A red nose, a beer belly, turbid eyes, and an unkempt demeanor... Zhang Yuanqing stared at the middle-aged man walking toward him, finding his aura oddly familiar. The Bacchus Club?
He immediately thought of that overseas evil class.
Two members of orthodox classes, dressed in crisp white shirts and black suits like corporate elites, noticed the potbellied man at once.
The middle-aged man holding a briefcase stopped alertly in his tracks. The refined younger man stepped forward, resting a hand against the small of his back as he advanced.
It was the warning posture of a police officer preparing to draw a firearm.
"Sir, I am plainclothes airport police. Please halt and submit to an inspection," the pale, refined youth shouted.
Having just stepped off a plane, he couldn't possibly be carrying a handgun. Though young-faced, his conduct was sharp and experienced.
As the distance between them closed, the young man suddenly stumbled, as if tripped by someone, and fell flat on his face—landing right beside the potbellied man's boots.
*Thud!*
The potbellied man's leather boot kicked viciously into the youth's jaw, knocking him out cold.
*An Alcoholic after all...* Standing not far off, Zhang Yuanqing nodded faintly, confirming his suspicion.
Seeing his companion subdued in an instant, the middle-aged man holding the briefcase felt his pupils contract.
He made no attempt to engage or rescue his partner. Instead, his left hand slashed rapidly through the air several times.
*Whoosh!*
Air coalesced into two curved wind blades, skimming toward the potbellied man one high and one low.
Without lingering to see the outcome, the middle-aged man with the receding hairline spun around, briefcase in hand, and fled in the opposite direction.
A gentle breeze buoyed his soles and pushed at his back, launching him forward like an arrow released from a bowstring.
At the same time, he shouted at the top of his lungs, "There's a terrorist here! Call the police!"
To subdue his partner in a split second meant the enemy was at least at the peak of the Transcendent stage. The middle-aged man was also Level 3, but as a Wind Mage, he stood little chance of winning a solo clash against an evil class. Besides, he was carrying confidential items, making combat ill-advised.
In such a situation, stirring up chaos and stalling for time was the optimal choice.
On the other side, the potbellied man raised his right hand and gave a light flick. The ruby bracelet on his wrist flared with crimson light.
Instantly, the two wind blades parted with uncanny synchronization, veering up and down. One struck the ceiling seven or eight meters overhead, while the other slashed into the marble floor tiles, leaving behind shallow furrows.
Ignoring the bewildered, startled stares of surrounding travelers, the potbellied man strode after the fleeing middle-aged man, prompting the bracelet to glow once more.
In the next second, the middle-aged man seemed to lose all sense of direction. He abruptly veered left, crashing straight into a wall, then bounced right and slammed into a glass pane.
The potbellied man closed the gap in the confusion.
Seeing the Alcoholic closing in, the middle-aged man felt a jolt of panic. Shouting warnings and urging bystanders to alert security, he hurled the briefcase straight at his pursuer's face.
*Tsk, cognitive impairment...* Zhang Yuanqing couldn't help but click his tongue internally, his eyes settling on the potbellied man's wrist.
So far, the skills the man had displayed were sensory distortion and cognitive impairment—both Transcendent abilities. However, the bracelet on his wrist appeared to provide amplification, leaving an orthodox class of the same level entirely powerless to resist.
Watching the briefcase fly at him, the potbellied man smirked in triumph. He snagged it out of the air, rushed forward several paces, and launched a flying kick straight toward the middle-aged man's chest.
The middle-aged man stood frozen in place, dazed as though slightly intoxicated.
*Bang!*
Amid the dull thud of flesh on flesh, the middle-aged man was sent flying backward.
The potbellied man spun around, briefcase in hand, and hurried away. But just as he passed Annie and Zhang Yuanqing, Zhang Yuanqing casually stuck out a foot.
*Crash!*
The two-hundred-pound fat man slammed heavily onto the floor. The briefcase slipped from his grip and slid several meters away.
Baring his teeth in pain, the potbellied man looked around in utter confusion, unsure of what had tripped him.
Zhang Yuanqing had masked his movement with illusion.
Yet the man had no time to ponder the mystery. Some tourists were pulling out phones to call the police, while others were dashing off to alert airport security.
He had to get out of there immediately.
Scrambling to his feet, the man lunged toward the briefcase, only to see a hand snatch it up before him.
The hand belonged to an East Asian man with dark eyes and tan skin, youthful, handsome, and bearing a gentle air.
"Yellow pig, give that to me!" The potbellied man's eyes bulged as he bared his teeth in a vicious, threatening snarl, swiping forward to rip the briefcase from Zhang Yuanqing's grip.
"This doesn't belong to you," Zhang Yuanqing said, taking a step back. His leg muscles bunched, and his right foot snapped outward.
*Smack!*
A high kick caught the potbellied man flush on the jaw, sending teeth and blood spraying through the air.
With a muffled groan, the massive man toppled backward, hitting the floor with a resounding boom.
Dragging his luggage with one hand and clutching the briefcase with the other, Zhang Yuanqing strode forward and delivered a side kick to the man's temple, knocking him completely unconscious.
"Annie!" Zhang Yuanqing glanced at the bracelet on the unconscious man's wrist, signaling for her to claim the spoils.
Understanding instantly, Annie stripped the bracelet off and dropped it into her handbag.
By this time, the middle-aged man who had taken a kick to the gut had caught his breath. His internal organs were slightly bruised, but he was barely able to move.
Clutching his stomach, he jogged over unsteadily, eyeing Annie and Zhang Yuanqing with guarded caution. "Hello... that's my..."
As he spoke, he remained on high alert, his gaze darting around the area.
At a major transit hub like Dia Airport, both Heaven's Punishment and the Sea God Church stationed patrol teams of stage walkers who could arrive at any moment. If these two before him were enemies, all he needed to do was stall for time.
"I know it's yours." Zhang Yuanqing tossed the briefcase over.
The middle-aged man caught it with relief. Feeling its contents through the leather to confirm everything was intact, he broke into a genuine, grateful smile.
"Thank you both very much for your help... You're Spirit Realm walkers too, aren't you?"
He lowered his voice instinctively for the latter half of the sentence.
Zhang Yuanqing nodded with a smile. "I'm from the Second District. My Spirit Realm ID is Tongtian Jiaozhu."
Here in the Free Federation, the authorities maintained a relatively lax and open attitude toward unaffiliated walkers, never forcing them to register with Heaven's Punishment. As long as one didn't cause trouble, revealing oneself as a Spirit Realm walker was no big deal.
*His spoken English is quite clumsy, and the accent is off; he definitely doesn't sound like a Chinese American residing in the Federation...* Rubbing his belly, the middle-aged man said, "I'm a Wind Mage from Heaven's Punishment. My Spirit Realm ID is Kamaitachi—named after that wind spirit yokai from the Island Nation. To be honest, the name I originally wanted was Boreas, after the god of the north wind, but unfortunately, Her Excellency the Chief Executive took that one first. She's quite a domineering woman."
He looked to be in his forties, with faint crow's feet and forehead lines, pale gray eyes set deep in their sockets, and a prominent nose. He wasn't particularly handsome, but he had an approachable, friendly smile.
*Is it really fine to gossip about one of Heaven's Punishment's leaders so casually? Oh, right, I almost forgot—you people paste portraits of your president inside toilet stalls...* Noticing the man clutching his stomach, Zhang Yuanqing reached out, withdrew the Mountain God Scepter under an illusion, and lightly tapped Kamaitachi's shoulder.
Kamaitachi instinctively glanced at his left shoulder. Immediately, the agonizing colic in his abdomen receded like a fading tide.
Delighted, he looked down at his belly, then looked back up at Zhang Yuanqing. "So you're a Wood Demon."
Zhang Yuanqing returned the Mountain God Scepter to his inventory, neither confirming nor denying the claim. He smiled faintly. "We have business to attend to. This is my assistant, Annie. If you ever need help, feel free to contact her."
This was one of the reasons Zhang Yuanqing had intervened. As a newcomer in an unfamiliar land, connections were crucial.
Especially official connections.
He had risen to prominence in the Second District by clinging to Fu Qingyang's coattails in the early days, and the Grand Marshal's later on.
By the time Annie and Kamaitachi finished exchanging contact details, airport security officers finally rushed onto the scene.
Zhang Yuanqing murmured, "Let's go."
The two quickly blended into the bustling crowd, following the signs toward the taxi pickup area.
Half an hour later, Zhang Yuanqing and Annie climbed into a taxi. The driver was a portly, middle-aged white man. Seeing Zhang Yuanqing's dark eyes and black hair, he offered a playful greeting in broken Chinese: "Nee-how!"
Zhang Yuanqing looked at Annie. "Am I supposed to give him a tip for that?"
Annie shook her head.
*Oh, just a driver ad-libbing on his own.* Zhang Yuanqing held his tongue.
The taxi pulled away from the airport, speeding along the vibrant, bustling streets of the city.
Though both were world-class metropolises, New York County felt distinctly different from Songhai. The architectural style here relied heavily on right angles, straight lines, and geometric volumes—a quintessential "box-shaped" aesthetic.
In addition, many of the older buildings incorporated classical Roman pillars and marble facades, carrying a faint touch of weathered history.
Aside from that, Zhang Yuanqing's strongest impression was that the streets weren't as wide as Songhai's, and the urban greenery seemed rather sparse.
Looking out at the diverse array of faces and skin tones crowding the sidewalks, Zhang Yuanqing couldn't help but ask, "How's the public safety around here? If I go out at night, am I going to have a gun shoved in my face by some thug?"
Annie answered somewhat sheepishly, "As long as you don't go out after dark, it's pretty safe..."
New York County's Chinatown was located in Lower Man Island, sprawling across more than forty streets and home to roughly a hundred and fifty thousand people, predominantly of Chinese descent.
Among the Chinese residents, the largest groups were people from Soup-Brewing Province, famous for joking about eating Fujianese, and the Fujianese who supposedly made up their menu.
The architectural style in Chinatown was an eclectic blend of East and West, featuring buildings with flying eaves and upturned corners alongside tightly packed rectangular tenements.
Some streets were narrow and poorly maintained, their clustered buildings cluttered with chaotic signboards in Chinese.
This cramped, gritty atmosphere reminded Zhang Yuanqing of the older districts of Hong Kong.
Other avenues ran adjacent to gleaming skyscrapers, broad and clean, lined on both sides with Chinese restaurants and street-food stalls offering every delicacy imaginable.
The upscale apartment Annie had rented was inside a handsome six-story building with a red-brick exterior. Squared and neat, its facade boasted polished floor-to-ceiling windows and tidy balconies.
Turning left out the door led directly into a lively food street; turning right and passing two traffic lights brought one straight into the skyscraper-laden central business district.
Dragging their luggage, the pair took the elevator up to the fourth floor.
Inside the elevator, Annie whispered, "The location is great, and the rent is very reasonable, but the landlord only rents to Chinese tenants—no white or Black tenants allowed. Cult Master, you'll have to find a way to persuade her later, or we'll have to take back our deposit and look elsewhere."
The elevator doors slid open to reveal three security doors, arranged three units to a floor.
Annie checked the apartment number on her phone, then knocked on the door of Unit 401.
*Knock, knock!*
At the sound of the knocking, the door creaked open, and a little boy of seven or eight poked his head out. From within came the shrill, furious voice of a woman scolding someone:
"I spent good money sending you to school, and you throw it all to the dogs? You didn't pass a single subject! The teacher says you've been hanging out with street punks and even formed some Anti-Black-and-White League! You little bastard, if you don't want to study, go work in the shop for me, or get your ass on a plane back home!"
Through the woman's piercing tirade, the boy asked in a crisp voice, "Who're you looking for?"
He spoke in Cantonese.
Annie turned to Zhang Yuanqing, her fair face blank with confusion.
*I don't know Cantonese either...* Forcing a friendly smile, Zhang Yuanqing gave it his best shot. "Lei hou! We're here to rent the apartment. We already paid the deposit."
The little boy turned his head and hollered toward the interior, "Mom! Your tenants are here!"
The scolding halted abruptly, replaced by the woman's sharp voice: "Bring the guests in!"
"Was your mom scolding you just now?" Zhang Yuanqing chuckled, rubbing the boy's head.
"She was yelling at my sister."
The boy swung the door wide and scurried happily back into the living room.
Zhang Yuanqing led Annie inside, scanning his surroundings. The living room was spacious, roughly thirty square meters, and decorated in a classic Chinese style. Ink-wash paintings hung on the walls, potted plants adorned the corners, and the little boy sat on the sofa munching potato chips while watching cartoons.
From the direction of the bedroom walked a woman wearing slippers and a nightgown. She had slightly high cheekbones and attractive features, but her sallow complexion and the persistent irritation etched between her brows gave her the look of someone entering premature menopause.
The woman sized up Annie and Zhang Yuanqing. When her gaze landed on Annie, her brows knit into a tight furrow.
Turning to Zhang Yuanqing, she asked coldly, "From the mainland?"
*Irritable, displeased, and seeing Annie only made her mood worse... Wait, her emotions are perpetually hovering at boiling point. Auntie, your liver fire is burning awfully hot. No, wait... Auntie, you wouldn't happen to be a Fire Master, would you?* Zhang Yuanqing mused inwardly as he sensed the emotional turbulence radiating from her.
Chapter 651