Invasion of the United States

The living room was pitch-black, with only a faint streetlight outside seeping through the gaps in the curtains, casting dim shadows on the floor.

Zhou Qingfeng relaxed his breathing, his back against the second-floor wall, the M9 pistol in his hand cold and heavy. The gun was loaded, his finger lightly touching the trigger guard, and his thumb silently flicked off the safety.

Soft footsteps came from downstairs, like some kind of beast prowling in the darkness.

Even though the person deliberately lightened their steps, the old house's environment wasn't soundproof, betraying them mercilessly.

The dry wooden boards creaked slightly, as if whispering warnings, signaling the presence of an intruder.

Each sound pierced Zhou Qingfeng's eardrum like a needle, preparing him in advance.

"Not Julia, and not Selena," he quickly ruled out the two possibilities in his mind.

Julia's steps were always as light as a cat's, while Selena habitually dragged her feet, her pace lazy.

But this time, the footsteps were heavy and cautious, as if someone was deliberately suppressing their presence.

"Could it be Kongges?" The thought flashed by but was quickly dismissed.

Kongges was currently wanted and wouldn't return quietly at a time like this.

Moreover, everyone's footsteps were distinct. Zhou Qingfeng was very familiar with the footsteps of the head of the household.

He vaguely sensed that the visitor came with ill intent but lacked more information to make a judgment. At this moment, the only thing he could do was remain motionless.

His body pressed tightly against the wall, his breath slowed. The wooden floor of the second floor was thin as paper, any misstep would make a sound.

Time stretched out, seconds felt like years.

His heart pounded heavily in his chest, as if it was about to break free. His ears caught every faint sound from downstairs, attempting to discern more information.

Adrenaline heightened Zhou Qingfeng's senses, but he remained calm, his muscles in a state of semi-tension.

His fingers held the gun steadily without using full force, ready to react at any moment. The muzzle pointed downward, his gaze fixed on the stairway.

"Who is it?" A big question mark arose in his mind.

Just then, the footsteps downstairs suddenly stopped. Inside the house, a strange silence fell as if nothing had happened moments ago.

Zhou Qingfeng slightly tilted his head, looking towards the first-floor living room from the stairway. A vague silhouette cast onto the floor, flitting past like a ghost.

"Not Kongges."

The silhouette moved back and forth in the living room, sometimes pausing by the coffee table, turning towards the dining room, and even glancing in the direction of the backyard.

Finally, the figure cautiously approached the stairway.

Zhou Qingfeng's gaze tightened, clearly seeing the figure holding a gun. He then raised his muzzle, aiming steadily at the intruder's lower abdomen.

When the lower half of the figure appeared in the stairway's field of vision, Zhou Qingfeng suddenly shouted in a low voice, "Stop! Move and I'll shoot you dead."

His voice, like a blade, slashed through the living room's silence.

The figure froze in place, as if pinned by an invisible force. His body slightly leaned back, seemingly wanting to retreat but not daring to make a move.

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"Sorry, I'll leave right away," the figure said slowly, his voice slightly panicked and testing. He stepped back slightly, trying to increase the distance.

"Shall I break one of your legs first, then talk to you?" Zhou Qingfeng's voice grew colder, striving to create a sense of oppression.

The figure downstairs was evidently intimidated, but suspicion and opportunism lingered in his heart. From downstairs, he couldn't see Zhou Qingfeng hiding in the upstairs shadows.

His fingers gripped the gun handle tightly, secretly calculating: was the kid upstairs really aiming a gun at him, or just bluffing?

"Who are you?" Zhou Qingfeng asked again.

In an instant, the figure suddenly moved. His body shrank back swiftly like a spring, leaping backward while raising his gun to aim upward at the stairway.

This move was quick and decisive, evidently gambling—betting that Zhou Qingfeng was bluffing, betting that his speed was fast enough to regain the initiative before getting shot.

However, the uninvited guest underestimated Zhou Qingfeng's reaction speed.

BANG! A gunshot broke the night's silence, M9 pistol's muzzle spitting a fierce flame.

The bullet accurately hit the figure's thigh, blood blossomed, a crimson flower blooming suddenly in the dark night.

The figure groaned in a low and muffled voice, like a beast's growl when hurt, mixed with pain and unwillingness.

The left leg was pierced by the bullet, causing his body to stagger, the severe pain making him unsteady.

However, the guy didn't stop resisting, instead, he gritted his teeth, forcefully holding his body steady, gripping the gun tightly, and aiming at the staircase.

BANG, BANG, BANG...!

Continuous gunshots exploded in the silent night, bullets like a wild rainstorm, pouring crazily towards the stairway.

Under the impact of the bullets, the wooden floorboards and railings splintered instantly, wood chips flying everywhere, the air filled with the burnt smell of gunpowder.

Each bullet was like a death scythe cutting through the air, enough to kill anyone daring to stand in its way.

Zhou Qingfeng reacted extremely fast, his body instinctively dodging the moment the other pulled the trigger.

He dived and rolled, hiding at the stairway's corner, his back pressed against the cold wall.

The impact of bullets hitting the wall felt like death's fingertips gently tapping, playing a symphony of hell.