The gun was thrown to the ground, the ammunition collided, making a loud bang, and even the fragments of the explosion splattered onto the man's hand, leaving a bloodstain.
But Mu Yunshen couldn't feel the pain, he just stood there, in the darkness, an endless sense of discomposure vaguely revealed itself.
He thought he could save her, he thought he wouldn't lose her.
At least in the past twenty-plus years of life, there was nothing he couldn't do—except for Shiche's illness and making Lier love him.
He had been tirelessly searching for doctors for Shiche's illness, trying all means, never had he felt this hopeless.
As for the matter of making Lier love him, he didn't put much effort into it. If she didn't love him, so be it, he didn't need to force her to love him, it didn't really affect him much if she didn't.
Even when he learned that Shiche died on the cruise ship, he was naturally extremely grieved, but he was never this scared.
