"Damn it! My mouth slipped!"
My mind was still reeling, trying to figure out what to do, but my mouth had already blurted it out!
But the problem was... he only had three usable bullets, and there were three opponents.
He glanced at the bottom right of his vision.
"Pistol: Lv0 (12/100)"
"Melee: Lv0 (8/100)"
He was also injured... Haha, the odds were slim.
As he hesitated, the big guy had already pulled out a switchblade.
Zhang Jie gritted his teeth, caught sight of a rusty iron pipe under a bench, and picked it up without thinking.
"Police! Don't move!"
The thugs: ?
You call yourself a cop like that?
A cop with an iron pipe?
"Hahahahaha, police? You? Hahaha!"
In the instant the thugs laughed, Zhang Jie charged out and smashed the iron pipe onto the big guy's knee.
"Ow! F***! You bastard!"
"Hiss~"
The white thug clutched his knee, crying out in pain as he fell to the ground, while Zhang Jie himself gasped, his left shoulder wound tearing.
"Melee: Lv 0 (8 → 9/100)"
"F***! Kill him!"
As the remaining two lunged, he decisively pulled out his pistol... He was going to gamble!
The slightly rusted metal glinted dangerously in the sunlight.
"Get out, or eat a bullet."
"Whoa, hey! Calm down!"
Seeing this, the three quickly raised their hands, their eyes clear, lest this madman's gun accidentally go off. This was America, don't bet that someone's gun is empty!
In the end, they ran off, cursing.
Daisy rubbed against his pant leg, her tail wagging like a helicopter propeller.
"It's alright, little one."
Zhang Jie checked the collar, which clearly read "Daisy Wick."
The sound of dry leaves crunching came from behind him.
"Hey, that's my dog."
The low, cold voice made Zhang Jie's hair stand on end.
He slowly turned around. A man in a black jacket stood five meters away, his eyes colder than the Siberian permafrost.
It really was John!
He had gambled correctly!
The legend of the assassin world, the Baba Yaga himself.
John Wick, legendary retired assassin re-employed.
"Wow, it says so on the collar."
Zhang Jie slowly tucked the gun back into his waistband, his palms slick with sweat.
Daisy also ran over, affectionately rubbing against his pant leg.
John bent down to stroke Daisy, but his gaze was fixed on Zhang Jie's right hand: "Your grip on the gun is like holding chopsticks, very amateurish."
"Uh... thanks for the compliment?" Zhang Jie scratched his head, "Actually, my bullets are also damp."
Unexpectedly, John's mouth twitched slightly.
He looked at Zhang Jie for a long time, his eyes a little complex, then pulled out a gold-embossed business card: "The Continental Hotel, eight tonight."
As Zhang Jie took the business card, Daisy suddenly barked at him.
"She likes you." John turned to leave, "Don't be late."
Watching the black figure disappear around the distant corner, Zhang Jie clutched the business card.
The wound on his left shoulder still hurt, but something inside him warmed up.
Perhaps, this transmigration wasn't too unlucky after all?
Back home, Zhang Jie stood in front of the bathroom mirror, cold sweat on his forehead mixing with tap water, dripping down his chin into the rusty sink.
He gritted his teeth, holding tweezers with a trembling right hand, carefully probing the wound on his left shoulder.
"F***... f*** f*** f***!"
"It hurts like hell!"
The moment the tip of the tweezers touched metal, a sharp pain shot from his shoulder to his head.
After finally extracting the bullet, his vision blurred, and he had to steady himself against the wobbly towel rack to avoid collapsing to the floor.
The Asian face in the mirror was distorted beyond recognition, his lips an unhealthy grayish-white from excessive blood loss.
"Medical: Lv0 (0 → 3/100)"
"This counts as a skill?"
Zhang Jie stared at the new number that popped up in the bottom right of his vision, so angry he threw the tweezers into the sink, splashing bloody water.
He had never known that treating a wound could activate some damn proficiency system.
However, he seemed to have figured out a few things. There was no damn system, it was just a proficiency panel, and he still didn't know exactly how to use it.
Suddenly, a "thump thump thump" knocking sound came from outside the door, so forceful that dust on the bathroom door frame rattled down.
"Zhang! I know you're home!"
Mrs. Schneider's distinctive raspy voice pierced through three layers of door, "Your broken stereo is disturbing the Persian cat downstairs! That cat has a heart condition, and the medical bills are on you!"
Zhang Jie looked down at his blood-stained vest, then glanced at the dusty speaker in the corner. That thing hadn't been plugged in for at least half a year.
The old woman's knack for finding fault was simply masterful; she couldn't even be bothered to come up with a good excuse.
He had just opened the door a crack when a hand with scarlet nail polish forced its way in.
Mrs. Schneider had changed into a fluorescent green tight dress that afternoon, paired with a bright purple scarf, looking like a turkey splattered with paint.
"My goodness!" The old woman dramatically covered her nose as she entered, "Are you trying to lower my property value with the smell of blood?"
She seemed accustomed to all this?
She walked around the room in her ten-centimeter heels, leaving a trail like a tornado had struck.
Bed sheets were pulled back for inspection, closet doors were yanked open, and even expired milk in the refrigerator couldn't escape her discerning eye.
"Pistol: Lv0 (16 → 15/100)"
"What the hell is this logic?"
Zhang Jie stared at the inexplicably decreasing number, unable to help but curse out loud.
"What logic?"
The old woman suddenly spun around, her false eyelashes fluttering like two small black fans, "The logic of 730 days of overdue rent! The logic of turning the room into a crime scene!"
She suddenly leaned close to Zhang Jie's shoulder, her nose almost touching the wound, "Aha! Work injury? It seems that old bastard Karl wasn't lying, you can't even handle the simplest tasks now. I'm starting to doubt if you can even afford the rent you owe."
Like magic, she pulled out a roll of pink bandage from her crocodile skin handbag and tossed it over: "Twenty dollars, add it to the rent."
Zhang Jie took the bandage in bewilderment, noticing it was covered in Hello Kitty patterns and had a few long golden hairs stuck to the edges.
"Don't look at me like that," the old woman snorted, her fake jewelry clinking against her chest, "This is my granddaughter's. That girl insists on being an emergency room nurse and buys all these girlish things."
Zhang Jie glanced at a newspaper clipping on the wall: "Isn't your granddaughter a lawyer at NYU?"
"That's my eldest granddaughter, Max!" The old woman rolled her eyes, pulled out a photo album from her bag, and slapped it onto the table, "I'm talking about my youngest granddaughter, Hannah, who works at the trauma center at New York Presbyterian Hospital."
She lowered her voice conspiratorially, "She just broke up with that scoundrel from Queen Street last week, so she's currently single. If you play your cards right..."
"No thanks."
Zhang Jie cut her off decisively, casually jotting down the bandage cost on the bill taped to the refrigerator door.
That bill was already densely covered with various "creative charges": $50 for a broken hallway light (it was actually a naturally aged lightbulb), $100 for late-night noise disturbance (from the old woman's own mahjong game last week), and even a "pollution fee" of $200 (the reason being Zhang Jie's instant noodles smelled too strong).
The old woman nodded in satisfaction, then suddenly sniffed: "Your sandwich in the fridge is spoiled."
"I don't even have..."
Before he could finish, the old woman, with an agility that belied her age, rushed to the refrigerator and yanked open the door: "Ha! I knew it!"
She triumphantly held up a green-tinged sandwich package, "Food hygiene fine of $50! If this attracts cockroaches..."
"Melee: Lv0 (9 → 8/100)"
Zhang Jie looked at the inexplicably decreasing number again, finally losing his patience: "Mrs. Schneider, what exactly are you here for today?"
The old woman, as if performing a magic trick, pulled out a stack of self-printed documents from her bag: "First, this is the new rent overdue notice; second, this is the utility bill notification; third, this is the community environment maintenance fee receipt; and finally..."
She flashed a crocodile-like smile, "I've decided to personally supervise your deep cleaning."
The next three hours were hell on earth.