Sunset.
Long street.
Lone gunman.
Under the golden sunset, on a desolate avenue, a tall figure strode forward. The cold wind tugged at the brim of his cowboy hat, but couldn’t move the weary, piercing gaze in his eyes. Enemy gunfire drowned out the clatter of his spurred boots, but couldn’t cover up the calm confidence forged from a lifetime of storms.
He strolled along, cool as you please, as if all those enemies were just dust in the wind. A gun belt at his waist, a classic revolver gleaming in its holster—a symbol of unyielding spirit shining through endless hardship. His hand hovered near the grip, fingers twitching, like he was waking up this legendary gunman within.
He lifted his head slightly, revealing a handsome face. The newcomer surveyed the scene, fearless and bold. It felt like, as long as he drew his gun, he could wipe out all evil and restore justice to the world.
“Déjà vu or what...” Jill Young squinted at Xiao Di. “Who is this guy? Did I just wander onto a movie set?”
Before Xiao Di could answer, the guy’s voice came out of the phone. If you looked closely, he was even wearing earbuds, talking into his mobile. “I am—the West Spirit.” His magnetic voice declared, “You thugs bullying a lady, as long as the West Spirit is here, you’ve got nowhere to run!”
The stranger roared, charged forward, drew his gun, aimed, and pulled the trigger—
Bang bang bang! Just two pistols, but somehow he fired at a ridiculous speed! Those tiny barrels spat out a storm of bullets, raining lead all over. Not just fast, but dead-on—seven or eight enemies dropped in a row, blood spraying from their foreheads as they toppled to the ground. And as his cape whipped behind him, shell casings flew, fresh rounds slid into place. A flick of the wrist—click-click, the revolver was loaded. Sure, the whole thing was so over-the-top it begged for a snarky comment, but honestly, it was pretty epic.