Chapter 4: Scared Me to Death (Please Follow Along)

Ao Xi was delighted as he toyed with the pistol, surprised that the Mexican car thief was so wealthy—he carried such a fine handgun yet was so incompetent. Did car thieves really have money? Was stealing cars easier to sell, more lucrative than robbing convenience stores? This gun even had a tactical rail, though the Mexican hadn’t attached a flashlight or laser; perhaps adding too many accessories would hinder portability, which was a shame—Ao Xi had hoped to upgrade it all in one go.

Now with two guns, Ao Xi’s sense of security doubled; he felt like a legendary gunslinger. He placed all the bullets in his portable space, kept the Glock within reach under his clothes, ready for any nighttime surprises—the trigger safety was quick and efficient.

Ao Xi had seen it all; even as a homeless man, people came to steal from him—it was hard to fathom their reasoning.

That night, Ao Xi slept soundly and sweetly, waking after nine o’clock. James next door had already left early to beg for food.

It seemed learning Chinese kung fu was less effective than collecting welfare for meals.

Ao Xi climbed out of his sleeping bag, gathered the scattered trash around him, and tossed it in the bin. Sometimes he received packaged convenience foods and daily necessities—the trash bag he simply left nearby.

He had nearly died before; who cared about litter then? Now, this was already high-quality behavior—at least he didn’t relieve himself anywhere. When sanitation workers asked, he always claimed to be Japanese, just to avoid admitting he was uncivilized.

Now, with the system, he had to pay attention to personal conduct. After all, as a foreigner, he couldn’t let others look down on Chinese people.

There was a public laundry not far from his sleeping spot, offering free laundry, face washing, and brushing teeth—a form of relief, plus phone charging.

Ao Xi pulled out the toiletries he’d previously received: a toothbrush, toothpaste, a comb, a two-in-one shampoo and conditioner, and a disposable razor. He carefully tidied up his personal appearance.

Once clean, Ao Xi looked like a different person—handsome, pale, and thin, with a blue stubble on his chin, slightly sunken eyes hinting at melancholy, and the scholarly elegance of a learned man. Standing at 185 centimeters, in a flamboyant graffiti T-shirt, he appeared even more carefree and unrestrained, worthy of his reputation from Erdaohezi.

A few Mexicans chatting outside brightened as Ao Xi emerged, stepping forward to make conversation: “Hey, brother, nice weather today, huh?”

Ao Xi glanced at him, recognizing him as a southern copper: “I’m not a zero, you’ve got the wrong guy.”

“I can be a zero too, brother,” the Mexican replied.

Ao Xi frowned, sensing trouble, his hand moving to his abdomen. “I advise you to clear out, fast.”

The Mexican persisted: “We’re all brothers—what’s wrong with mutual satisfaction? Besides, you’ll enjoy it.”

James had warned him before that boys walking the streets had to learn to protect themselves, which was why Ao Xi hadn’t washed his face for days. He hadn’t expected that the moment he cleaned up, even before he hit the streets, danger would find him right outside the washroom.

Being too handsome was a crime in itself.

The Mexicans half-surrounded Ao Xi, laughing and whispering things he couldn’t quite catch.

Suddenly, Ao Xi saw the circles above their heads turn red—a sign from the system—his heart stirred. The system’s judgment was swift; if he killed these Mexicans, he’d instantly receive a reward.

A faint inspiration struck him—could he fish for trouble and act as bait?

The system’s rules weren’t precise; malicious enticement was forbidden, but non-malicious wasn’t specified. For example, if you walked through a poor neighborhood dressed in valuables, would Black guys resist the temptation?

These thoughts flashed through his mind, but his main focus now was dealing with the Mexicans eyeing him for unspeakable acts.

Ao Xi slowly reached into his shirt, grasping the M1911, quietly disengaging the safety. The .45 rounds packed power—one shot could drop a man, making resistance impossible, perfect for his current predicament.

It had to be said, Black guys loved basketball jerseys and pants hanging at the ankles for a reason—they perfectly concealed guns in the crotch, likely because neither they nor Ao Xi used holsters.

“Hey! You punks, don’t cause trouble in my territory! Or don’t bother coming back again!” A large, burly administrator stormed out, wielding a shotgun and pushing a Mexican aside to shield Ao Xi.

A very American two-hundred-pound giant glared at them, shouting, “See this gun? Unless you want me to shove the barrel up your ass and fire, get out of here, quick!”

The Mexicans left reluctantly, turning away.

Ao Xi took advantage of the distraction to withdraw his hand from his shirt.

The fat man turned to Ao Xi, “Kid, if I were you, I wouldn’t stay here too long. With your looks, you could try your luck in Hollywood.”

“Thanks for sorting them out, but I’m not an actor, and I don’t have a green card,” Ao Xi shrugged.

The fat man frowned—why dress so well, then?

But it wasn’t his concern; he waved Ao Xi away, returned to his room, gun in hand.

Ao Xi walked out, glancing in the direction the Mexicans had gone. Seeing their red markers, he considered taking a risk and finishing them off.

He couldn’t go through life avoiding showers, face washing, and brushing his teeth just to avoid being targeted by these Mexican southerners—it was ridiculous.

After the job, he’d run, hide in an alley, smear himself with mud to restore his dirty look, and with foreigners seeing all Chinese as the same, he should evade the police.

Ao Xi followed them from a distance, waiting for a less crowded spot to make his move.

After two streets, suddenly a police car stopped in front of him.

Ao Xi was so startled he nearly passed out.

Had they already figured out he’d killed those three men last night? Were American cops really that good?

Should he run or draw his gun and fight back? Would his magazine be emptied?

Just then, an officer stuck his head out, “Hey, Xi Ao, you’re hard to find.”

Seeing the officer’s face, Ao Xi relaxed a little. After he’d been robbed by Blacks, a bystander had called the police, and this officer—Mark—had responded.

Still, he couldn’t let down his guard; Mark could be here to lull him into dropping his defenses.

Ao Xi cautiously shifted a step, making it harder for Mark to aim if he drew his gun. “Hello, Officer Mark. Is there something you need?”

Mark seemed to want to say something but found the angle awkward, so he simply got out of the car.

With hands on his hips, Mark said, “We’ve been working hard these past few days, and through some channels, we found a lead. We caught the driver, who admitted to robbing you, and discovered your bag at his home.

Based on your account, we checked the items inside. All the cash, clothing, phone—anything usable or sellable—was gone, but your documents, passport, visa, and bank card were all intact.

Now, you can come with me to the station and reclaim them. Congratulations, buddy.”