Chapter Twenty-Five: Such Filthy Language

When a dozen men surrounded Yang Jie and his two companions, the corners of Andrews’ mouth curled upward.

"Brother Taixing, who is this guy?"

"Who the hell knows? A yellow-skinned person—either from Great Han or a damn Jap. As for the Dragon Kingdom? Do people from the Dragon Kingdom even grow that tall?"

As the men bickered, those standing behind them kept muttering, but without exception, they all appeared incredibly arrogant. As their trash talk intensified, Yang Jie’s expression darkened, and he rested one hand on his pistol.

Seeing this, the Koreans burst into laughter; they truly didn't believe this guy dared to pull the trigger.

"Get lost right now, don't bother me. And from this moment on, turn off that speaker in the villa!"

The group was taken aback, then immediately roared with laughter. Even though Yang Jie looked sturdy, they were all armed—what was there to fear?

A lean man, laughing as he moved, pulled out a dagger and lunged straight at Yang Jie, as if stabbing people were a daily routine. Yang Jie paused for a moment. Do these Koreans not have guns? He hadn't seen a "knife fight" in so long; he felt a sudden pang of nostalgia.

"You look like a Japanese bastard, go to hell!"

Yang Jie, who had been reminiscing about close-quarters combat, instantly narrowed his eyes.

"You little prick, that’s some filthy language!"

Though the thought flashed through his mind like lightning, his body moved without the slightest hesitation. He gripped the man’s wrist with one hand, leaned back, and swung his palm—as large as a palm-leaf fan—at the man's cheek with the force of a falling meteor.

"Slap!"

The lean man’s head swelled instantly like a bucket, several teeth flew out, and he collapsed to the ground, mouth full of blood, his gaze suddenly clear and vacant.

The dozen burly, ferocious-looking gang members behind him immediately drew machetes and daggers, charging at Yang Jie with eyes full of malice and provocation.

Yet, Yang Jie stood firm like a towering, immovable mountain, his expression unchanged, as if he had just swatted a fly rather than struck a man.

"Damn Jap."

"No matter how good he is, he’s only one person."

"Shibal!!!"

Hearing the barrage of insults, Yang Jie narrowed his eyes slightly, a cold murderous intent leaking from his gaze.

The battle erupted instantly. A gang member lunged forward wielding a club. Yang Jie side-stepped, easily evading the blow, and followed up with a lightning-fast punch. His fist, as if forged from steel, slammed hard into the man’s gut.

With a dull thud, the man flew back like a kite with a broken string, crashing heavily to the ground, his face instantly turning a bruised purple.

Liver-crushing punch!

Several others swarmed him, but Yang Jie was unfazed, moving with the agility of a ghost. A side kick delivered with immense power sent one man flying into the wall, cracking the very surface. He then seized another man’s wrist and twisted; with a sharp scream, the knife dropped from the man's hand. Yang Jie used the man as a projectile, tossing him into the incoming crowd and knocking several others to the ground.

Yang Jie’s movements were fluid and seamless, every strike filled with power and precision. His close-quarters combat was like a precision machine, constantly calculating and optimizing his actions. The dozen gang members were no match for him at all.

Wherever his fists landed, the sound of crunching bones echoed. His kicks were like a violent storm, impossible to dodge. Within moments, all the gang members lay on the ground, groaning in agony.

Yang Jie stood silently, unscathed, his eyes still holding that chilling, indifferent gaze. Before they could move, he drew his pistol from his waist, slowly attached a silencer, and just as they reached out to beg for mercy, he put a bullet through each of their heads.

After having Li Siyao and Chris drag the bodies inside, Yang Jie walked toward the neighboring villa. Not long after, two faint gunshots rang out, and Yang Jie walked back out. He looked at Andrews with a playful expression, holding up a finger.

"Give me another shipment of arms, and I’ll let today’s matter slide. Otherwise..."

Andrews frowned slightly, secretly thinking that this clever kid had figured out he was trying to use someone else to do his dirty work. Andrews was pragmatic; he immediately had his lackeys transport a batch of light weapons to the warehouse.

After parting ways with Andrews, Yang Jie rushed to the warehouse, cleared out the entire supply of weapons, gathered everyone, and boarded the helicopter to begin the journey home.

Back home, the group rested briefly before resuming their mission to hoard supplies. Three days passed in the blink of an eye.

The group returned to their routine of stockpiling and receiving goods. It is worth mentioning that the day after they returned, the annoying neighbor, Mark, was hauled away by the military. He hadn't returned since, and clearly, things looked grim. General Wilson wasn't a lone wolf; he had to answer to the interest group behind him, and the food delivery receipt left in the armory had been picked up on Mark’s lawn.

Yang Jie looked over his long checklist with satisfaction. There were still items to procure, which he planned to buy back in his home country. To be honest, for rice, one had to go for the Wuchang variety; foreign rice just didn't taste right.

There were also various frozen meats that needed to be purchased back home. Do they not bleed out the pigs and cows here in the States? The rumors online that foreigners don't bleed out livestock are pure nonsense. With mechanized slaughter, how could they not? But there was one point: the blood was indeed not drained completely, and the meat wasn't acid-cleansed, so the off-flavor was significantly stronger than domestic meat—the kind that no amount of spices could mask.

He checked his finances, set aside 100 million dollars, converted it into RMB, and wired it back to the country. As for the rest of the money, he used it all to purchase necessary items and gold.

In the apocalypse, aside from food and essentials, gold was the hard currency. For individual or small shelters, gold might be useless, but once you reached a government-run shelter, it was the absolute gold standard. At least that was the case in the States; as for back home, Yang Jie figured it wouldn't be much different.

In the evening, at the Dragon Kingdom’s consulate in Houston, the staff members were all frowning as they watched the reports on television.

That morning, due to internal and external conflicts, minority issues, and various other strange problems, people were protesting in the streets again. Fortunately, it was just a protest, not a riot. Such events were already commonplace for everyone working there.

Not long after, a group of people hurried in. Leading them was a middle-aged man of average height with a neat appearance.

"Consul!" Everyone greeted him.

Consul He asked in a crisp, efficient tone, "I heard there were more looting and arson incidents in the nearby blocks?"

A staff member immediately replied, "Consul, the situation is still under control. It’s just that a film crew from back home got separated during the protests."

"Fifteen minutes ago, they came over saying that a female star from their crew had gone missing."

The Consul frowned and asked urgently, "Has she been found?"