Sena, Butare, inside the President's Mansion.

The shattered concrete dust fell like gray snow, softly landing on President Du Er's previously impeccable, graying temples.

Just moments ago, Song Heping had ordered mortar attacks on the rooftop of the President's Mansion, killing over a dozen Guards members who were using the terrain to put up a desperate resistance.

Now, President Du Er's already dwindling number of Guard soldiers was further diminished to almost nothing.

He sat stiffly behind the massive mahogany desk that symbolized power, his expensive suit covered in dust, resembling a statue of a deity abandoned in ruins.

The luxurious Persian carpet in the office was lifted at one corner by the vibrations, and the crystal chandelier swung wildly, casting fragmented and flickering shadows.

The air was filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder and a scorched aroma of dust burned by high heat.

Outside the President's Mansion, loudspeakers set up by the coup forces continued echoing against the walls, repeating the ultimatum in a monotonous metallic tone—

"... Surrender power, ensure a safe exit... Otherwise, face the consequences..."

"I want to negotiate... I want to talk to Song..."

Suddenly, Du Er regained a trace of sanity and turned sharply to call his secretary, "Austin! Austin!"

"I'm here, Mr. President..."

Secretary Austin, looking disheveled, hurriedly stepped in from outside, his face equally covered in dust, with everyone hiding here on the brink of collapse from the recent bombardment.

His voice was slightly tremulous.

"What are your orders?"

"Go! Tell Song Heping, I demand negotiations!"

"Negotiations?" The deputy looked around, "Where to negotiate?"

"Here! Right here!"

Du Er suddenly grew agitated, veins bulging on his temples, fiercely jabbing his finger at his chair as if it were the throne of power that no one could take away.

"Alright..."

The secretary nodded reluctantly.

The President was very irritable now, and it was best not to provoke him. No one dared to ensure that Du Er wouldn't draw a gun and shoot in an irrational fit.

But...

Would Song Heping come in for negotiations?

Dare he venture into the lion's den alone?

Wasn't he afraid that the irate Du Er would order the Guard to eliminate him in the President's Mansion?

With doubts, Austin left the president's office.

Yet, after a brief ten minutes, the heavy oak door of the president's office silently slid open, and the silhouette of Song Heping appeared in the doorway, standing beside a stunned-looking Secretary Austin.

He came alone, without any conspicuous weaponry.

The smell of gunpowder on him clashed violently with the lingering scents of cologne and cigar smoke in the office.

The door quietly closed behind him, sealing away the tense atmosphere outside.

Du Er straightened his hunched back, trying to reclaim a shred of his former dignity in this dire situation.

He watched as Song Heping approached step by step, stopping in front of the broad desk, his hawk-like eyes calm and emotionless, as if he were participating in a routine meeting.

"Song..."

Du Er's voice was hoarse, carrying a tinge of deliberate mockery and probing, "You really dared to come in alone? Aren't you afraid that at my command, the Guards would riddle you with bullets?"

A fierce gleam of a cornered beast flashed in his clouded eyes, as his fingers subconsciously tapped on the tabletop, "Do you really think you're Lambo? That you can walk out of here alone?"

Song Heping did not respond immediately.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze sweeping across the office's corners, the heavy curtains, and the side door to the anteroom, as if evaluating the truth in Du Er's words.

The few seconds of silence made the air in the office almost palpably thick.

Du Er's heart pounded in his chest, and he could almost hear the roar of his own blood flow.

Finally, the corners of Song Heping's mouth lifted ever so slightly, not quite forming a smile, more like a sneer that understood everything.

"Du Er."

His voice was low and steady, with each word falling like ice pellets onto the ground.

He scorned even using the word "President."

Because in Song Heping's eyes, the man before him was just a furious, impotent puppet who had long ceased to be a "President."

"Since I dared to come in, I naturally have my reasons. You can certainly try it."

His gaze abruptly turned as sharp as a blade, piercing into Du Er's eyes, "But before you press that button to summon the Guards, I suggest you take a look at this first."

Song Heping slowly pulled a cell phone from another pocket in his tactical vest.

He operated it with one hand, and the screen glowed with a cold light.

He didn't hand it over, but turned the screen towards Du Er, gently sliding his thumb across it.

The screen clearly displayed a dozen real-time surveillance feeds, smoothly switching between them.

First frame: In the western suburbs of Butare, a heavily guarded luxury villa mansion. The mansion is shrouded by green trees, but the key exits of the main building and even the second-floor balcony are clearly locked on by several conspicuous red crosshairs —the aiming reticles of sniper rifles. A timestamp in the corner of the screen shows the current time.

Second frame: In the wealthy district of the capital, the top floor penthouse of a modern apartment building. In front of a gigantic floor-to-ceiling window, a man in his thirties, who bears a slight resemblance to Du Er and is in pajamas, paces anxiously back and forth—Du Er's youngest and favorite son, at this moment desperately trying to call out, but unable to get through, stomping his feet in frustration. Behind him, on the glass window, a glaring red dot is also reflected.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by lotustale.com