Huang Yanyan's POV:
Fengrui stood there like a damn peacock, scar twitching under the truck lights, thinking he had us dead to rights. His council elites fanned out—sleek rifles, smug grins—like they were about to mop up the mess of me and my family. My ribs felt like they'd been smashed with a sledgehammer, blood dripped from my temple where that shell blast knocked me out, and my hands shook holding this scavenged machete, but I wasn't folding. Dad was gone—Yang Wei, my stubborn-ass king of a father, cold on that stretcher—and I'd be damned if I let these bastards win after that. Haoyu stood beside me, bloody pipe steady, leg a mess but eyes locked on mine. The family—Wu Ling, Wu Qiang, Gramps, Yue, Yang Mei, Liang—formed a ragged line, beat to hell but ready to scrap. Tianjin glowed close, but Fengrui's trucks blocked our shot.