Desperation was a harsh master. Lin Fan, his throat raw and his stomach aching, had no choice but to accept the merchant's price.
With a sigh, he began counting out the rounds, arranging one hundred and fifty gleaming brass bullets on the truck’s grimy tailgate.
Just as he finished, the big-bearded merchant held up a single, grubby finger.
Lin Fan’s eyes narrowed.
“Ho ho! What a look!” the man boomed, a theatrical grin splitting his beard.
10