Chapter 59 Is this cat serious?
Shadow is the best disguise.
Chu Hang pressed his body tightly against the twisted and deformed side of the container, deliberately suppressing even the frequency of his breathing to the lowest possible.
He was like a melting ice cube, silently diminishing his presence in the corner, attempting to completely merge with the surrounding darkness.
The energy within his body, at this moment, was like a recently calmed ocean.
On the surface, it appeared tranquil, but beneath, strong undercurrents surged.
He could clearly feel that the immense power originating from the Tesseract and Carol, after the life-or-Deathfusion just now, was no longer merely an external force.
They were being accepted and absorbed by his body, gradually becoming a part of him, like his hands and feet; although still unfamiliar, they could now be driven by his will.
A completely new perception slowly unfolded in his mind, like a scroll gradually unfurling.
He didn't need to use his eyes to "feel" the energy distribution throughout the hangar.
The most dazzling was undoubtedly the unconscious blonde woman lying in the center of a shallow pit.
Her body was like a nascent star embryo that had just ignited; though its light was weak, it contained the potential for World-destroying power, unconsciously emitting ripples of energy.
She was a moving energy singularity, a walking catastrophe.
Next, was the Kree Commander, Yon-Rogg, who was walking towards her.
The energy within him was like a precisely forged weapon, stable, condensed, and filled with a deadly sharpness.
Although his total energy was far less than Carol's, the highly compressed destructive power made him equally, if not more, dangerous.
Then, there were the scattered Kree Soldiers.
They all carried similar, standardized energy fluctuations, like cold bullets, devoid of emotion, possessing only instincts of obedience and killing.
Besides these, there were some even fainter points of light.
Those were Nick Fury, Coulson, and the surviving S.H.I.E.L.D. Agents.
Their energy fluctuations were no different from ordinary people's, and in this battlefield dominated by extraordinary powers, they were as insignificant as candles in the wind, liable to be extinguished at any moment.
This feeling was peculiar, like a person born blind suddenly gaining sight one day.
The entire World, before him, was deconstructed into a different form, a dimension composed of varying energy strengths, more real and more brutal.
But this newfound sense of power could not conceal the extreme weakness deep within his body.
Every breath pulled at the soreness deep in his muscles, as if every muscle fiber had been torn and then forcibly reattached.
The mental exhaustion was like a tide, crashing against his consciousness wave after wave, making him almost want to lie down on the spot and fall into a deep sleep.
He knew this was the aftereffect of forcibly fusing the energy.
His body was like a riverbed whose channel had been forcibly widened by a flood; although it could accommodate more water flow, the riverbed itself was riddled with holes, needing time to slowly repair itself.
Therefore, he could not move.
At least, he couldn't make any moves beyond the scope of ordinary people under everyone's watchful eyes.
Exposing his newly acquired power would be tantamount to bleeding in a school of sharks.
He had to wait, wait for the perfect moment, a window when everyone's attention was diverted, allowing him to slip away silently.
Inside the hangar, the brief calm was shattered by a roar.
"Everyone, don't move!"
It was Nick Fury.
He stood out from behind cover, tightly gripping his standard-issue pistol, the dark muzzle steadily aimed at Yon-Rogg, who was walking towards Carol.
Coulson, beside him, immediately followed, raising his gun in a standard motion, forming a crossfire with Fury.
Fury's face was covered in dust and sweat, his once crisp suit now wrinkled and torn in several places, looking disheveled.
But his gaze was as sharp as an eagle's, without the slightest hint of retreat.
"Put her down, alien."
Fury's voice was cold, with an undeniable tone of command, "This is Earth, not your colony."
Yon-Rogg stopped, slowly turning around.
He didn't even look at the gun in Fury's hand, merely sweeping him with a condescending gaze, as if looking at an ant.
"Earth?"
A mocking arc formed on his lips as he spoke in his metallic-sounding common language, "A primitive race that hasn't even left its own Planet, dares to talk about ownership?"
He extended a finger, pointed to himself, and then pointed to the Kree Soldiers still engaged in combat on the ground.
"We are Kree.
Enforcers of the Universe, Guardians of peace.
We are here to eliminate the Terrorists who threaten universal order, and... to reclaim the property of our empire."
His gaze returned to the unconscious Carol, his eyes like he was looking at an invaluable item.
Fury's single eye narrowed.
"I don't care who you are.
All I know is that on my territory, you've hurt my people and destroyed my Base.
Now, you want to take an U.S. Air Force pilot.
I can't let you do that."
"With just you?"
Yon-Rogg seemed to have heard an enormous joke, unable to help but laugh aloud, "With that toy in your hand that can't even penetrate my armor?"
Before he finished speaking, he suddenly raised his arm.
The armor on his arm made a soft click, and a gun barrel extended from it.
"Die, primitive one."
A ghostly blue energy beam, accompanied by a piercing whoosh, instantly shot towards Fury's face.
Chu Hang's pupils constricted in the Shadow.
He knew Fury couldn't dodge that shot.
However, at that critical moment, a swift figure suddenly lunged from beside Fury.
It was Coulson!
He used all his strength to shove Fury violently aside.
Whoosh!
The energy beam grazed Fury's shoulder, striking a wall behind him, instantly melting a fist-sized hole, its edges smooth and still glowing red.
Fury and Coulson both fell to the ground in disarray, dodging the fatal blow.
"Officer! Are you alright?"
Coulson, ignoring his aching arm from the fall, asked urgently.
Fury gritted his teeth, got up from the ground, and glanced at the still-smoking hole in the wall, his face turning extremely grim.
His proud combat experience, the weapon in his hand, seemed so ridiculous, so powerless, in front of this alien.
This was no longer an equal battle.
This was a dimensionality reduction strike.
Yon-Rogg seemed to have lost patience; he no longer bothered with these two troublesome ants, turning to pick up Carol and leave.
But just then, an unexpected disruptor appeared.
"Meow~"
A soft, slightly lazy meow, sounded particularly out of place in the hangar filled with gunpowder smoke and the scent of Death.
Everyone looked in the direction of the sound, only to see an orange cat gracefully strolling out from behind a pile of burnt debris.
Its fur was smooth and sleek, not a speck of dust on it, as if the Earth-shattering explosion just now was nothing more than an insignificant fireworks display to it.
It walked to Mar-Vell's now cold corpse, gently rubbed her hand with its small head, and purred, seemingly mourning the passing of its Master.
Fury was startled when he saw the cat.
He was a cat lover, and at such a tense and oppressive moment, seeing such a cute little life made his taut nerves involuntarily relax a little.
"Hey, little one."
He instinctively lowered his voice, trying to soothe it.
However, the orange cat just raised its head, looked at Fury with its clear, innocent big eyes, and then turned its gaze to Yon-Rogg, who was about to pick up Carol.
The next second, the orange cat's body slightly crouched, and a low, threatening growl emanated from its throat.
Its fur stood on end, its adorable appearance instantly vanished, replaced by a wild, aggressive posture.
Yon-Rogg clearly noticed this unusual cat as well.
He frowned, a hint of impatience flashing in his eyes.
He didn't know why this animal was hostile towards him, but he didn't have time to waste on such trivial matters.
He bent down, reaching out to pick up Carol.
Just as his fingertips were about to touch Carol, the orange cat moved.
It didn't pounce like a normal cat; instead, it suddenly opened its mouth where it stood.
Then, a scene that shattered the worldview of all Earthlings present occurred.
That small cat's mouth, in a completely illogical manner, instantly split open to a terrifying degree.
Immediately following, several thick, pink tentacles covered in mucus and barbs, like xenomorphs erupting from the Earth, surged out of its mouth, bringing a Blood Wind and lightning-fast, coiled around Yon-Rogg!
"Holy shit!"
Chu Hang, watching this scene from the shadows, felt his eyeballs almost pop out.
He knew this cat, named "Goose," wasn't an ordinary cat; it was one of the most dangerous creatures in the Universe, an Accuser.
But damn it, the knowledge from books and the images in movies were completely different concepts from witnessing this thing play out live in front of him!
This cat, it's not normal at all!
Yon-Rogg's reaction was extremely fast.
The moment the tentacles struck, he leaped back abruptly, while the energy gun on his arm reactivated, firing a barrage at the wildly flailing tentacles.
Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!
The energy beams accurately hit the tentacles, but only left small charred spots on them, emitting puffs of smoke, unable to sever them.
The tentacles seemed to feel no pain; their offensive became even more ferocious, dancing and intertwining in the air, blocking all of Yon-Rogg's escape routes.
Fury and Coulson were completely dumbfounded.
They stood with their mouths agape, staring blankly as tentacles more than ten times larger than its body emerged from the orange cat's mouth, chasing and lashing a powerful alien across the hangar, their brains directly crashing.
"What... what is that thing?"
Coulson's voice trembled.
Fury didn't answer; he just stared intently at the cat, his eyes filled with shock, horror, and a hint of... inexplicable excitement.
He realized that his understanding of this Universe had been completely overturned today.
"Meow!"
The Accuser seemed to be enraged; it let out a sharp roar, and more tentacles surged from its mouth.
One of them, like a long whip, bypassed Yon-Rogg's block and lashed fiercely across his face.
Smack!
A crisp sound.
Yon-Rogg stumbled from the whip, a bloody mark instantly appearing on his face.
He was completely enraged.
"Damn beast!"
He roared, no longer holding back, his entire body's energy instantly erupting, forming a light blue shield that temporarily repelled all incoming tentacles.
He gave up on taking Carol, turned, and charged towards the Accuser, preparing to deal with this disgusting monster first.
As he became entangled with the Accuser, Fury's gaze was drawn to another matter.
When the Accuser attacked Yon-Rogg, it seemed to find Fury too close and in the way, so it impatiently flicked out a small tentacle, wanting to push him aside.
Fury subconsciously raised his hand to block.
Then, he felt a sharp stinging pain in his left eye.
He grunted, covering his eye.
When he released his hand again, his fingers were already covered in blood.
Three parallel, deep claw marks streaked across his eye socket; one of them directly pierced his eyeball.
Excruciating pain struck, but Fury merely gritted his teeth, not uttering a sound.
He didn't even look at his wound; he just stared intently at the surreal battle, as if wanting to engrave everything into his mind.
Chu Hang took all of this in from the shadows.
He knew this was the reason Fury lost his left eye.
It wasn't some glorious scar left from saving the World on the battlefield, but rather an impatient scratch from an alien creature that looked like a cat.
If this story got out, it would probably become S.H.I.E.L.D.'s annual joke.
However, this was a good thing for him.
The appearance of the Accuser completely disrupted the entire battlefield.
Yon-Rogg was firmly entangled, unable to attend to anything else.
The surviving Kree Soldiers, seeing their Commander in a tough fight, also turned their guns, attempting to provide support, which greatly reduced the pressure on the SHIELD Agents.
The entire hangar became a real mess.
And this mess was the perfect cover Chu Hang had been waiting for.
His gaze quickly swept across the entire hangar, his brain, boosted by the super soldier serum, operating at an unprecedented speed, instantly mapping out the safest escape route.
Through the burning wreckage, around to the other side of the hangar, there was an entrance to the ground crew maintenance tunnel.
Going down there would allow him to avoid all surveillance and forces on the ground, leading directly to the Base's sewage system.
Once in the sewage system, it would be like a fish entering the vast sea, and no one would ever find him again.
His body moved.
There was no Earth-shattering aura, nor any magnificent light and shadow effects.
He simply moved like the most ordinary Soldier who had miraculously survived on the battlefield, hunched over, using the fire of explosions and thick smoke as cover, step by step, firmly and quickly, moving away from the chaotic core area.
As he passed Fury and Coulson, all of their attention was on the Accuser, and they didn't even notice this "corpse" in a white prison uniform move.
He bypassed several fiercely engaged battlefields, bullets and energy beams whizzing past his scalp, but he didn't even blink.
Finally, he reached the unassuming maintenance tunnel entrance.
It was a heavy iron door, with a thick lock hanging on it.
Chu Hang looked back.
Yon-Rogg also seemed to realize that further entanglement with this unkillable monster was pointless.
He feigned a move, forced back the Accuser's tentacles, then flipped over and rushed towards the Kree spaceship that had landed earlier.
"Retreat! All units retreat!"
He roared into the communicator.
The receiving beam lit up again, sucking him and the unconscious Carol into the spaceship.
Immediately after, the spaceship's engine let out a huge roar, rapidly ascending and disappearing through the hole in the hangar's ceiling.
With the Commander's withdrawal, the remaining Kree Soldiers also began to fight and retreat, and soon all of them had left the battlefield.
Inside the hangar, only a scene of desolation remained, along with a group of SHIELD Agents who had survived the ordeal and were still shaken.
And that orange cat.
It seemed to have enjoyed the fight, slowly retracting all its tentacles, and reverting to its harmless, cute appearance.
It yawned, licked its paws, then walked with elegant cat steps to the feet of Fury, who was covering his eye and pale, affectionately rubbing its head against his pant leg, purring again.
Fury looked down at this "cat" that had just been ferocious but was now acting cute and spoiled, his expression extremely complex.
Chu Hang withdrew his gaze.
He knew that Captain Marvel's story had begun.
And Chu Hang's story would also turn a new chapter at this moment.
He turned around, looking at the sturdy padlock in front of him, and slowly extended his right hand.
A faint, almost invisible golden light flashed across his palm.
Click.
The internal structure of the lock cylinder, made of special alloy, was instantly twisted and destroyed by an invisible force, emitting a crisp snapping sound.
Chu Hang pulled open the iron door, without the slightest hesitation, and slipped into the deep darkness leading to freedom.
Chapter 60 Regaining Freedom
The iron gate closed behind him with a dull thud, its echo rolling a few times in the dark passage before reluctantly fading away.
This sound was like a rest note, forcibly interrupting the mad symphony of explosions, beams, and monster tentacles that had filled the space behind him. The Worldwas split in two: one side was the hellish clamor, the other, the deep, deathly silent, dark tunnel before him.
Chu Hang didn't look back.
He leaned limply against the cold iron door, his chest heaving violently as he gulped down the stale air. Adrenaline rapidly dissipated like a receding tide, leaving behind a bone-deep fatigue that threatened to crush him. His legs felt like they were filled with lead, so heavy they barely belonged to him, and every muscle in his body screamed in soreness, protesting the extreme exertion he had just endured. His mind was a chaotic mess, as if countless bees buzzed inside, making his head spin.
The act of forcibly twisting off the lock cylinder just now, seemingly simple and brutal, had almost drained the last bit of energy he could muster. He felt like an old battery, completely depleted of power; its shell was intact, but its interior was utterly empty.
He slid slowly down the cold wall, his body uncontrollably giving way, until he finally sat on the cold concrete floor.
The passage was pitch black, a pure, unadulterated darkness where he couldn't see his hand in front of his face. The air was filled with a complex, indescribable smell: the metallic tang of rust, the greasy scent of engine oil, and the musty odor of old, damp dust, all mixed together, assaulting his nostrils and making him nauseous. From the pipes overhead, the occasional 'gurgle' of liquid flowing added a strange vitality to the deathly silence. And in the distance, the monotonous and persistent hum of the Base's alarm, like the faint but stubborn heartbeat of a dying person, reached him, reminding him that danger had not yet passed.
He was safe, but only temporarily.
Chu Hang closed his eyes, immersing his entire consciousness within himself, trying to perceive his body's condition. That new, immense power he had forcibly integrated now lay like a giant snake in hibernation, quiet and heavy, coiled in every corner of his body, from muscle fibers to the depths of his bones. He could clearly feel its presence, a vast and boundless existence that carried its own oppressive force, yet he could no longer command it at will as he had in the hangar. It had become sluggish, inert, as if filled with wariness and aloofness towards its new Master.
The system panel in his consciousness remained a deathly gray, unresponsive no matter how he called out. It seemed that his greatest reliance, the 'cheat' he had always depended on, had truly exhausted its energy and fallen into slumber. When it would awaken was a complete unknown.
Without the system's assistance and guidance, he felt like a farmer who had never encountered modern technology, suddenly thrown into the cockpit of the most advanced fighter jet. He knew the machine beneath him possessed World-destroying power, but he couldn't even understand the symbols on the dashboard, let alone how to start the engine or pull the control stick.
Everything had to be figured out by himself.
"Energy Perception..." He silently recited the name of his newly acquired ability in his mind.
Fortunately, this ability seemed to have integrated with his senses, becoming a passive instinct that didn't require active activation. With a slight shift of thought, a whole new World unfolded in his mind. He could 'see' cooling liquid with faint energy reactions slowly flowing in the thick pipes above; he could 'see' the dense network of cables deep within the walls emitting stable and regular energy fluctuations, like the blood vessels of this steel behemoth. The entire massive underground Basegradually outlined itself in his mind as a crude three-dimensional map woven from countless energy Veins.
This was a blessing in disguise. At least, he wouldn't wander aimlessly like a headless fly, completely lost in this underground labyrinth.
He sat there, resting for about five minutes, or perhaps longer. Time lost its meaning here. He forced himself to pull out the last bit of food from his pocket—an energy bar he had pilfered from a S.H.I.E.L.D. cell, hard and tasteless. He chewed and swallowed mechanically; after the food went down, a faint warmth rose in his stomach, then spread through his limbs, finally restoring a tiny, insignificant bit of strength.
He couldn't stay any longer. This thought clearly emerged in his mind.
He knew better than anyone what kind of person Nick Fury was. The One-Eyed Man's desire for control and his paranoia were almost obsessive. He, the 'missing prisoner,' would definitely become the biggest suspicious point in his eyes. Once S.H.I.E.L.D. realized what happened and completely sealed off the entire Base, he would truly be a turtle in a jar, with no wings to fly.
He leaned against the rough wall, his legs trembling, and shakily stood up.
Based on the real-time updated energy map in his mind, he cautiously avoided all areas with strong energy reactions—those places were brightly lit, energy converged, and likely to be heavily guarded outposts or important functional areas like command centers. He chose a route with the weakest and most inconspicuous energy fluctuations, like a ghost, blending into the darkness, and walked resolutely in a direction he had identified.
He remembered clearly that all large military Bases, especially those built by the sea, would inevitably have a massive sewage system leading to the outside World. That was an engineering necessity, and his only way out at this moment... Meanwhile, in Hangar B7.
The piercing alarm had been silenced, but the aftershocks of chaos still spread. Medics pushed stretchers through the messy scene, racing against time to treat the injured. Phil Coulson was directing the surviving Agents to clear debris and assess damages. The entire hangar was like ruins ravaged by a giant Beast, the air filled with the strange smell of burnt protein and the pungent odor of melted metal, making one nauseous.
Nick Fury sat on a relatively intact equipment crate, expressionless, allowing a young female medic to carefully treat the wound on his left eye with tweezers holding a cotton ball soaked in disinfectant.
"Officer, the wound is very deep, it penetrated the eyeball... the intraocular tissue is completely necrotic, I'm afraid..." The medic's voice carried a hint of reluctance and tremor; she dared not finish her sentence.
"State the result." Fury's voice was unusually calm, chillingly calm, devoid of any emotional fluctuation.
The female medic took a deep breath, as if making a huge decision: "...Your left eye, it cannot be saved."
Fury was silent. There was no anticipated anger, nor any painful wailing. He simply slowly raised his hand and gently touched the fresh scar on his face, stretching from his forehead to his cheek. The skin there still burned, as if a branding iron had repeatedly rolled over it, constantly reminding him how real and how absurd everything that had just happened was.
Aliens, energy weapons, and an orange cat that could extend countless disgusting tentacles.
His worldview, built over decades on logic and reality, was shattered tonight by these unbelievable things.
Coulson hurried over, his face as pale as the hangar lights, his expression grim. "Officer, personnel count is complete. We lost seventeen Agents, thirty-four injured. As for those Kree... they left no bodies, as if they vanished into thin air."
Fury nodded; this was within his expectations. "Anything else?" He knew Coulson's report wouldn't end there.
Coulson hesitated, leaning slightly forward, lowering his voice to a whisper only the two of them could hear: "One more thing. The prisoner we brought back from the glacier... Chu Hang, he's gone."
Fury's remaining right eye narrowed sharply, his gaze like a blade instantly drawn from its sheath, sharp enough to pierce the air.
"Gone?"
"Yes." Coulson immediately handed him a tablet. "His cell is empty, the lock forcibly broken from the inside. Surveillance shows that after the Base fell into chaos, he entered the B7 Hangar area, and then... there are no more video records. Our men searched the entire hangar, found no body, and no bloodstains."
Fury took the tablet; the screen displayed Chu Hang's file photo. A black-haired, black-eyed Asian man, his eyes as calm as deep Water, showing nothing particularly special. His file record was pitifully simple: a World War IISoldier, an auxiliary member of the Howling Commandos, who fell into a glacier with Captain Americaduring their last mission, his physical functions miraculously maintained at peak condition due to an unknown reason.
A veteran who had slept for over fifty years.
Fury's mind raced, countless clues colliding and connecting within it.
The light-speed engine exploded, and a pilot named Carol Danvers disappeared.
Immediately after, this mysterious prisoner, who also appeared near the explosion site and was also under S.H.I.E.L.D. control, also vanished into thin air during the chaos.
Was all this a coincidence?
Nick Fury never believed in coincidences; he only believed in meticulously planned conspiracies and uncontrollable variables.
He remembered the man's state when he was discovered from the ice, his World War II military uniform that was out of place in this era, and even more, that body, warm like a living person, completely defying all scientific logic.
"Raise his security level to the highest." Fury handed the tablet back to Coulson, his voice as cold as a Siberian wind, "Immediately seal all exits and conduct a carpet search of the entire Base. I want him alive or his body."
"Yes, Officer." Coulson saluted and replied.
"Wait." Fury called out to Coulson, who was about to turn and leave, "The search operation must be conducted in secret. I don't want a third person, besides you and me, to know that we lost a 'prisoner'."
Coulson was startled at first, but immediately understood Fury's deeper meaning and nodded heavily: "Understood."
Watching Coulson's hurried departure, Fury slowly stood up, dragging his weary body, and walked over to the orange cat.
"Goose" seemed equally exhausted, lazily sprawled on the ground, meticulously licking its paws, as if the devouring spectacle just now had nothing to do with it. Seeing Fury approach, it merely lifted its head, let out an innocent "meow," its emerald eyes full of purity.
Fury stared at it for a very long time, his gaze incredibly complex, containing wariness, curiosity, and even a hint of... desire.
"I'd best keep an eye on you." He said softly, as if to himself, yet also like issuing a notification to this unfathomable creature.
This World had become increasingly dangerous and increasingly unfamiliar. He needed more weapons, more trump cards, to deal with threats lurking in the Shadow, and even from beyond the star sea.
A man who emerged from the ice, with a mysterious past, and who mysteriously disappeared.
And a cat... that could devour an elite Kree squad.
His gaze finally passed through the huge hole smashed in the hangar and turned towards the deep, boundless night sky, adorned with brilliant stars.
"Avengers..." He softly uttered a word deeply buried in his heart, never before spoken to anyone.
Perhaps, it was time... Chu Hang didn't know how long he had walked in the intricate underground pipes.
An hour, or two hours. In this confined space, the sense of time became blurred and dull.
The surrounding passages grew wider, and the stench in the air intensified, evolving from the initial musty smell to the foul odor of various chemical wastes and domestic garbage mixed and fermenting. He knew he was not far from his goal.
Finally, at a fork in the road, he turned into a huge circular pipe with a diameter of over two meters. A strong, putrid stench, a mixture of various foul substances, assailed him, so overpowering and penetrating that it made his stomach churn, almost making him vomit on the spot.
But he didn't care.
Because he heard it.
At the end of the pipe, cutting through layers of stench, came the most beautiful sound he had ever heard in his life—the rhythmic crashing of waves against rocks.
That was the symphony of freedom.
He suppressed his nausea, wading with difficulty through the knee-deep, viscous sewage. His body's exhaustion had reached its limit; although his Healing Factor was slowly repairing his damaged muscles, the depletion of energy could not be compensated. Every step was like walking on a knife's edge, consuming his last bit of willpower.
He finally reached the end of the pipe.
A circular exit sealed by a thick, rusty iron grate.
Through the gaps in the grate, he could see the shimmering dark sea outside, smell the salty sea breeze, and feel the cold, biting air of freedom.
Only this last step remained.
He used every ounce of his remaining strength, his hands gripping the cold, slimy iron grate tightly.
"Let... me... out!"
He gritted his teeth, veins bulging in his neck, letting out a Beast-like growl from deep in his throat. The muscles in his arms bulged, like gnarled old tree roots. The immense power granted to him by the super soldier serum was squeezed to its limit at this moment; every cell burned.
Crack—creak—
The iron grate let out a groaning, teeth-grinding sound under the unbearable stress. The concrete Base to which it was welded began to show spiderweb-like cracks, and chips of stone and dust rattled down, mixing into the sewage below.
Chu Hang felt as if his arms were about to be torn off. But he didn't let go; instead, he put his entire body weight into it, pulling even more wildly.
CRACK!
A crisp, loud bang echoed particularly loudly in the empty pipe.
The entire heavy iron grate was torn from the wall by him!
The immense recoil made him unable to support himself any longer; he, along with the twisted iron grate, fell backward, crashing into the seawater outside.
The icy seawater instantly engulfed him, its biting coldness like a sharp blade, piercing his brain instantly, clearing his muddled consciousness. He struggled to surface, like a dying fish, greedily gasping for the salty, fresh air.
He glanced back at the dark, foul-smelling sewage outlet, then looked up at the bright moon and the myriad stars in the sky.
He was out.
He was free.
The exhausted Chu Hang floated on the cold sea surface, abandoning all struggle, letting the gentle waves slowly push him towards the nearby beach. He was washed ashore, lying on the soft, wet sand, gazing at the vast starry sky, his mind a blank.
He survived.
He escaped.
He possessed unimaginable power, even power he couldn't fully control.
What next?
A very realistic question surfaced in his empty mind.
He looked down at his tattered White prisoner's uniform, soaked in sewage; his pockets were empty except for damp sand.
Penniless, without identification, knowing almost nothing about this World he had been separated from for over fifty years.
Alright, Chu Hang.
What now?
Chapter 61 Filling one's stomach is the first priority
The icy seawater was like countless tiny knives, scraping over Chu Hang's skin again and again.
He lay quietly on the wet sand, his body as heavy as trash casually discarded by the waves. The night wind swept past mercilessly, taking away the last trace of warmth from his body, provoking an uncontrollable shiver. Exhaustion, like a persistent disease, permeated every cell from the deepest parts of his body, so heavy that he felt moving even a finger was a luxury.
But he was alive.
That was enough.
Inside his body, a silent repair was underway. The Healing Factor, copied from Logan, like a group of tireless worker ants, slowly but steadily mended his almost shattered body. And the super soldier serum, like a loyal engine, desperately squeezed the last remaining food residue in his body, converting it into negligible energy, barely maintaining a trace of body temperature, resisting the erosion of the seawater. As for the newly acquired, vast cosmic energy, like a lofty god, it still slept peacefully deep within him, indifferent to its host's life-or-death predicament.
Chu Hang just lay there, motionless. Time seemed to lose its meaning; perhaps it was more than ten minutes, or perhaps longer. He greedily enjoyed this moment of peace after surviving a catastrophe, letting his body's instincts take over everything, carrying out the most primitive self-repair.
It wasn't until the bone-chilling sensation of potentially shattering gradually receded, replaced by a stiff numbness from being frozen solid, that he finally mustered a bit of strength. He laboriously propped himself up with his elbows, and with difficulty, sat up on the soft sand.
He raised his head and looked around.
This was a typical California beach. In the distance, the city lights outlined a blurry yet brilliant silhouette against the deep night sky, like a distant and illusory sea of stars. Closer to view, a few beachfront Villas with private docks were sparsely lit, exuding an indescribable loneliness in the boundless darkness.
Chu Hang lowered his head and examined himself. A tattered White prison uniform, soaked with seawater and unknown filth, clung stickily to his body, emitting a nauseating sour smell. In this state, let alone in 1995, even if he were thrown back into his familiar twenty-first century, it would be enough for any passerby to pull out their phone within three seconds and frantically dial the police.
Something had to be done.
The first priority was to change out of these conspicuous clothes, and then find some food to fill his already empty stomach.
Man is iron, rice is steel; one meal missed and hunger strikes. This simple and crude truth applied equally whether in the war-torn trenches of World War II or in the decadent California of the nineties.
As for how to survive in this familiar yet strange era, and how to use the memories in his mind, which were ahead of the entire World, to obtain his first pot of gold, those were concerns for after the problem of food and clothing was solved.
He swayed to his feet, like a homeless man who had been drunk all night, stumbling along, leaving the cold beach, and trudging towards the distant city lights. He did not choose the wide, flat main road, but instinctively burrowed into the roadside woods and the shadows of buildings, like a startled Beast, carefully avoiding all places where vehicles and pedestrians might appear.
His current condition was extremely poor. Although the Healing Factor was still working, severe energy depletion had left him extremely weak, and any unnecessary attention could bring fatal trouble.
After walking in the darkness for about half an hour, he finally reached the outskirts of the city. This area was more like a chaotic and disorderly urban-rural fringe, with low, dilapidated houses crowded together, narrow and messy streets, and walls covered with colorful, meaningless graffiti. The air was filled with a nauseating mixture of the sour smell of decaying garbage and the sweet scent of burning low-quality marijuana.
Just as he turned into a dimly lit, narrow alley, his footsteps suddenly stopped.
His hearing, enhanced by the super soldier serum, keenly picked up sounds coming from around the corner ahead—suppressed arguments, crude curses, and a woman's tearful pleas.
"Hand over all the damn money! Hurry, bitch!" a hoarse, rough male voice broke the silence.
"Please, let me go... I really don't have any money..." a woman's voice trembled, full of despair.
"Stop talking nonsense! Search her!" another voice ordered viciously.
Chu Hang's face was devoid of any expression. He was not some superhero brimming with a sense of justice, especially when he himself was on the verge of starving to death. His first reaction was to bypass this trouble; it was better to avoid trouble than to stir it up. In this unfamiliar World, survival was the first rule.
However, just as he was about to quietly retreat and find another way, a crisp, loud slap echoed from deeper in the alley, followed by the woman's even more piercing cries.
The sound stung his eardrums.
Chu Hang frowned and stopped his retreat. He leaned against the cold, rough wall, closed his eyes, and although the dormant cosmic energy could not be mobilized, his innate energy perception ability quietly unfolded.
Instantly, a three-dimensional "map" formed in his mind. Deep in the alley, three "humanoid" outlines emitting faint energy light points were clearly visible; their energy fluctuations were full of violence, greed, and chaos. And surrounded by them, there was an even fainter, almost extinguished light point, from which pure fear and despair emanated.
Three street thugs robbing a woman returning home from work late at night. An incredibly clichéd script, played out in countless corners of this city every day.
Chu Hang slowly opened his eyes, his gaze no longer showing any hesitation, replaced by a cold resolve. He wasn't suddenly overcome with kindness, wanting to act heroically. He simply realized in that instant that this trouble before him was precisely the best shortcut to solving all his current predicaments.
He needed clothes, he needed money, he needed a hot meal. And these three people in front of him seemed like "kind people" who could "generously" provide him with all of it.
He no longer hesitated, taking steps towards the depths of the alley. His footsteps were incredibly light, silent, like a leopard stalking in the night, preparing to hunt.
At the end of the alley, three young men wearing baggy T-shirts and sagging pants, with thick metal chains around their necks, were cornering a woman in a restaurant server's uniform against the wall. One of them, with dyed blond hair, was roughly tearing at the woman's shoulder bag, while another burly Black man, with a lewd smile, reached out a dirty hand to touch the woman's face. Another tall, thin man leaned casually against the opposite wall, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, enjoying his companions' wicked acts with interest.
They were engrossed in their atrocities, and none of them noticed that a ghostly figure had silently appeared behind them.
The tall, thin man with the cigarette was the first to sense something amiss. He felt as if a Shadow had appeared out of nowhere behind him, and a bone-chilling coldness shot up his spine without warning.
He sharply turned his head.
In his vision was an expressionless face, and a fist rapidly enlarging in his pupils.
Bang!
A dull, extremely heavy thud, like a sledgehammer smashing a watermelon.
The tall, thin man couldn't even let out a groan before he collapsed limply to the ground like a puddle of mud. His nasal bridge was deeply caved in at a grotesque angle, and blood mixed with White brain matter slowly oozed from his nostrils and ears.
Chu Hang didn't even spare him a glance. The moment his fist connected with the target, his body had already snapped into action like a powerful bow instantly tensed and released, abruptly turning towards the Black strongman.
The Black strongman heard the unusual sound behind him and had only turned halfway when, before he could even see what had happened, he felt an irresistible, terrifying force kick hard into the outside of his knee.
Crack!
The crisp sound of bone breaking was particularly jarring in the dead silent alley.
"Ah—!"
The Black strongman let out a piercing, inhuman scream, clutching his leg, which was twisted at a ninety-degree angle, and crashed to the ground. The intense pain instantly robbed him of all ability to resist.
Now, only the blond-haired man, who was still rummaging through the bag, remained. This sudden, bloody turn of events scared him out of his wits, and the shoulder bag in his hand dropped to the ground with a "thud." He stared in horror at Chu Hang, who seemed like a demon descended, his lips trembling violently, unable to utter a single word.
Chu Hang walked towards him step by step, unhurriedly, each step feeling like it was treading on the blond-haired man's heart.
"You... don't come any closer! Do you know who I am?!" the blond-haired man shrieked, his bravado masking his fear, and he tremblingly pulled out a switchblade from his pocket, waving it wildly in front of him, trying to embolden himself.
A flicker of undisguised impatience crossed Chu Hang's eyes. He didn't even bother to dodge; just as the knife was about to stab his chest, he struck like lightning, precisely grabbing the blond-haired man's wrist.
The blond-haired man felt as if his wrist had been clamped in a red-hot iron vise, and excruciating pain instantly spread throughout his body, making him cry out in agony.
Chu Hang was expressionless; he merely exerted a slight force on his wrist.
Snap.
With a faint crisp sound, the blond-haired man's wrist was effortlessly crushed by him. The switchblade clattered to the ground, making a clear ringing sound on the concrete.
"Ah ah ah! My hand!" the blond-haired man rolled on the ground in pain, wailing incessantly.
Chu Hang ignored him. He bent down and deftly stripped the relatively clean Black jacket and a pair of jeans from the unconscious tall, thin man. Then, from the pocket of the Black strongman who was clutching his broken leg and screaming, he pulled out a crumpled, sweat-stained roll of banknotes.
He quickly counted them: one hundred twenty-seven U.S. dollars.
Not much, but enough.
Throughout the entire process, the robbed waitress remained curled in the corner, watching Chu Hang's every move with a horrified, monster-like gaze.
Chu Hang quickly put on the jacket and jeans. Although the size wasn't quite right, it was a thousand times better than that conspicuous prison uniform. He casually stuffed the money into his pocket, then walked up to the trembling woman.
The woman shivered, closing her eyes in despair, believing she was finally doomed.
However, the expected assault did not come. Chu Hangmerely bent down, picked up her fallen shoulder bag, and gently placed it in front of her.
Then, without a word, he turned and melted into the deeper darkness of the alley.
From his appearance to his departure, he did not say a single word.
Stepping out of the alley and back onto the dimly lit street, Chu Hang felt as if he had finally come alive. He had normal clothes on, and money in his pocket; though not much, the sense of solid reality allowed his long-strained nerves to finally relax.
He found a twenty-four-hour convenience store on the street.
"One hot dog, one Coke, and today's newspaper," he said to the drowsy clerk behind the counter in somewhat rusty, unfamiliar English.
Soon, he sat on the cold steps outside the convenience store, wolfing down his first hot meal in this era. The hot dog's sauce tasted cheap, and the bread wasn't soft enough, but for someone who had been "hungry" both physically and psychologically for almost fifty years, this was simply the ultimate delicacy. The cold Coke slid down his throat, and the bubbly sweetness rushed straight to his head, making him sigh contentedly.
After eating, he unfolded the ink-scented newspaper.
The front-page headline was a deep analysis of the Middle East situation, which he had no interest in. He flipped directly to the middle of the newspaper and found today's date.
May 8, 1995.
The time was roughly as he had expected.
His gaze quickly scanned the newspaper, searching for familiar yet unfamiliar names. Microsoft, Apple, Netscape... one by one, terms representing an era's trend and destined to stir up global changes in the future, were quietly presented before him. He quickly noticed an inconspicuous small news item tucked into a corner, reporting that a small internet company named "Yahoo" had just secured a new round of financing and was actively preparing for its initial public offering next year.
A meaningful smile slowly curved Chu Hang's lips.
He knew where his first pot of gold was.
The night wind was still biting cold, but a blazing Fire ignited in his heart. The crisis of survival had been temporarily resolved; next, it was time for this half-century-old antique to claim what was rightfully his from this new and opportunity-filled World.
He drained the remaining half bottle of Coke, carefully folded the invaluable newspaper, tucked it into his pocket, then stood up, straightened his back, and disappeared into the deepest darkness before dawn.
Chapter 62 The First Pot of Gold in the 1990s
He had a sleepless night.
But Chu Hang didn't feel the slightest bit of fatigue. As the first ray of dawn pierced the darkness, gilding the sleeping city with a hazy golden edge, he stood in a cheap motel room, facing the mirror, scrutinizing a brand-new him.
The hot shower not only washed away all the dirt from his body and the nauseating smell of the sewer pipe, but it also seemed to wash away the coldness and numbness that had lasted for nearly fifty years. A cheap razor bought from the convenience store on the corner shaved off the messy stubble on his face, revealing a face with sharp features. This face was peculiar; it retained the delicate contours of his previous life as an office worker, yet the fires of World War II and the slumber in the glacier had mercilessly etched upon it a sense of World-weariness and toughness far beyond his age.
The man in the mirror had black hair and black eyes, his gaze as calm as an unfathomable ancient well, without a ripple. He wore a black jacket and jeans stripped from a street thug, slightly oversized, but draped over his perfect, super soldier serum-reforged physique, it gave him a hint of rebellious nonchalance.
He was no longer the old Soldier who slept in the glacier, nor the office worker who died suddenly in the office. He was Chu Hang, a ghost living in 1995, a pauper with a treasure trove but no money.
He pulled out the crumpled wad of cash from his pocket and spread it on the bed, counting it carefully. After deducting the motel room fee and the cost of last night's ravenous meal, he had one hundred and three U.S. dollars left.
One hundred and three U.S. dollars.
Chu Hang looked at the money and gave a self-deprecating smile. What could this amount of money do? Let alone investing in Yahoo stocks in Silicon Valley, it wasn't even enough to buy a computer with internet access. In this era, he had no identity, no account, and no startup capital. The business plans in his mind, decades ahead of the World, were like treasure maps printed on waste paper, worthless, just a joke.
He needed money, a large sum of money.
What was the fastest way to get money?
Countless thoughts flashed through Chu Hang's mind. Rob a bank? Too risky, too much commotion. What he needed most now was to keep a low profile, to blend into this World like a true ghost. Become a mercenary? He was quite familiar with it, but he couldn't find reliable connections for a while, and he didn't want to expose himself to certain organizations too early.
His gaze finally fell on his hands, with their distinct knuckles, long and strong. These hands, strengthened by the super soldier serum, possessed strength, speed, and neural reaction capabilities far beyond ordinary people. His brain, moreover, was a human supercomputer, with processing speed and memory reaching a terrifying level.
So, there seemed to be only one answer left.
Gambling.
For ordinary people, a casino is a bottomless pit that devours wealth and lives. But for him at this moment, it was simply an ATM with its vault doors wide open, just waiting for him to withdraw.
He carefully refolded the precious newspaper, tucked it into the inner pocket of his jacket, and then pushed the door open and left the motel.
During the day, he didn't rush into action. He spent a few U.S. dollars on lunch at a street-side fast-food restaurant, then wandered aimlessly through the streets like a true tourist. As he walked, he greedily observed this World, both familiar and strange, stuffing all useful information into his mind. The car brands on the street, the prices in shop windows, the clothes of pedestrians... everything helped him quickly fill the fifty-year gap in his knowledge, transforming him from a living fossil of an era back into a modern person.
Night fell again.
Chu Hang walked into a bar located in a mixed-income neighborhood on the city's edge. As he pushed open the door, dim lights, deafening heavy metal music, and the murky air filled with a mixture of alcohol, cigarettes, and hormones rushed towards him. On the dance floor, people twisted their bodies wildly, releasing the suppression accumulated during the day.
Chu Hang walked straight to the bar and ordered the cheapest beer.
"Hey, buddy." He nudged a White fat man who was drinking alone next to him with his elbow, and asked in a low voice, "Want to earn some extra cash?"
The fat man looked at him with bleary eyes and waved his hand impatiently: "Get lost, kid, I'm not in the mood."
Chu Hang wasn't angry. He silently pushed a twenty-U.S. dollar bill next to the fat man's beer glass. The green Franklin was particularly tempting in the dim light.
The fat man's eyes instantly lit up. He subtly covered the banknote with his large palm, quickly slipped it into his pocket like a magic trick, then cautiously scanned his surroundings before leaning in: "What do you want to know?"
"Around here, where can I play cards?" Chu Hang asked, "The kind with high stakes."
The fat man scrutinized him up and down, a hint of unconcealed suspicion and contempt in his eyes, his expression as if to say: With your poor appearance, you want to play high stakes? But he still, for the sake of the money, whispered an address: "Behind that street, there's an Underground Room called 'Queen of Spades'. The boss is called Butcher, and he has a bad temper. Kid, I advise you not to cause trouble there."
"Thanks."
Chu Hang put down his almost untouched beer glass and turned to leave the bar.
Following the address the fat man gave, he quickly found the so-called "Queen of Spades." The entrance was a defunct dry cleaner, with only an inconspicuous side door ajar. Two brawny men, like iron towers, stood at the door, watching every approaching person with indifferent eyes, like two door gods.
Chu Hang walked over.
"Member?" One of the strong men extended his fan-like arm to stop him, his voice as rough as sandpaper.
"A friend introduced me," Chu Hang replied calmly, his gaze not flinching in the slightest.
The strong man scrutinized him for a few seconds, apparently seeing no threat from his somewhat slender physique, then he stepped aside, clearing a path.
Pushing open the heavy iron door, a more intense wave of heat mixed with sweat and cigar smoke rushed out. The Underground Room was bustling with people, filled with smoke that made one's eyes sting. The space here wasn't large, but it was fully equipped, with people playing dice, roulette, but the most crowded were the several blackjack tables in the center.
Chu Hang's goal was clear. He walked directly to the table with the lowest stakes, exchanging all his remaining eighty-three U.S. dollars for chips.
He sat down, waiting quietly, like a stone thrown into a lake, without causing any ripples.
The game began.
The dealer was an expressionless middle-aged man, with long fingers, his dealing movements skilled and mechanical, as if repeated tens of thousands of times.
Chu Hang didn't rush to bet. He just watched quietly, like a newcomer, cautiously observing the situation at the card table. But in reality, his brain was operating at a terrifying speed.
Every card dealt was firmly memorized by him. The subtle, almost imperceptible, specific rhythm of the cards rubbing when the dealer shuffled, the fleeting micro-expressions on other gamblers' faces when they asked for a card or stood, even their heartbeats instantly quickening due to tension or excitement... all this information was captured by his superhuman senses, then integrated, analyzed, and calculated in his brain.
For him, this was no longer a gamble.
This was a math problem. A math problem for which he already knew all the given conditions.
After observing two rounds, he started to bet.
His betting amount was very small, placing only one chip of the lowest denomination each time. But each time, he could choose to hit or stand at the most crucial moment. His hand always managed to narrowly beat the dealer in the most cunning and incredible ways.
Either it was twenty-one, or it was twenty.
He won five consecutive rounds.
Although he didn't win much money, this one hundred percent win rate had already begun to attract the dealer's attention. The dealer's dealing movements began to become somewhat unnatural, and his eyes always intentionally or unintentionally glanced in his direction.
Chu Hang didn't care. He pushed all his winnings forward, increasing his bet.
What followed was a pure solo performance.
His chips, like a snowball, grew bigger and bigger. The other gamblers at the table, who were initially indifferent, turned to shock and curiosity. A few guys, whose eyes were red from losing, started betting with him and won a few small hands, looking at him with adoration, as if they had seen the God of Wealth.
Half an hour later, the chips in front of Chu Hang had grown from the pitiful eighty-three dollars to a small mountain worth over five thousand dollars.
Beads of sweat had already seeped onto the dealer's forehead. He shot a subtle look for help at a manager in a suit, who was patrolling nearby.
The manager walked over, patted the dealer's shoulder without a word, and personally took his place.
"Kid, you've got good luck." The new manager wore a professional smile, but his eyes held a hint of unconcealed coldness. His shuffling movements were much faster and flashier than the previous dealer's, clearly indicating he was an old hand.
Chu Hang smiled, said nothing, and pushed half of his chips forward.
A new round began.
The manager's movements were as fast as lightning, and even at the moment of dealing, his wrist had an almost imperceptible tremor. He intended to cheat using these small tricks common in casinos.
But under Chu Hang's dynamic vision, all of his actions were like slow-motion replays in a movie, every detail crystal clear.
"Hit me," Chu Hang said indifferently.
The manager dealt him a card.
"Continue."
Another card.
"Stop."
The manager's face changed. He took a deep breath, flipped over his hole card, nineteen points. A rather good score.
Chu Hang flipped over his cards. An A and a 10. No more, no less, exactly twenty-one points.
A suppressed gasp echoed throughout the room, and all eyes focused on this mysterious Eastern youth.
The manager's smile completely vanished. He stared intently at Chu Hang, as if trying to discern something from his face.
"You're cheating!" He slammed his hand on the table and roared, trying to intimidate the other party with his presence.
Chu Hang leaned back lazily in his chair, shrugging his hands, looking innocent: "I'm just lucky, and I'm good at math."
"Take him to the back for a 'chat'!" The manager gestured to two thugs standing by the wall.
The two burly men, both over six feet tall, immediately walked over and flanked Chu Hang, their huge shadows engulfing him.
"Sir, our boss would like to invite you for a cup of tea," one of the burly men said with a fake smile, his hand on Chu Hang's shoulder gripping like an iron vice, strong enough to crush a normal person's collarbone.
Chu Hang obediently stood up, his face still bearing that calm and composed smile. He glanced at the pile of chips on the table, which already exceeded ten thousand U.S. dollars, and said to the manager, whose face was ashen: "Keep an eye on them for me, they're mine."
With that, he followed the two burly men into a small room behind the casino.
The room was simple, with only a table and a few chairs. A bald, chubby man with a flowery shirt and a menacing face was sitting behind the table, slowly wiping a silver revolver with a velvet cloth. He was the boss here, the Butcher.
"Kid, you've got guts to cheat in my place," the Butcher said without looking up, his voice dull and suppressed, as if squeezed from his chest.
Chu Hang pulled out a chair, sat down uninvited, and even crossed his legs: "I told you, I'm just good at math."
"Good at math?" The Butcher sneered, then slammed the gun down on the table with a bang. "I don't care how good your damn math is. Leave the money you won, then break one of your own hands, and this matter will be over today."
Chu Hang burst out laughing as if he had heard the funniest joke, his laughter echoing particularly clearly in the small room.
"What are you laughing at?" The Butcher's face darkened, and the air in the room seemed to solidify.
The two burly men standing behind Chu Hang also took a step forward simultaneously, their joints cracking with loud pops, surrounding him with ill intent.
Chu Hang's smile faded, and his eyes instantly became icy cold. He slowly stood up, stretched his neck, and a few crisp cracking sounds emanated from his bones.
"I'm laughing at you for getting two things wrong," he said to the Butcher, word for word.
"First, that money is mine. Not a single cent less."
"Second..."
Before he finished speaking, he suddenly moved!
His movements were so fast they were almost imperceptible to the naked eye, leaving only an afterimage!
The burly man on his left only felt a blur before his eyes, and a palm imprinted itself on his chest like a ghost. The force seemed light, yet it contained an unparalleled, terrifying penetrating power. The burly man didn't even feel pain; he only felt a numbness in his chest, as if his heart had been fiercely squeezed by an invisible large hand, instantly stopping its beat. His huge body swayed, then fell straight backward, his pupils dilating, dead on the spot.
At the same time, Chu Hang's body twisted at an incredible angle, his right leg, like a steel whip, swept accurately across the knee of the other burly man with a whistling sound that tore through the air.
"Crack!"
Another bone-chilling snap of bone. The burly man didn't even have time to scream before he collapsed to the ground, clutching his leg, which was bent backward, the intense pain instantly knocking him unconscious.
The entire process happened in a flash, taking less than a second.
The Butcher's sneer froze on his face. He watched the scene unfolding before him, like a demon descending, with utter horror, his mind blank, almost unable to process the information he was seeing. He instinctively reached for the revolver on the table.
But a hand was faster than him.
Chu Hang's figure appeared in front of the table as if teleporting, pressing down on the gun and also on the Butcher's fat hand.
"Ah!" The Butcher let out a shrill scream, feeling as if his hand bones were being crushed alive.
Chu Hang leaned in, close to his ear, and in a voice almost a whisper, devoid of any emotion, he said softly:
"Second, you're the one who needs to lose a hand."
As his words fell, he gripped the Butcher's hand and sharply bent it downward.
"Crack!"
The crisp snap of a breaking wrist, accompanied by the Butcher's heart-wrenching wails, echoed in the small room, sending shivers down one's spine.
Chu Hang released his grip, letting the Butcher writhe and wail on the floor, clutching his limp hand. He picked up the silver revolver, expertly ejected the cylinder, and poured the bullets one by one onto the table, where they clinked and rolled. Then, he tossed the empty gun back onto the Butcher's body.
He pulled a one-U.S. dollar bill from his pocket and gently placed it on the table.
"This is your tip."
With that, he no longer looked at the mess in the room, turned, and walked out the door.
In the casino hall outside, everyone was terrified into silence by the screams coming from the room; the music had stopped at some unknown point. When Chu Hangreappeared, all eyes focused on him, filled with fear and reverence.
He leisurely walked back to the card table, where the pale-faced manager was trembling as he packed all of Chu Hang's chips into a black cloth bag.
Chu Hang took the cloth bag, weighed it in his hand; it was quite heavy.
He didn't even glance at anyone else as he swaggered out of the "Queen of Spades" Underground Room, under the terrified gazes of everyone, returning to the free and cold air.
He carried a bag full of cash in his hand and a newspaper guiding the future in his pocket.
The first pot of gold was in his hands.
Although the process was a bit rough, the result was very satisfying.