Chapter Eighteen: Preparing the Candidates

“No, you know I’m Persian. It’s hard to fit in here, and I don’t have many friends. The studio signs on a bunch of bitches! Compared to fighting, they’d rather spread their legs to please those disgusting men.”

Yang Jie glanced at Cui Huizhu.

Cui Huizhu shrugged. “Boss, you should know my work leaves me with almost no friends. Besides you all, I can count the people I know on one hand!”

Yang Jie sighed helplessly. “Sharapova, speak up.”

Sharapova sat on the sofa, her short legs swinging restlessly. After folding her arms and thinking for a moment, a sickly smile curled at the corner of her lips, giving off a chilling vibe.

“I’ve been wanted by Damao for so long, what friends could I possibly have? Many comrades fell on Damao and Ermao’s battlefields. Some might have been killed long ago!”

“Wait!” Sophia suddenly seemed to recall something and said immediately, “Do you remember Zhan Ting?”

The mention of that name plunged everyone into memories, though Yang Jie’s expression turned grim.

Zhao Baitong nudged Yang Jie. “Hey, you’re not still holding a grudge, are you? It’s been years.”

Yang Jie scowled. “Heh, a drunkard with a saintly heart. I don’t think someone like that suits our team.”

Zhan Ting was from Longguo. Yang Jie met her during his mission in the Middle East. At that time, while suppressing terrorists, Zhan Ting’s family happened to be traveling and unexpectedly encountered terrorists. Her parents were brutally killed.

Just as she and her younger brother were about to be killed, Yang Jie’s squad arrived and rescued them.

Logically, they should have contacted the local embassy to repatriate them. But Zhan Ting was stubborn. After much persuasion, she joined Yang Jie’s combat squad, hoping to avenge her family.

They were short on personnel then, so out of consideration for her nationality, she was allowed to join the squad after training, provided she performed well.

Surprisingly, Zhan Ting excelled in every aspect. Perhaps it was a racial talent bonus—her marksmanship was impressive.

She also had a hobby of competitive archery back home, which proved useful during certain special missions.

After placing her brother in a military boarding facility, she joined Yang Jie’s squad. Two years later, she finally personally eliminated the terrorists who had killed her parents.

But she had two major flaws. Since her parents’ death, she had developed a drinking habit. While others carried magazines and grenades into battle, she insisted on bringing a flask of alcohol.

Drinking during combat was hopeless. The most extreme case was during a stealth mission. After the mission was accomplished, Yang Jie thought she was dead, but upon checking, she was passed out drunk.

Another time, she hesitated upon encountering two children.

Just during those few moments of hesitation, the two kids pulled out Woods submachine guns and fired at Yang Jie.

If it weren’t for Yang Jie’s strong physique, bulletproof vest, and the relatively weak power of the Woods submachine gun, he might have been killed.

Afterward, Zhan Ting brazenly declared she wouldn’t kill women or children. But in war zones, where the hell are there any women or children left?

Once they pick up weapons, they’re no longer civilians. A bullet fired by a ten-year-old hits just as hard as one fired by an adult.

After the mission, Yang Jie gave her two hard punches on the spot. Eventually, they parted ways, and Zhan Ting chose to return home.

Two months later, a substantial sum was deposited into Zhan Ting’s domestic account. They never saw each other again.

Sophia smiled. “Though Zhan Ting had many flaws, she was only trained for a month and wasn’t a professional soldier. To reach that level is commendable!”

“And her parents were already dead. We saved her life. Despite her flaws, she was trustworthy.”

Yang Jie rubbed his ribs, recalling the gunshot wound from the Woods submachine gun all those years ago.

“We could consider her. Anyone else to recommend? Men are fine too!”

Yang Jie had thought about recruiting men. The benefits were strong combat power, responsibility, and accountability. The downside was their ambition. If unfamiliar, you never know if they’re friend or foe. If they cause trouble behind your back, it’s a nightmare.

Compared to men, women’s ambitions were usually less, and they spoke more nicely.

Zhao Baitong added, “What about Ivan?”

Yang Jie was taken aback, thinking it over, his expression suddenly darkening. “You don’t mean that French woman, do you?”

Yang Jie remembered her. She was employed by another company and they had collaborated once or twice. Her physique and professionalism were impeccable. Judging by the time, she was under thirty—prime age for a fighter.

“Yes, her professionalism is unquestionable!”

Yang Jie looked disgusted. “She’s skilled, even with mortars, but I really can’t stand her scent!”

During his service in the Middle East, Yang Jie earned some money and formed his own squad. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to rely on a big company, but the shared barracks had a truly unbearable smell.

Among white people, almost ninety-nine percent have body odor, men and women alike. You see a fair-skinned, beautiful girl with long legs, and when you get close—damn, the stench is overwhelming, like someone stuffed their armpit over your nose.

It was even worse among black people—one hundred percent have body odor. Yang Jie wondered how men who married white or black women could stand it. The women’s tastes were equally heavy.

Yang Jie’s strong constitution came with a keen sense of smell. Sometimes, in an elevator with four or five white or black people, he almost fainted.

A mix of ’82 vintage onion, cumin, and cheap perfume constantly assaulted his nostrils.

When the topic turned to body odor, everyone looked at Sophia.

Sophia immediately protested, “It’s a racial thing. Among white people, Persians have relatively low body odor. Of course, we can’t compare to you Longguo folks. Besides, it’s not just body odor—it’s that our sweat glands are more developed, causing a strong sweat smell.”

Sharapova chuckled, “Don’t look at me either. Damao people generally don’t smell that bad.”

Li Siyao said nothing, unsure if she was among the rare 0.1 percent or if growing up in Longguo had made her nearly scentless.

Zhao Baitong flipped her hair confidently. “Sweat smell? My sweat smells sweet!”

“You!” Sophia immediately took offense. Though they generally got along well, they occasionally bickered.

At that moment, the doorbell rang. After the remote gate opened, a petite policewoman with a baby face and large, sparkling Kasilan eyes—like a character straight out of an anime—walked in and smiled at Li Siyao.