Chapter 18: The Art of Making Fortune

The sunlight bore down from above, its harsh rays seeming to scorch anyone beneath them. Even through a layer of cotton shirt, the searing heat of the gravel beneath could be felt against the skin. Beads of sweat the size of soybeans formed on his brow, but in this heat, the moment moisture seeped out it was instantly evaporated, leaving only a thin layer of salt upon his skin.

Li Changjiang lay quietly atop a mound of sand, his automatic scope clearly capturing every movement of the rebels inside the checkpoint.

Maximum shooting range: 100 meters.
Target distance: 28 meters.
Effective range: 30 meters.

A row of crisp data shimmered in his vision. At such a short distance, Li Changjiang had no time to worry about the interference of temperature or humidity.

The border checkpoint ahead was not of the usual brick-and-mortar construction, but simply a makeshift station. Most of the rebels were either prone or crouched behind vehicles, firing at the government troops, oblivious to the death creeping up behind them.

He licked his parched lips, his eyes locked onto the rebel hiding behind the sandbags. There were two machine gunners, three men carrying rocket launchers, and about a dozen other rebels.

He took a deep breath.

His scope locked once more onto the machine gunner on the left. The blazing sun overhead tested Li Changjiang's patience to the limit; his palms were slick with sweat, evaporating as he grasped a handful of scorching sand.

His index finger rested gently on the trigger.

A soft whistle.
A muffled thud.

A sudden bloom of blood burst from the target, catching him off guard.

No time to react.

Another shot.
Again, a hit.

Both machine gunners were swiftly eliminated.

Gunfire erupted—crashing, rattling, popping.

"Enemy attack! From behind! Move, move, move!"

"A marksman!"

Panic broke out within the checkpoint. The gunfire merged into a continuous roar, yet the rebels still failed to realize that the threat was not only behind them. Not far away, the distinctive crack of a sniper rifle had just faded.

Yang Jianyong’s weapon spat fire.

Sharp bursts of gunfire echoed far across the open desert.

Almost as soon as the shots rang out, the nearby Gaddafi government soldiers fell into chaos.

"Quick, where’s the shooting coming from?"

"Who's attacking?"

"Sir, it seems someone is attacking the rebels!"

A tall, white soldier shouted. The government officer crouched, peered up for a look.

A stray bullet struck him squarely between the eyes, the life fading instantly from his gaze.

"Run for it!"

A dozen government soldiers bolted from their trench, scrambling into vehicles and fleeing toward Tripoli.

“Damn, what a useless bunch.”

Not far away, Li Changjiang, watching through his scope, saw the government troops fleeing the battlefield and cursed under his breath. In truth, it was his bullet that had struck the officer. He’d only meant to cause a minor casualty, hoping to draw them into the fight, but at over a hundred meters, luck had guided his shot straight to the man’s brow.

Yet the government troops’ reaction left him speechless. Like a herd of pigs, they scattered the moment their officer fell. At least pigs would squeal before running; these men didn’t even fire a single shot before fleeing.

He was still muttering when a rocket, trailing a plume of white, streaked toward Yang Jianyong.

An explosion sent sand and dust billowing into the air, gouging a large crater in the ground.

“Damn it, I must be cursed today!”

He raised his weapon and unleashed a volley of suppressive fire.

“Li Xiaomao, take two men and push forward!”

“Director Hao, we’ll charge from this side!”

With a gesture toward Li Changjiang’s position, Yang Jianyong dashed to the right.

Three rapid shots.

Three impacts.

He swapped magazines with practiced speed, took aim again.

The rebels were learning. Aware of the sniper behind them, they huddled within the checkpoint’s fortifications. For the moment, Li Changjiang found no clear opportunity—three consecutive shots missed their mark, and the RPG gunner had not given up.

Then—an opening.

Through his scope, Li Changjiang saw a rebel loading a rocket launcher, preparing to fire.

The automatic scope locked onto the target instantly.

“No choice, I have to risk it.”

Suddenly, a bold idea flashed through his mind. Without hesitation, he quickly swung his barrel to reacquire the target.

The rebel had loaded the rocket.

No hesitation.

A shot.

In the chamber, the firing pin struck the cartridge, the shell ejected, and in a fraction of a second, the burning powder propelled the spinning metal bullet out of the barrel.

In that same instant, a puff of white smoke burst forth—the rocket had launched.

But Li Changjiang had fired a split second earlier. At just over a hundred meters, his bullet reached in an instant.

A deafening explosion.

A ball of fire shot skyward.

He had hit his mark.

On the other side, Yang Jianyong was startled by the blast.

“Holy hell, is that even possible?”

“Incredible—absolutely incredible!” Li Xiaomao was dumbfounded.

“What are you standing around for? Move in!”

“Assault!”

Gunfire hammered the air.

The bullet from Li Changjiang’s sniper rifle struck the rocket just as it launched, and the resulting shockwave instantly obliterated the two rebels, blowing open the surrounding defenses as well.

Now the rebels had nowhere to hide.

Li Changjiang moved with deadly efficiency, taking aim, firing, and striking with uncanny precision. The advanced targeting system made him devastatingly effective. Since the outbreak of the conflict, he had grown fully accustomed to his weapon, improving with every shot.

Though he lacked formal, scientific training, all mastery of weaponry boils down to practice, and his mysterious system’s automatic targeting and tracking gave him a supernatural edge.

So, by the time Yang Jianyong and his team finished off the last resisting rebels and charged into the checkpoint, they found nothing but a field of corpses.

“Damn, this is insane! He’s cleaned up single-handedly.”

“Eleven in total—he nearly took them all out himself. Amazing.”

“He’s a real expert. With a little training, he could become an elite commando.”

“Well, Director Hao, are you tempted?” Yang Jianyong knew that this mysterious Director Hao rarely praised anyone. If Li Changjiang could catch his eye, perhaps he might really have a chance to join the special forces.

“Tempted? Not many impress me. He’s a good prospect, but get him into the army for some hardening first. Then I’ll consider.”

As expected, winning over the State Security Bureau was no simple task.

The small-scale skirmish ended, and for those like Li Xiaomao, with almost no combat experience, excitement was inevitable.

But Yang Jianyong gave them little time to celebrate, ordering the group to pack up and search for a working vehicle.

“Where’s Changjiang?”

Turning around, Yang Jianyong realized Li Changjiang was missing.

“There—look!”

Glancing over, Yang Jianyong’s temper flared.

“That kid really has a knack for this, doesn’t he?”

Hao Bing was also taken aback.

Not far away, Li Changjiang was searching through the rebels’ corpses, one by one.

“He’s looting the dead!”

“Didn’t expect it—he’s a money-grubber, too.”

“You don’t understand, this is called making a living.”

Last night had been exhausting; he hadn’t even had time to post an update before crashing. As usual, asking for recommendation votes—your single vote means success! Five hundred votes!