Chapter 120

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"Three temples were burned down, all the monks were slaughtered, and a group of captured drug dealers identified the King of Spades."

Myanmar, Mong La.

The temple was surrounded by jungle on all sides, and the dense greenery that looked like a painting in the daytime had turned into ghosts crawling out of hell in the dark night. The flaming torches lit up the sky above the village, and the loud crackling sound was accompanied by the soughing of the wind in the trees, which carried the cries of the monks far away.

Five Humvees with headlights turned on formed a circle, and several Burmese men with submachine guns stood outside the cars. The gloomy banditry on their faces was reflected by the firelight. In the open space in front of the temple, the King of Spades bent down, facing the abbot, who was as pale as the earth. He clicked the picture in his hand and asked in Chinese, "Where is he?"

The abbot burst into tears, shaking his head vigorously. He twitched and muttered, wanting to break free from the shackles, and kowtowed to beg for mercy.

The dark eyes behind the King of Spades sunglasses were very calm, and there was no sign of impatience. He repeated the question in Burmese:

"Where is he?"

"@#¥*Y*&..." The abbot shook his head violently and cried. The monks behind him whimpered in unison.

The King of Spades stood up helplessly, took a breath, and paused for a few seconds.

Then he suddenly drew his gun and aimed it at the center of the abbot's forehead, shooting it neatly!

Bang!

There was a bloody hole in the head of the old abbot; his eyes were wide open, and he fell to the ground.

The surroundings were quiet, and then some people screamed, some fainted, and some struggled to climb forward but were grabbed by the drug dealer. The King of Spades seemed to have heard nothing, and he walked to the next monk calmly and asked the same question: "Where is he?"

The monk was not old. He had already peed his pants in fear, staring at the old man in the monk's robe in the photo. It took a long time for him to make a sound: "Really, I really don't know. I really don't know. I beg you, spare my life, spare my life-"

The King of Spades asked: "Really don't know?"

"I really haven't seen him, I don't know, please, please-"

Bang!

The gunshot echoed for a long time. The monk's body was splattered with dust, and his eyes weren't even closed until the end.

The cry of sorrow rose in the open space like a living blood sea in a shura field. The King of Spades seemed a little tired; he closed his eyes, put away the gun, casually shoved the photo to A-Jie behind him, and made a careless gesture.

A-Jie took half a step forward and raised the photo, showing it around in the open space and asking sharply in Burmese: "Who knows the whereabouts of this person? If you say it, you can live! Otherwise, you will all die here today!"

His voice was extremely penetrating and instantly suppressed all the screams. But then, a sharper cry of despair sounded from all sides of the space, even causing the wild beasts in the mountains and forests to howl, rushing into the distance with the wind.

The King of Spades rubbed his forehead, stepped over the old abbot's body, and walked toward the off-road vehicle outside the clearing.

The Burmese subordinates hurried to catch up to him: "Boss."

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