Everyone was forced into the same spot by the armed men.
Sea air rushed in, carrying a salty, damp smell. Someone was still trying to negotiate with the gunmen, the scene chaotic and mixed with the metallic scent of blood from those who had already been killed.
Lu Mingyuan sat slumped in a corner, his head hanging weakly. Two buttons had been ripped from his suit jacket, his tie hung askew, and strands of sweat-soaked hair stuck to his skin.
His fingers were interlaced, knuckles white, as his mind raced to reconstruct the entire incident.
Suddenly, he looked up and saw Shen Wenta standing not far away.
Lu Mingyuan opened his mouth and said hoarsely, "Your sister is here too."
Shen Wenta's lips tightened into a thin line.
He shot Lu Mingyuan a scornful glance and completely ignored his nonsense.
Shen Yi? Here? She didn't have an invitation, and besides, she hated this kind of event. She hadn't even asked him when this banquet was happening.
Shen Wenta's expression was cold and dismissive.
Lu Mingyuan didn't believe it either, but the truth was right in front of him.
He looked dazed, muttering to himself, "The gunmen are looking for her. She'll die. You'll die too."
He buried his face in his hands, his voice muffled as it seeped through his fingers: "I don't know if Song Guanyan can get her out... I know her—she's definitely scared. Honestly, why is she here? What did she do to become the target of these armed men?"
It was unimaginable.
Why was she on this ship? Why had she become the hunted target of a group of armed men? He couldn't find answers, and the more he thought about it, the more tangled it became.
Shen Wenta's gaze lingered on Lu Mingyuan's face for two seconds. He could see the genuine anxiety and confusion in the other man's eyes.
But before he could ask further, several men grabbed him and dragged him away.
The deck was noisy with commotion.
"Let us leave..." A middle-aged woman's voice was cut short when a gun was aimed at her.
One of the lead gunmen stood before the crowd, holding his weapon with a casual menace: "Alright, alright, everyone. Just sign the agreement, and don't make this difficult for us. The government needs to clean out some people who deserve to die—some of you shouldn't be left alive."
As he said this, he shot and killed the head of an organization.
It was a display of authority.
This group of high-and-mighty types would never cave until they saw the coffin. Only when faced with real death did they buckle.
Sure enough, those who didn't want to die scrambled to sign various agreements the moment they saw it happen.
The rustle of turning pages rippled across the deck.
As one of those who "deserved to die," Shen Wenta stared at the folder thrust in front of him.
"Times are tough, Young Master Shen," the gunman pushed the folder closer, his voice flat. "Sign it. Don't waste our time."
Shen Wenta had bodyguards nearby, even men with guns.
But right now, they were useless. The opposing side had too many people, with countless gun barrels aimed at them.
Shen Wenta didn't bother to resist. "Are you going to kill me now?"
"Of course not," the other man smirked, flipping the folder to the signature page. "You're still useful."
Killing Shen Wenta would be easy, but this heir was clearly more valuable alive than dead.
His family, his connections, the tangled web of interests behind him—for now, Shen Wenta couldn't die.
Shen Wenta was forced to sign and leave his fingerprint.
After signing, someone pressed a gun to his forehead and shoved him.
"Crouch down or kneel. Behave yourself," a voice said from behind.
Shen Wenta had no intention of fighting back.
He followed the pressure and crouched, squeezed in with the others on the deck.
Everyone on the deck had lost their former elegance, battered and disheveled.
Many foreigners closed their eyes, lips moving in prayer.
Shen Wenta stared blankly at the dark red stains on the deck in front of his shoes.
He knew he was doomed and didn't care to struggle.
But more than his own inevitable death, what lingered in his mind was the crazy thing Lu Mingyuan had said.
Shen Yi was here?
What was she doing?
How had she ended up on a cruise ship hijacked by armed men?
These questions pierced his brain like shards of glass, each one grinding against his nerves, impossible to remove.
Shen Wenta lowered his gaze, his hands slowly clenching. If it was true... if it was true, where was she now?
Was she hurt?
The wind on the deck grew colder, chilling the sweat on the back of his neck.
...
Shen Yi was also keeping count of how many she had taken out.
Everyone on the ship was looking for her, and with so many, she had taken some hits.
A piece of shrapnel had grazed her shoulder, and there was a shallow cut on her forearm.
But oddly enough, there were no fatal wounds.
Every shot that came at her deviated just enough from vital spots.
When a bullet whizzed past her ear, she could feel the heat of the air current on her skin, but it never hit her.
Shen Yi touched her neck and looked down.
Her fingertips were stained with blood, but the wound wasn't deep.
She wiped her hand on her clothes and kept moving.
Shen Yi thought to herself that no one on the scene was better suited than her to play a madwoman in a TV show.
Covered in blood, walking without dodging or flinching, occasionally tilting her head after firing a shot as if to confirm the person had fallen.
She also thought that when she saw Shen Wenta, she would definitely beat him to death.
It was all his fault.
Because of him, she was in such a mess.
Drenched in blood, as if she had waded through a pool of it.
Her clothes clung to her skin with a cold, damp feel—blood drying and wetting again and again. She could no longer tell how much was hers and how much belonged to others.
Shen Yi aimlessly pushed forward.
The area ahead grew brighter, and the deck was close.
As she rounded a corner, she raised her hand and shot a gunman peeking out.
Killing people numbed her.
The gunmen blocking her path became nothing more than NPCs in her eyes.
She didn't even stop to confirm if the man was dead. Mechanically, she grabbed his gun, weighed it, and checked the magazine.
Then, gun and knife in hand, she stepped over his body and moved on.
Later, Shen Yi just bulldozed her way through like this.
Every gunman who crossed her path met a precise bullet from her.
Shen Yi had missed shots before, but this time, she was hitting every single target.
Ever since Song Yee died, Shen Yi's luck seemed to have turned around.
She guessed it was the boost of some kind of plot armor.
After all, in anime and TV shows, gunmen always miss, bullets always veer around the protagonist.
She never imagined that one day, the perk of perfect accuracy would finally come to her.
Sometimes, Shen Yi could even stand still and fire without dodging.
Bullets brushed past her ear, each time miraculously avoiding vital areas.
Thank the plot armor. Thank the system.
Shen Yi carried on with a kind of devout calm, killing her way through without any expression.
"So this is how good the protagonist's luck feels," she muttered to herself.
But...
"Am I not the protagonist?" Shen Yi's clothes were completely soaked through with blood, the hem dripping crimson beads that left dark red marks on the floor with every step she took.
As she walked past, even battle-hardened gunmen were stunned into silence.
A girl covered in blood, seemingly no more than a teenager, walked over expressionlessly, carrying a knife whose tip still dripped blood.
The bloody scene made it look as if she had just devoured several people raw.
The system did not respond to her.
Shen Yi roughly wiped the blood off her face twice, only smearing it even worse.
She repeated the question with a blank face: "Am I not the protagonist? Then why am I still in such a mess?"
The system finally let out a faint sigh in her mind: [...Being a mess is exactly right. Being a mess is the key element of a protagonist. The core elements of a protagonist are love, faith, and survival against all odds. If you weren't in a mess, what kind of protagonist would you be.]
Shen Yi was silent for two seconds. "I hate protagonists. Everyone is such a nuisance."
The system: [Heh, you're adorable, like a grade-schooler. Your remarks are extremely childish.]
Mocked with sarcasm, Shen Yi felt even more aggrieved.
She felt that her way of thinking was becoming more and more like her family's.
On this ship, it didn't matter if anyone died except her brother.
Shen Yi could save some people along the way.
But she could also push them to their death without hesitation if it meant she and Shen Wenta could survive.
This mentality — that everyone except his own people could die — had, through long-term subtle influence, become completely ingrained in Shen Yi.
