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

When the police arrived at Santa Monica Beach, Chen Mo and his group had already left.

Several police cars were parked on the beach, their red and blue lights flashing wildly, illuminating the mess on the ground.

Twenty killer corpses lay sprawled in the fine sand, their blood staining a large patch of dark red. Guns and shell casings were scattered everywhere, causing even seasoned police officers, accustomed to murder cases, to gasp in shock.

The lead detective was named Hoffman, in his fifties, whose belly stretched his bulletproof vest taut.

He squatted down next to a corpse, looking at the bullet hole between its eyebrows, then looked up at the SUVs riddled with bullet holes in the beach parking lot.

The car body was riddled with holes, the windows were shattered, the tires were flat, and wisps of smoke were still rising from the hood.

"What about the surveillance cameras?"

Hoffman stood up and brushed the sand off his knees.

One of the officers handed him a tablet.

In the parking lot surveillance footage, Chen Mo, Ghost, and the driver used the SUV as cover to engage in a textbook-level tactical shootout with twenty gunmen.

The three worked together seamlessly, remained extremely calm, and showed no signs of panic.

Especially that Chinese guy, his marksmanship is frighteningly accurate!

The twenty armed gunmen were wiped out before they could even get within ten meters. The whole process took no more than five minutes, and the three men were unharmed and calmly drove away.

Hoffman watched the entire surveillance video without expression, then handed the tablet to his subordinate:

"Check everyone's identity information, take away the video backup, and treat the scene as a gunfight."

He walked to the police car, took out his phone, and dialed a number.

"All twenty gunmen are dead. The other three were unharmed. I have the surveillance footage."

There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, followed by a cold voice.

"Bring the videotape over."

"clear."

Hoffman hung up the phone, put it back in his pocket, and waved to his men.

"Fall back."

The lights are dim in a private meeting room on the top floor of an office building in Los Angeles.

Bald billionaire Dalson sat at the head of the conference table, with a half-finished glass of whiskey in front of him.

He was surrounded by several people, all of whom were wealthy individuals who had attended the underground boxing match that day.

The tall, thin man with glasses is named Richie; he's a second-generation rich kid whose family started in real estate.

The fat man across from me with a face full of scars is called Tommy. He was holding a cigar but forgot to light it.

There was also an old man with gray hair named Winston, who was leaning back on the sofa with his eyes closed, as if he were asleep, but his fingers were constantly tapping on his knees.

Hoffman's presentation recording was played back in the room.

Each syllable that falls is like a ladle of water being poured into a boiling oil pan.

After the recording finished playing, no one in the entire conference room spoke.

Anger and fear pressed down on everyone's chests at the same time, and the silence was so profound that you could hear the second hand ticking on the antique clock in the corner.

The sound of the pendulum swinging was like a heartbeat.

"Jesus, what kind of monster have we messed with?"

Tommy spoke first, his voice trembling.

"Twenty professional assassins, fully armed, were wiped out in the blink of an eye. This is not normal."

Dalson took the cigar out of his mouth and stubbed it out in the ashtray.

He raised his eyes and scanned everyone present.

"This person must die."

He spoke slowly and deliberately.

"How do we kill him?"

Winston opened his eyes.

"Send another twenty? Forty? Dilson, going head-to-head with that Grim Reaper from the East is the most foolish thing to do!"

Dalson roared:

"Then what do you suggest we do? That's five billion US dollars! Five billion!"

At this moment, Richie leaned back on the sofa and tapped his fingers lightly twice on the table.

"Uncles, you're all old and out of touch with the times! Don't forget, this is America! This is our territory, not a place where some Chinese man can do whatever he wants."

He leaned forward, a sinister smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

"America is a country that values ​​law and evidence! We have people in the police department, the DEA, and even the tax system. The Grim Reaper of the East isn't afraid of bullets, so how could he not be afraid of American law?"

Tommy was stunned:

"You mean...?"

"Summon him."

Richie pushed his glasses up, the lenses reflecting the light.

"Under the pretext of cooperating with the investigation of the shooting, we'll bring him to our territory with a legitimate reason. Once he's at the police station, his marksmanship won't be enough to solve the problem; we can do whatever we want with him."

Winston opened his eyes and continued the conversation:

"Put a few packages in his car. Concealing drugs, trafficking drugs—that's a charge he could spend his whole life in jail."

Tommy realized what was happening and quickly added:

"And then there's the IRS! He's a Chinese citizen, and suddenly his account has over a billion US dollars. No matter how hard he tries, he can't explain where that money came from! If he's charged with tax evasion and money laundering, those mad dogs in the IRS will dig him up completely. That's a crime harder to escape than murder!"

Dalson leaned back on the sofa, a cold smile slowly creeping onto his lips.

He picked up another cigar, deftly cut off the end with a cigar cutter, put it in his mouth, struck a match, and slowly turned the cigar head to roast.

"Then proceed according to federal law. Subpoena him, frame him, investigate his taxes. Use all three methods simultaneously; I want him dead in America."

"Rich, you're a genius!"

The group exchanged glances, their lips curling into chilling smiles, a sinister scheme spreading through the conference room.

An invisible giant net has been tightening simultaneously from the police station, the anti-drug squad, and the tax authorities, silently enveloping Chen Mo.

At this moment, Chen Mo was sitting in the Lincoln, having already entered the UCLA campus, which was full of youthful energy.

A short while later, the car stopped downstairs at the girls' dormitory. Lily led Chen Mo, Sophia, and Amy upstairs and swiped their cards to open the dormitory door.

This is a standard double room apartment, decorated in pink and cute colors, and filled with girls' little items. Lily's roommate happened to be going out on a date tonight and wouldn't be returning to the dorm.

Lily closed the door and locked it behind her.

"Looks like the whole dorm is ours tonight, no one will bother us."

Chen Mo sat on Lily's bed, tested the mattress's elasticity, nodded, and said in a serious tone.

"Teachers, please start tutoring me in English."

Lily pulled a thick English dictionary from her desk, turned to a certain page, pointed to an example sentence, and began to read it aloud.

She read very carefully, her pronunciation as standard as a BBC announcer, but she was interrupted by Sophie after only a couple of sentences.

Sophie thought her teaching was too rigid, saying that language learning should start with everyday scenarios, and then she sat down next to Chen Mo and started a situational dialogue.

Amy was unconvinced and said that one of them was too academic and the other was too casual. The truly effective method was immersive teaching. Then she started chatting with Chen Mo at a normal speaking speed, speaking as fast as a machine gun.

The three teachers' teaching methods became increasingly intense, and their voices grew louder and louder.

Lily insisted on correcting every pronunciation detail, Sophie began to gesticulate wildly to demonstrate the physical meaning of the verbs, and Amy simply moved closer to Chen Mo so he could see her lip movements.

Seeing how hard they were working, Chen Mo gave them an injection of glucose to boost their energy, but he didn't do it properly and they bled.

Fortunately, the three of them had good stamina and continued teaching until very late.

Suddenly, someone banged on the wall next door a few times.

Boom boom boom!

"Fuck you! Lily, it's 2 AM! Can you guys please keep it down!"

"That's what the other person said."

"Lily! Shall we join you?"

There was a two-second silence.

The three of them burst out laughing at the same time, and then continued arguing about whose pronunciation was more accurate.

The wall thumped again, this time even harder.

Knocking sounds also came from the ceiling downstairs.

The sound of slippers came from outside the corridor, getting closer and closer, and then someone banged on the door.

"Shit! It's late at night! Stop making noise! ​​The whole building can hear us!"

"Fuck! Lily, is your boyfriend a cow?!"

The four people in the room exchanged a glance.

Lily's face flushed red, Sophie stuck out her tongue, and Amy raised her hand to shush.

There was a silence of about five seconds, then suppressed giggles burst out at the same time.

Lily covered her face with a pillow, laughing so hard her shoulders twitched.

The English class went on until 3 a.m., with the volume fluctuating, and the wall next door was banged on several times.

The three girls were exhausted and lay sprawled on the bed. Lily was still clutching the dictionary, but her eyes were already closed.

Chen Mo studied all night but only learned four words.

"Oh yeah () me"

The next morning.

Chen Mo was leaning against the headboard when his phone vibrated and woke him up. It was a message from Ghost.

"Boss, the police have summoned us to cooperate with the investigation into yesterday's shooting."

P.S.: One more chapter, currently working hard to write it...