Dual-wielding! 100x proficiency, I'll grind my way to godhood!

Under the parasol, Governor Whitman and Attorney General Coleman sat down, cigars dangling from their lips.

The two pretended not to hear the "white pig" comment.

Whitman, with her legs crossed, spoke first, her tone as polite as if she were entertaining a guest:

"Sit down. Don't be shy, make yourself at home."

He pointed to the chair opposite him and pushed the cigar box on the table forward:

"Want to try some? It's from Cuba; it's hard to get here anywhere else."

Chen Mo didn't move.

"Mr. Chen, we were never enemies."

He flicked the ash from his cigar and smiled amiably.

"The more than 30 billion you took from our friends before, as long as you return it, the seizure of the villa, the detention of the workers, and the freezing order are all negotiable. I can even guarantee that California would very much welcome an investor like you."

Chen Mo remained silent and did not respond.

Coleman, who was standing to the side, raised his hand and tapped the table:

"This is the greatest sincerity the governor can offer. Anyone else wouldn't even have the right to sit down and negotiate."

Whitman waved his hand, the smile fading from his face, and turned to look at the ghost:

"Cole, is your boss an idiot?"

"On our turf, being too stupid will get you killed."

The ghost stood behind Chen Mo, saying nothing.

Whitman didn't even lift his eyelids, slowly scanning the entire lawn, his voice lowered slightly:

"Oh, right, I forgot to tell you. This private golf course is backed by our own people."

"I'll take care of you here, and no one will find out a thing."

Coleman immediately added insult to injury:

Whether you leave here alive today depends entirely on the governor's mood.

As soon as he finished speaking, more than a dozen bodyguards behind him stepped forward in unison, their hands all clasped at their waists, ready to pounce.

They all carried guns at their waists.

After listening, Chen Mo smiled calmly.

He walked straight to the two men, sat down opposite them, lit a cigarette, and crossed his legs as well.

"Stop wasting time on nonsense. Immediately release my villa, release the people, and compensate for the losses."

He exhaled a puff of smoke:

"I need to see results immediately. Otherwise, you'll be the ones who die."

Whitman and Coleman were both stunned.

The two looked at each other, then suddenly burst into laughter, slapping their thighs repeatedly before finally calming down.

"Yellow-skinned monkey, don't you really understand your place?"

Whitman, with a cigar between his fingers, pointed directly at Chen Mo.

"Do you know where this is? This is California, this is our territory!"

Chen Mo remained calm, smoking a cigarette as he spoke softly:

"You've got it wrong. This is America, a world of money."

"Whoever has money controls the rules and is the master of the territory."

He turned to look at the ghost:

"Ask the owner here how much this stadium costs; I want to buy it now."

The ghost immediately took out his phone, walked to the side, and dialed a number.

Whitman and Coleman both paused for a moment, then quickly exchanged glances.

"This guy is really rich."

"Buying a stadium is as casual as buying coffee."

"But it doesn't matter, all his money will become ours later."

"That's right. He bought it, but in the end it still belongs to us."

A few minutes later, the ghost returned, phone in hand, and bowed slightly.

"Boss, they're asking for five hundred million US dollars. To be honest, that's way too high. They're clearly ripping you off."

"Buy it."

Chen Mo didn't even lift his eyelids, confident that he could earn the money back tonight.

Ghost nodded and immediately made a phone call to complete the acquisition procedures.

As Whitman watched this scene, only one word remained in his mind: madman.

Chen Mo stubbed out his cigarette and got up to walk towards the ping-pong area.

As soon as he stood up, Whitman and Coleman instinctively shrank back, their hearts tightening.

Both of them had watched videos of underground boxing matches and knew how formidable this Chinese man was; in close combat, they simply couldn't withstand him.

Seeing that Chen Mo was only walking towards the spherical seat, the two of them secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

Coleman forced himself to his feet to maintain appearances, pointing to the group of bodyguards behind him:

"Kid, don't think you're something special just because you know a little Chinese kung fu. Look closely, these guys are all retired elite Navy SEALs!"

Whitman took a puff of his cigar, his face full of arrogance.

A dozen or so men, a dozen or so real guns, all of them elites who had fought their way through the battlefield and survived.

Taking down an outsider is a piece of cake.

Coleman sat back down, crossed his legs, and gestured with his chin toward the bodyguards.

The dozen or so bodyguards understood immediately and all gripped their holsters tightly.

Chen Mo casually picked up a golf club, weighed it in his hand, completely ignoring everyone else, and asked:

"Cole, how much longer will the paperwork take?"

He gazed at the distant woods:

"Start the timer now."

The ghost responded:

"About half an hour."

Chen Mo spoke calmly:

"Add more money, I need it done within ten minutes."

"Mr. Governor, I advise you to get everything I just mentioned done within ten minutes."

He carried his golf clubs and strolled leisurely toward the tee, his steps relaxed, as if he were taking a stroll after a meal.

Coleman couldn't help but chuckle, turning his head to look at Whitman:

"Is he trying to scare us?"

Whitman snorted through his nose, his face full of disdain:

"You have no idea who you're messing with."

Whitman raised an eyebrow playfully:

"Ha, look at this attitude, does he really think he's Tiger Woods?"

He casually waved his hand and gave the order:

"Go, break his cue first, then break his arms and legs."

Coleman, with a cigar in his mouth, added sarcastically:

"Hey, you wild monkey, want me to teach you how to hold a club?"

"If they call me 'Dad' obediently, I'll be in a better mood, and maybe they'll go easy on me."

The two laughed wildly.

Four bodyguards stepped forward, cracking their knuckles and stretching their necks as they approached step by step.

Naga immediately stepped forward, his eyes instantly turning cold.

"You don't need to lift a finger."

Chen Mo raised his hand to stop him.

He casually gripped the cue stick with one hand, his posture amateurish and loose, showing no professionalism whatsoever.

Coleman laughed even more wildly.

next second.

Chen Mo smiled slightly, aimed at the tree more than ten meters away, and swung the club with one hand.

boom! !

A deafening explosion erupted, like a thunderclap from a clear sky.

The powerful blast wave ripped the entire lawn off its surface, and a tree trunk as thick as a bowl snapped in two, its upper half crashing down.

The broken wood shavings were curled and white, even emitting a faint steam.

The entire room fell silent.

Whitman's cigar fell straight out of his mouth, burning his trouser leg without him even noticing.

Coleman's smile froze completely, and cigar ash fell in a flurry.

The four bodyguards stood frozen in place, caught between a rock and a hard place, staring at each other, their legs trembling uncontrollably.

The remaining dozen or so bodyguards all stood still at their waists, none of them daring to draw their guns rashly.

Only the ghost slowly and gently clapped three times:

"A beautiful shot, Boss."

Naga grinned, revealing a smile.

Coleman stared intently at the broken tree trunk, suddenly remembering that he had extorted three billion US dollars from this man during a phone call two days ago.

A chill instantly crept up the back of my neck.

Chen Mo, carrying the golf club, slowly walked back to his original spot and plopped down opposite Whitman.

He raised his eyes and spoke calmly:

"Who was it that just said they were going to break my arms and legs?"