Wealth Stirring the Human Heart

After returning from work, I didn’t even have time to eat before I started writing. Ugh, I’m starving. I’ll eat after I finish this update—please give me a recommendation before dinner.

Money always ends up being the original sin; there seems to be nothing in this world that drives people mad quite as easily as money does.

Gold moves the human heart.

So, when Li Changjiang turned the corner into the tunnel and saw Bob and Jin clutching fistfuls of US dollars and other bills he didn’t recognize, his brow immediately knit together.

"So much money!"

Of course, no one dislikes money. That included Li Changjiang himself—compared to Bob and the others, his own desire for wealth was no less, perhaps even greater, but more than money, he wanted to stay alive.

The tunnel before them was narrow, clearly dug in haste; the walls still bore fresh marks. Judging by the timing, it was likely excavated by the army after they took Benghazi.

Aside from a few bulging bundles at Williams and his men’s feet, the rest of the items were carelessly piled along both sides of the passage: porcelain, jewelry, and a great number of art pieces.

These must have been looted from the city after Benghazi’s fall—Abdul, that bastard, had pocketed everything for himself. If they hadn’t blundered right into the rebels’ lair this time, no one would have known he’d hidden all these things in the underground passage.

What was truly baffling was how Abdul hadn’t taken these items with him.

"Boss, what do we do?" Bob’s face was alight with excitement, bordering on the theatrical.

They were mercenaries—risking life and limb on the battlefield for exactly these kinds of rewards.

Even Williams couldn’t resist the temptation before him.

"Take what you can—grab as much as you can carry!"

At once, the tunnel was thrown into chaos; apart from Li Changjiang and the prisoner, who seemed utterly indifferent to the loot, Williams, Bob, and the others frantically stuffed their bags.

Money.

Gold.

Necklaces—even porcelain.

Seeing this, the expression on Li Changjiang’s face shifted rapidly.

"If you don’t want to die, you’d better drop those things," he said coldly, abruptly breaking into Williams and the others’ feverish looting.

"Li?"

But before anyone could protest, Li Changjiang strode into their midst, eyes fixed on the pack slung over Bob’s left shoulder and the long string of necklaces in his right hand.

Amid everyone’s shock, he yanked the bag off Bob’s shoulder.

"Get away from me!"

"Li?"

"Bob, stop!"

But it was too late. Even though Li Changjiang had anticipated resistance, he was caught off guard—Bob swung around and landed a punch right on his face.

His cheek burned; Li Changjiang felt a wave of nausea, eyes watering from the pain.

Yet seeing that foolish brute Bob still shoveling treasures into his bag, he felt a surge of real anger, followed by helplessness.

People die for wealth as birds die for food.

Williams glanced at Li Changjiang, then at the pile of cash and valuables, and with a grimace, resumed stuffing his bag.

Click!

A strange noise echoed through the tunnel, making the atmosphere suddenly oppressive.

When the others looked up at Li Changjiang again, their eyes were filled with fear.

"Li, what are you doing?"

"Hey, man, put down the gun, okay?"

"Hey, Li! Li!"

"Bastard, what do you think you’re doing?"

Li Changjiang’s face was cold, but his hand holding the gun didn’t tremble. He stared unblinkingly at the group.

He could already hear the faint footfalls of the rebels.

"Drop everything you’re carrying—now!"

"Li—"

"Drop it, now!"

"Li, we’ll do as you say, but could you lower the gun a bit? Don’t make a mistake, man."

Williams was the first to discard his bundle. Bob seemed ready to gamble, but Jin, standing beside him, pulled him back and forced him to drop his overstuffed bag as well. His face was contorted with rage—Lin Tao could see it clearly in his eyes.

But Li Changjiang was unmoved; the situation left no room for hesitation.

"Jin, pick up all that money!"

He pointed to a small bundle. Jin did as told, looking at Li Changjiang with confusion.

"Will, take all the water here—quickly!"

Turning the gun toward Williams, Li Changjiang forced him to empty his bag and start filling it with water bottles. Only after he’d packed seven or eight did Li Changjiang let him stand.

"Bob, help Tim at the front. Will, follow behind—move!"

With Li Changjiang’s gun trained on them, they had no choice but to comply, however reluctantly.

There was a metallic clang.

Li Changjiang had stepped on something—turning, he found a golden bowl, from which tumbled a blue cloth pouch, palm-sized and embroidered with a five-star red flag. A rare sight indeed.

He bent to pick it up; it felt heavy, its contents unknown. Li Changjiang was about to look inside when a sudden commotion erupted behind him.

Bang! Bang!

Bullets whizzed past, grazing his scalp and punching into the tunnel wall.

A chill ran down Li Changjiang’s spine. He shoved the pouch into his pocket without a second thought and dashed forward.

"Run!"

At the sound of gunfire, there was no need for Li Changjiang’s gun—the group broke into a frantic sprint. After a breathless ten-minute run, they finally reached a door.

Blasting it open, they burst outside to find themselves in an endless expanse of sand. The night was deep, but there was just enough light to make out the gravel beneath their feet. Except for an abandoned military vehicle, there was nothing else around.

Bang! Bang!

Gunfire erupted from the tunnel behind them—the rebels were close.

"Boss, decide—where do we run?"

Williams glanced around. Behind them lay Benghazi—no going back. To the left and right, nothing but endless wilderness. In the dead of night, it was impossible to judge the best direction.

"This way—move!"

Trusting his instincts, he led them to the right. If he wasn’t mistaken, Tripoli should be in that direction.

They ran for their lives. Li Changjiang, not forgetting, tossed a grenade back into the tunnel—the explosion thundered behind them, possibly killing a few pursuers, but it barely damaged the passage. Nearly a hundred rebel soldiers poured out, doggedly chasing after them with drug-fueled tenacity.

Li Changjiang didn’t know how long they ran—he felt utterly spent, his legs leaden. If not for the threat of the pursuers, he might have collapsed on the spot.

The night deepened.

It was already three in the morning, and the temperature had plummeted.

"I can’t go on—let’s rest a bit," Tim, already wounded, was the first to falter. The others quickly followed, collapsing onto the sand, sprawled out in exhaustion.

While the group rested, Li Changjiang raised his gun and peered through the scope, scanning behind them. Only after confirming no pursuers were in sight did he finally let out a breath.