overjoyed, then became nervous again, and after struggling for a moment, he still took off the revolver that straddled his waist and put it in a drawer.

Although it is a bit reckless to do so, since you have chosen, you must have some kind of awareness.

John tidied up his appearance, took out three roses from the black package on the table, took a deep breath, opened the door, and smiled,

"Beautiful lady, this ...... No, what the hell? ”

The man outside the door was not the angel of last night, but a wild man dressed in animal skin, with his hair dishevelled and his whole body smelling fishy.

John frowned, unconsciously took a step back, distanced himself from him, and asked,

"Who are you looking for?"

"John... Condon, I'm looking for John... Condon! ”

The man said slowly, his pronunciation unclear, as if he hadn't spoken for a long time.

A strangely dressed man knocks on the door in the middle of the night, and if it was in the country of China in his previous life, John might invite him in and give him a glass of water as a basic courtesy, but this is the 19th-century American South, a chaotic era when the rule of law was not yet established, and robbery and murder were never something to be fussed about.

John was wary and backed away as he tried to distract him with his words.

"You look for John Condon, so you know him?"

The man shook his head and didn't speak, just stood there quietly, looking at him motionless,

Somehow, under the gaze of those eyes, John suddenly felt a little stiff, he slowly retreated to the table, his right hand behind his back and clutched the revolver in the drawer,

"Huh! You don't know John Condent, so how did you find him? You know, this place is not small, what if you find the wrong one? John said with a smile, carefully opening the safety bolt of the revolver.

"No, I remember his message: white male, very young, 6 feet tall, on the thin side, long brown hair, pale green eyes, and a bandage on his head."

The man spoke unhurriedly, and when he said the last sentence, he stopped, looked up, looked at John's head, looked at his hair, looked at his eyes, looked at all of him,

"So you're John Condon!"

The man laughed silently, cold and bloodthirsty, as if he had found some kind of long-awaited prey.

The atmosphere suddenly became eerie, murderous and candlesticky.

John's eyes narrowed into a straight line and said coldly,

"You want to kill me!"

"How can it be so easy!"

John roared, took out his revolver, and tapped the trigger on the savage's head,

Bang! Bang!

Two white smoke exploded in the dark night, and the conical warhead drew a straight ripple, which instantly rushed into the stranger's body.

One plunges into the shoulder, the other explodes the chest.

Burst! Two blood splashes rose in the air, and the wild man twitched a few times, looked down at the bloody hole in his chest, and slowly fell to the ground.

Killed, killed himself.

John gasped heavily, his eyes flashed violently, and his hands holding the revolver were sweating outward.

Damn it!

He punched the table, his head went blank, and all that was left was two pools of blood and the image of the man falling to the ground.

For a young man living in peacetime, killing is never something simple enough to sum up in a few words, he is like a mixture of guilt and torture.

John leaned back on the table, clutching his head, and finally realized the sensation, but gradually, he suddenly felt that something was wrong, two bullets in the shoulder and the right ribcage, which were not fatal, and according to human physiology, he could not have fallen so quickly.

No, there's something wrong with this guy.

John looked up suddenly, but the scene in front of him suddenly left him speechless.