Chapter 90: A Fatal Gamble

When Mo Fei stood before Zhao Chengye again, armed with a revolver and bullets, sunlight had already spilled over them. The warmth of the sun was always gentle and comforting.

Mo Fei halted five meters from Zhao Chengye, displaying the revolver and bullets in his hand.

"Are those real bullets? No tricks, right?" Zhao Chengye craned his neck for a glance, then said, "Put the gun and bullets on the ground and step back ten meters."

"Let's do this one step at a time," Mo Fei replied, crouching to set down the bullets. "I don't have a hostage, so the gun in your hands would be too dangerous."

His words were laced with sarcasm, yet they were undeniable.

Zhao Chengye accepted this arrangement.

Keeping a relatively safe distance, Zhao Chengye methodically inspected the bullets and gun Mo Fei had placed on the ground; indeed, there was no tampering.

"Let's begin," Zhao Chengye fixed his gaze on Mo Fei. "I want to see if that face of yours can still save you."

Mo Fei frowned, flicked open the cylinder, and began loading bullets. "I admit that good looks offer a slight advantage in society, but that doesn't mean all your failures are due to appearance."

"There are countless people in this world who are plain but admired. You need to understand something: you haven't failed because you're ugly. You simply failed because you're useless."

Rage nearly burst from Zhao Chengye's eyes. Staring at Mo Fei's face, he ground his teeth. "Start!"

Russian roulette is a deadly game of chance or torture. Players load a revolver with one or more bullets, spin the cylinder, and close it.

Typically, participants take turns pressing the gun to their own temple and pulling the trigger, continuing until someone is shot or loses their nerve. Whoever gets shot is eliminated; whoever flinches loses. The last one standing is the victor. Spectators may place bets on the players' lives.

The revolver's greatest advantage is that it never jams; when the trigger is pulled, there is no chance of mechanical failure.

Zhao Chengye proposed this game, appearing fearless and bold, but Mo Fei saw him as nothing but a failure.

Had he suggested they take turns, Mo Fei might have respected him as a true madman.

But Zhao Chengye didn't dare participate—he only watched as Mo Fei wagered his own life.

Such a person isn't even fit to be a clown, possessing neither humor nor drama.

Mo Fei's scornful expression clearly wounded Zhao Chengye's sensitive heart; he howled, "Start!"

Mo Fei passed his palm over the revolver's cylinder, spun it swiftly, then snapped it shut.

Now, no one could know which chamber held the bullet, nor which pull would fire.

"There are many admirable qualities to pursue in life, but as an actor—" Mo Fei cocked the hammer, pressed the gun to his temple, and offered Zhao Chengye a contemptuous smile, "the most essential quality is courage."

Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger.

Click.

An empty chamber.

"Whoo..." Officer Tang's heart thumped wildly; as relief washed over him, he couldn't help but curse under his breath.

Zhao Chengye was also breathing heavily.

Mo Fei, relaxed, cocked the hammer again. "Of course, the courage I'm speaking of is the bravery to perform before the masses, and also the courage to stand up for the weak against the strong."

"Those who bully the weak are nothing but fools."

Sweat had already formed on Zhao Chengye's brow; clenching his teeth, he said, "I know what price I'll pay, no need for your lecture."

He tore a page from his notebook and held it up to his phone, showing it several times.

"I know there are police in the livestream. I've fulfilled my wager. Go on!"

Mo Fei turned to the officers.

Officer Tang exchanged a few words with those behind him, then nodded solemnly.

"Very well," Mo Fei pressed the gun beneath his chin. "Actually, feeling misunderstood, feeling your talent unrecognized by the public—that's normal."

"For example, you haven't seen how much Sister Lu has done for us, and while I dislike work, I've always treated it seriously."

His finger slowly tightened on the trigger.

Click.

Another empty chamber.

The officers couldn't help but let out a small cheer.

The muscles in Zhao Chengye's cheeks began to twitch unnaturally.

Mo Fei's expression remained calm as he cocked the hammer again. "Truthfully, I've always thought myself quite lucky."

He had a responsible agent, earnest police officers when he needed them, and friends who, though eccentric, were all good people.

Zhao Chengye gave a twisted smile. "Then I hope your luck never runs out."

He tore another page from his notebook and showed it to the livestream.

This time, Mo Fei aimed the gun at his heart. "This is the third shot, isn't it? Let me think of something suitably elegant to match this solemn moment."

He tilted his head thoughtfully for a moment, then suddenly grinned and shouted, "Bang!" as he pulled the trigger.

Click.

The officers all jumped, as if struck by lightning, and longed to drag Mo Fei back for a beating.

Was this really the time for jokes?

Zhao Chengye was not startled.

He awaited the moment Mo Fei was struck; how could anything else surprise him?

"It's just a joke," Mo Fei replied innocently, stepping forward. "Did I amuse you?"

Zhao Chengye's Adam's apple bobbed as he forced a grim smile. "You're quite entertaining."

Another page was torn from the notebook.

Mo Fei asked curiously, "How many pages are in your notebook?"

"Six," Zhao Chengye finally revealed his malicious intent.

Six addresses, six chambers in the revolver.

To get all the addresses, Mo Fei would have to fire the last shot.

"Once this game starts, it can't stop," Zhao Chengye was eager to see how long Mo Fei could remain composed.

Mo Fei merely nodded knowingly. "It's almost done."

He pressed the hammer down, aimed properly at himself, and cleared his throat. "If this one fires, I'll leave a final message for the world."

Click.

Fourth empty chamber.

Everyone waited for his "last words."

Even Zhao Chengye was stunned.

Mo Fei blinked, stepped forward, and smiled. "Just teasing you."

By now, the distance between Mo Fei and Zhao Chengye had shrunk to about three meters.

But at this range, a sudden attack might still give the opponent time to detonate.

"Impossible," Zhao Chengye stared at Mo Fei as if he were some kind of monster. "This can't be!"

"Why not?" Mo Fei toyed with the revolver. "I told you, my luck has always been good."

He cocked the hammer, aimed the barrel at his throat, and with a radiant smile stepped forward: "Now, it's time for the answer to be revealed—"