What to Do After Being Transported into a Mature-Themed Novel and Caught in a Storm of Passion - Chapter 51

What brutality!

Feng Jiye crashed to the ground from Yan Yi’s punch, two streams of bright red blood dripping from his nose!

Anyone familiar with their bond would’ve gaped in shock.

These two had shared everything—from underwear to women. Brothers who’d fought back-to-back, and saved each other’s lives!

Yet now they turned on each other. And Yan Yi attacked with murderous fury—as if Feng Jiye had desecrated his ancestors’ graves.

Wiping blood from his nose, Feng Jiye lay dazed on the ground. The glaring sky blurred his vision. When his eyes finally focused, he saw a black dot against the white haze.

A gun barrel pointed at him.

Feng Jiye laughed.

Yan Yi acted on impulse—thoughts became actions instantly.

Feng Jiye planned meticulously before striking.

If Yan Yi was the open villain, Feng Jiye was the shadow dagger—always smiling politely whether facing friend or foe. Even if wronged, he’d bide his time for vengeance.

No wonder they’d clicked instantly as brothers-in-arms.

So Feng Jiye wasn’t surprised by the gun aimed at him now. Stealing a man’s woman warrants this.

He stood up slowly, making no move to fight back as Yan Yi kept the gun trained on him.

Another vicious punch sent Feng Jiye sprawling again. This time he didn’t rise.

Yan Yi’s fists and kicks rained down—each blow landing with brutal precision. The sickening thuds of flesh being pummeled filled the air.

Feng Jiye gritted his teeth, enduring silently except for occasional grunts when the pain peaked.

Eventually both men collapsed breathlessly on the muddy ground—one too battered to move, the other too exhausted to continue.

Feng Jiye’s once-handsome face was now swollen beyond recognition. Blood seeped from countless wounds, staining the earth beneath him crimson.

Yan Yi’s gun lay forgotten somewhere. He gasped for air, eyes wide open.

After a long silence, Feng Jiye struggled upright. A gleaming dagger had somehow appeared in his hand as he regarded Yan Yi.

Yan Yi sat up too, bloodshot eyes locked onto Feng Jiye.

The blade flashed cold—half its length buried in flesh with a dull thunk. The sound reverberated like thunder in Yan Yi’s ears.

“Yan Yi… I owed you this.” Feng Jiye’s hoarse voice barely escaped his throat. His trademark smirk failed to form.

Before Yan Yi could process what happened, Feng Jiye’s next words made his heart sink, “But when it comes to Xiaoxiao—I, Feng Jiye, won’t back down!”