"Give her back to you?" Olson fumed, tossing his shotgun to the side, his expression as if he was about to charge at Orleans and brawl with him, "Dream on! I’m not done playing with that woman yet. Even if I tire of her, become unable to continue, I will take her with me to the grave." Yes, Wen Maixue was the Eastern woman he had chosen to replace Ye Taina for redemption. She was much better than any wax figure, alive and feeling, able to cry and suffer, thus a thousand and a hundred times better than "Ye Taina". "No," flashbacks of nightmares sped through Orleans’ mind, his gun shaking more violently, his fingers also reached for the gun’s safety catch, "Olson, don’t push me." "Tsk tsk, Orleans, you loser," Olson muttered with disdain, knowing his son too well, Orleans was nothing but a loser, failing to capture even a single feather in every hunt, yet now dabbling in the ploy of murder, "If you dare shoot, just make a hole anywhere on my body, and I’ll hand over that little bitch Wen Maixue to you." Olson pointed forcefully at his chest, "Here?" Then moved towards his neck, "Or here", he then clenched into a fist at his head, motioning towards it, "Or here. Just a single shot here, and blood will spurt out like a fountain. But don’t forget, the blood is red, the color you despise the most." Olson’s scornful laughter echoed over the snowy ground. The hunters hearing the father-son argument did not poke their heads out to check, regarding both as troublesome, one overbearing and the other a wimp, making those following them feel somewhat disdainful. Moreover, what kind of trouble could father and son stir up? After all, it was a woman, surprisingly benign-looking, causing the rift between them. "Don’t push me," Orleans flicked off the safety catch of the gun, afraid of the gunfire and frightened of the red color, but he feared Olson more. This man, who had provided for him from childhood, was his greatest fear. Olson always pushed him, from when he was a kid—he was forced not to see his mother, not to make friends, been forced into business, and to leave Wen Maixue. "You are my son, born to be at my beck and call, you fear me, and you will always be a wimp for life. "Olson cursed spitting mad, wondering how he could sire such a loser when his brother could father a child like Pello. His nephew Pello, in the face of death, was a thousand times stronger than his son. And that woman, willing to take a bullet for Pello, that entire family, every aspect was stronger than his own. "I’m telling you to shoot!" Olson raged to the point of insanity, angry with Orleans’ incompetence, and furious with himself for poor judgment, for all the hard work over the years only to achieve less than those deceased. Follow current novels on 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝⟡𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕥⟡𝕟𝕖𝕥 "Don’t push me, Dad, please," Orleans’ attitude softened again, his fingers moving back and forth over the trigger, sensing the spring on the trigger slacken and then tighten again, the bullet that hesitated to rush out of the barrel felt as if it were pressing on his heart. "You... can’t possibly." Olson’s voice changed a bit, his gaze piercing through Orleans and beyond. Wen Maixue stood not far away, her face adorned with a harmless smile, the bonfire had been reignited, not by Wen Maixue. Pello leaned against the SUV, silently mouthing: "Goodbye, dear uncle." In his hands, a silvery grey pistol, his action of pulling the trigger was unequivocal, a thousand times faster than Orleans. With a "Bang", as Orleans felt his eardrums vibrate, he subconsciously pulled the trigger in his hands, then crazily continued firing, a series of bullets flew out, it was unclear which one or several hit Olson in the head, chest, or feet, splattering red liquid, and the snow was not pink. The blood-stained snow was crimson, like a cluster of blooming red roses. (To be continued. If you work, please vote for recommendation tickets and monthly tickets at Qidian (qidian.com). Your support is my greatest motivation.)