The Memoirs of Cultivating Immortals

Chapter 2 Kill
The scenery in Upper Gotham City is really pleasant. Row upon row of high-rise buildings towering like titans, the smooth and crystal glass reflects the colorful street lights below, there is an endless flow of cars and horses, pedestrians are jostling, brightly dressed men and women are hurrying towards the bars and nightclubs Go on, and continue to live a life of decadence and intoxication day after day.

After all, the refrigerated fish truck did not stop, but just brushed past the edge of the upper city, passed through a long underground tunnel, and quietly came to the lower city full of desolation and decadence.

A flamboyant woman in scantily clad clothes was leaning against the street lamp, puffing away smoke with a low-quality cigarette in her mouth. The dim yellow light drooped feebly, attracting buzzing insects.

A few vagrants in ragged clothes were standing in the corner of the unfinished building with their bottles in their arms. In front of them, garbage was burning in the abandoned oil barrels. The sour-smelling fire provided them with cheap heat.

Finally, the truck stopped, at the door of an abandoned warehouse.

The black driver lowered the brim of his baseball cap, looked around for a while, and took out the walkie-talkie from his waist after confirming that there was no one around, "The goods are here, boss."

There was a slightly hoarse middle-aged male voice on the intercom, "Is there no tail behind you?"

"I circled around twice, nothing."

"That's good, come in."

The slightly rusted bearing chains made tooth-sick friction sounds, and the shutter door of the warehouse slowly rose, allowing the fish truck to slide in.

The tires of the car ran over the concrete floor, and the stowaways looked at each other with some anxiety, until the door of the car was roughly opened by a gloomy-looking white man with slanted eyes.

There was a long and narrow scar on his face, extending from his forehead to the corner of his mouth, which looked quite ferocious.

Li Ang is very familiar with this kind of people, cruel, tyrannical, outlaws with their heads tied to the waist of their trousers. It is not so much that they go astray due to helplessness, but that they have a bloodthirsty and sadistic tone in essence.

"All down."

The scar-faced man spat on the ground and yelled hoarsely.

The bright flashlight came in, and while the other people in the carriage were busy covering their eyes, Li Ang had roughly seen the structure of the warehouse.

There were about seven gunmen with pistols standing here, and several tents propped up with opaque plastic sheets were placed around them, and the shadows inside were so vague that they couldn't be seen clearly.

Li Ang's heart moved, and he secretly broke off two pieces of iron three fingers wide from the edge of the mottled and rusted seat in the carriage, and turned his palm to hide it in his sleeve.

The stowaways filed out of the car and stood in a line under the command of a South Asian shooter.

The gunman looked at the smugglers as if they were commodities on the shelf, while writing and drawing on the paper with a pencil, Li Ang glanced at them, and they were all written on them, such as age, gender, and health status.

"Boss, there are 30 people in total."

The South Asian man approached Scarface obsequiously and said.

Scarface said calmly: "Okay, let's send them to Hancock tomorrow. He just bought a few batches of equipment for making powder, and he just needs manpower."

Li Ang raised his eyebrows. Even if you think about it with your toes, you can tell that this powder is not flour or powder, so the so-called Hancock who specializes in this kind of pickling business is naturally not a conscientious entrepreneur who can provide employees with benefits. ,
When these smugglers fall into his hands, they will all become labor animals like slave laborers. Under the harsh working environment and long working hours, they will lose their lives in just a few years.

The smugglers here all have their own way of making a living, and some of them still have distant relatives in Gotham, where they can take refuge. English says: "Sir, I have a cousin in Gotham and I can come up with $500"

The words suddenly choked, Scarface choked his neck with a smirk, and smashed his whole body to the ground.

"You yellow-skinned monkeys don't take yourself too seriously, you know?"

The middle-aged man was completely speechless, curled up like cooked shrimp, and moaned in pain.

Scarface still refused to give up, and kicked the man's head in a demonstration. The hard leather boots with pointed soles directly scratched the flesh on the man's face, and blood splashed from his broken nose bridge.

The rest of the stowaways yelled in horror, Scarface impatiently pulled out his pistol, and the crisp sound of the safety closing instantly dissipated the noise.

"Anyone who wants to survive, he-mother be honest!"

Scarface watched the stowaway settle down with satisfaction, and said, "Stay here for one night, and send it to Hancock tomorrow morning. Gotham's cops are patrolling every day these days. I really don't know what gunpowder those pigs ate. "

He lazily slipped the pistol back into his belt pocket, and waved the South Asian gunman to lead the stowaway into the tent.

"Wait a minute."

The black driver suddenly stopped the smugglers from entering the tent. He pulled out a skinny girl with short hair about ten years old from the crowd, and said with a smile, "Boss, I heard that Mr. Richard in Xicheng District likes it very much." Here, do you want to send this to him?"

"Huh?" Scarface frowned and rubbed his blue stubbled chin, and said casually, "I'm already thin as a stick. Richard's taste is very good. Let's raise it for a few days before we talk about it."

"Okay." The black burly man laughed and grabbed the girl's wrist, and asked, "Then can I try the water first? Go from the back and make sure that when Mr. Richard gets it, it's still the original product."

"You can do whatever you want, be careful, don't play to death." Scarface shrugged indifferently, took a piece of steaming pizza from the table next to him, stuffed it into his mouth, and chewed.

Although the smugglers didn't understand English very well, they could vaguely guess what the shooter's expressions and gestures were, and the commotion began to spread.
The middle-aged woman, who was supposed to be the girl's mother, pounced on her, trying to take the girl back from the black man, but he kicked her in the stomach, flew across and hit the steel support of the tent, her head was bleeding.

The middle-aged man lying on the ground climbed up with difficulty, and tried his best to grab the black man's ankle, and refused to let go no matter how much the other party kicked and beat him.

"Damn, it's just a bunch of monkeys, why are you arguing!"

The strong black man kicked the man to death, dragged the girl and walked towards a small tent, muttering incessantly: "Hey, although it's a yellow monkey, it's barely enough to survive."

Li Ang covered his forehead helplessly, tilted his head to the sky and let out a long sigh, "Alas, as the saying goes, there is nothing in the world, and mediocre people disturb themselves."

He took three or two steps forward, and his thin body stood in front of the black man, just like a mayfly shaking a tree and a praying man's arms serving as a cart.

"court death."

The brawny black man smiled grimly and let go of the girl's wrist, twisted his muscles and swung out a fist, the force of the rushing fist blew a strong wind.

The corners of the mouths of the gunmen next to them were all smiling, ready to see the scene where the thin Li Ang fell to the ground with his head bleeding.

However, they were disappointed.

Li Ang took half a step back to avoid the punch, turned his palm over, and the two iron plates lay quietly in the palm of his hand.

He grasped his fist, and the iron piece protruding from the gap between his fingers quickly cut through the air, gently cut open the weak neck of the strong black man, and the scarlet jet flowing from the slender carotid artery instantly smeared on the ground, splashing down like plum blossoms one slice.

The black burly man hoarsely hoarse, trying to stretch out his hands to cover the wound on his neck, but Li Ang gently opened his palms, causing the thug to end his life with dull eyes.

There was silence all around, and before the stunned gunmen could recover from their shock, they heard Li Ang yell in Nanyang dialect, "Everyone, get down!"

Before he finished speaking, he waved his arm, and a piece of iron in his hand flew out obliquely, unstoppably split the plastic cover of the warehouse switch, and cut the fuse inside.
The power supply stagnated, the light bulb on the top of the warehouse went out instantly, and the enclosed space was pitch black, only the heavy breathing of dozens of people remained.

(End of this chapter)