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... there were two Vietnamese holding guns.
The black muzzle emanated a cold glint, extinguishing the joy of those rushing towards freedom.
"Go back, wait!" one of the Vietnamese said.
Wang Weiheng attempted to negotiate, but a Vietnamese fired a shot at his feet; the bullet ricocheted and hit the arm of someone behind him.
"My arm, ah, my arm!"
In the terror of death, Wang Weiheng felt a warm sensation between his legs; he had wet himself.
At this mom ...
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