An Yang sat on the sofa.
He stared blankly at a piece of pure black glass in his hand. To be precise, this was a mobile phone. Its packaging box sat on the coffee table—a simple, yellow corrugated cardboard box with only a striking leaf pattern on it.
"This doesn't look like the Leaf S1 at all. Where on earth did such a pretty knockoff come from? Where are the power button and the USB port? No, this is completely just a piece of black glass."
An Yang couldn't help muttering to himself. He had already determined that the phone he ordered on the official Leaf website had been swapped.
"People these days are really insane, I swear."
An Yang dejectedly put the glass board down. When he quit his job a few days ago, he dropped his old phone, and after finally managing to get a new one, he never expected to run into this kind of thing. When a person's luck is bad, sure enough, even drinking cold water will get stuck between their teeth.
"Besides, given current logistics management systems, the chance of SF Express messing up is lower than winning the lottery. Should I go buy a lottery ticket? Maybe I wouldn't need to look for a job anymore."
Just as he was thinking this, a familiar ringtone suddenly sounded in the living room. He instinctively reached into his pants pocket, but felt nothing. Only then did he belatedly realize that he had smashed his own phone to pieces the day he quit.
An Yang lowered his head in bewilderment, looking at the continuously vibrating black glass on the coffee table. A layer of glass on the face had lit up, showing an exceptionally pretty profile picture of a young girl, while the three characters Ji Weiwei kept flashing.
"Good grief, this really is a phone! But if I remember correctly, I shouldn't have found where to insert the SIM card yet. Am I seeing things in broad daylight or what..."
To prevent himself from misremembering, An Yang deliberately took out his wallet and flipped it open to look. That China Mobile Shenzhouxing card was resting quietly right alongside his ID card.
"Oh mother, I'm really seeing things!"
An Yang stared at the phone in terror, yet with a trembling hand, he picked up the device that seemed to have magical properties.
"Could it be some kind of prank? People who master this kind of technology probably don't have the time to mess with me for fun..."
He swallowed hard, and with a trembling swipe across the screen, he answered.
"Hello, it's me."
"Hey, An Yang, I heard you quit your job again. You're such a grown man, what are you acting up for?"
"It really is you."
"Have you lost your mind or what? Who else would it be, my mom?!"
"Uh, I'll explain this to you later. I have a very urgent matter to deal with right now, bye-bye."
An Yang hurriedly hung up the phone, panting as he tried to calm his chest, and turned the phone over and over in his hands. Forget about a spot for a SIM card, he couldn't find a single trace of a seam—it was completely a solid piece of black glass.
Yet the eerie thing was that this piece of black glass had just taken a phone call for him.
"Could I have run into aliens?"
"But why would an alien give me an alien phone? Did they get bored of playing with it and just casually throw it away?"
Thinking of something, An Yang hurriedly tossed the phone onto the sofa and stared at it with wide eyes, fighting the urge to bolt out the door—until the phone screen lit up once more, completely devoid of any borders.
Characters continuously emerged on the screen, accompanied by a cold voice. Although it wasn't a stiff mechanical tone, it was impossible to tell whether it belonged to a man or a woman.
"Hello, Chosen One. Meeting me is your honor."
An Yang was completely stunned, countless images flashing through his mind.
It really was an alien phone.
What Chosen One? Also, shouldn't it be "meeting you is my honor" for a first meeting?
An Yang was utterly bewildered.
"You... what on earth are you?"
One hour later, amidst his shock, he gradually came to understand that this phone could actually shuttle him through endless time and space, acting as a gateway connecting major worlds.
"Hold on, let me process this. This isn't a dream, is it?"
An Yang recalled the many web novels he had read over the years. As a veteran otaku deeply into gaming, martial arts, and fantasy, a growing light of excitement gradually illuminated his eyes.
Another line of text emerged on the phone screen, accompanied by the sounding of a cold voice.
Prelude 1, Léon: The Professional
Mission World: Léon: The Professional (Origin World)
Mission Objective: Save Leon
Initial Skills: Mastery of Combat (Novice), Firearms Mastery (Novice), English Mastery (Novice)
Initial Funds: One Hundred Thousand US Dollars
Mission Success: Reward item/ability *1, Skill Points *3, Physical Fitness Points *3
Mission Failure: Repeat execution
An Yang froze as a vast amount of knowledge suddenly flooded into his head, making it feel like it was about to burst from the pressure.
Combat exertion techniques, joint-locking techniques, action prediction methods, firearm operation methods, shooting techniques, maintenance techniques, spoken English pronunciation, habitual language patterns, phonetics, and more.
"This killer doesn't... Ah!! What is this..."
Before he could finish his sentence, a flash of intense light swept over him, and his body vanished right from the living room.
And so, a Chinese youth dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans collapsed onto the streets of New York.
"Mister, wake up, mister. What's wrong with you?"
Amidst his grogginess, An Yang felt a round of shaking. As he forced his eyes open, he only found the view before him quite dim. A bag sat beside him, and a very pretty young girl was blocking the light. Seeing him wake up, she broke into a sincere smile.
"You're finally awake. Forgive my intrusion, are you alright? How did you end up passing out on the street?"
An Yang's gaze lingered for a moment. The girl had blonde hair and blue eyes, and she spoke in very authentic American English. Yet, he understood it without any obstacles; though it didn't quite match a native tongue, it vastly exceeded his past English proficiency.
"Mister, are you okay?"
Seeing him not react, the girl asked another question.
Only then did An Yang snap out of it, shaking his head as he said, "I'm fine. It was probably just heatstroke from the heat. Thank you, beautiful girl."
The girl glanced up at the overcast sky, stiffly lowered her head with a somewhat peculiar expression, and continued, "I can see you're in bad shape. Do you need me to take you to the hospital?"
An Yang hurriedly shook his head. "No thanks. I'm already very grateful that you could do this much. There's no need to trouble yourself further, I can get there on my own."
"It's no trouble, my car is parked right over there."
"Really, it's fine. I have some business to attend to. See you around if we're meant to."
"Oh... alright. As you wish. Remember to take the bag on the ground, it should be yours."
With a helpless smile, the girl offered a reminder and turned to leave. She felt that she perhaps shouldn't have saved this rude oriental man; to use a Chinese phrase, it was a case of going out of her way for no appreciation.
An Yang glanced left and right, confirming that the bag on the ground was indeed his. He found a quiet, deserted spot, unzipped the bag, and took a look inside.
An American green card, a driver's license, a Chinese passport, and a thick stack of US dollars.
Without even counting, that stack of cash was definitely one hundred thousand dollars.
"Léon: The Professional—this is a classic! I really am not dreaming, am I?"
Only then did An Yang discover that his mind had suddenly gained a wealth of knowledge, all concerning combat, firearms, and English. Calculated this way, even if he gained nothing else from this trip, these skills alone made it worthwhile.
"Isn't this supposed to be time-space travel? How did I end up inside a movie? Come to think of it, I've watched this film for several years now."
He fished the phone out of his pocket. The moment he lifted it, the pitch-black screen lit up, displaying a blurred figure facing away from him.
"Something the matter?"
An Yang was taken aback, silently marveling at how aloof this phone was, before speaking up. "Well, I wanted to ask—when does the mission start? And how come I passed out on the street? Is this really a good way to do things?"
"The mission has already begun. As for passing out, it was due to the host's own substandard physical condition when the system imported the knowledge, causing you to faint. It has nothing to do with me."
"Uh, isn't that your fault for being too rushed? Couldn't you have waited for me to properly prepare, adjust my mindset, and rewatch the movie first?"
The phone fell silent for a moment before a cold voice issued from it.
"Chosen One, the prelude mission is extremely simple, the success rewards are generous, and there is no penalty for failure. Furthermore, the system has provided you with a green card, passport, driver's license, and funds, making it virtually foolproof. What more could you possibly need? I will give you one final reminder: please seize the opportunity of the prelude and quickly familiarize yourself with the rules of space-time travel, because there won't be such good opportunities in the future."
The phone screen faded to black.
"Uh..."
An Yang put the phone away, shrugged, pondered for a moment, and walked toward a gun shop within his line of sight.
With a sweep of his eyes, an array of dazzling firearms entered his vision, ranging from small pistols to heavy sniper rifles—all things he had never laid eyes on before in his life.
It was dizzying!
After a round of selection, An Yang picked out a modified M1911 pistol set and an original CheyTacM200 sniper rifle.
Among them, the M1911 pistol was a former US military service pistol priced at 1,200 dollars. The version An Yang bought had been modified with rare wood grip panels and an ultra-light alloy slide frame, skyrocketing its price to 3,500 dollars. Coupled with a matching holster, gun case, two extra magazines, and cleaning tools, the total came to 4,800 dollars.
Meanwhile, the M200 sniper rifle, known as the Death Interventionist, was recognized as the anti-personnel sniper rifle with the longest range and highest precision. The full set cost a staggering 18,000 dollars, which included the scope and all accessories such as a laser rangefinder, ballistic computer, sensor suite, muzzle brake, and suppressor.
After presenting his green card and completing the registration, he pulled out a stack of cash to pay. For the firearms totaling 22,800 dollars, he paid an extra 1,000 dollars to bypass a portion of the paperwork for the sniper rifle, bringing the total expenditure to 23,800 dollars.
Equaling over 100,000 RMB, which was what he used to make in an entire year of work, he had just squandered it all in one go. Having money truly made one willful.
As he left, the store owner gave him a deeply meaningful look and said, "This sniper rifle has been sitting in my shop for two years. Word has it that fewer people buy it across the entire United States than get struck by lightning."
An Yang placed the pistol case into his bag—ordinary American citizens were not allowed to display firearms in public—and hoisted the heavy sniper rifle case, casually tossing two hundred-dollar bills onto the counter.
"Tip."
The owner, sporting a full beard, smiled knowingly and swiftly tucked the money from the counter into his jacket pocket.
"Though sales are low, there are still people who collect this sniper rifle. Don't worry, I'll help you handle the remaining paperwork. Even if something happens, it won't have anything to do with me. Oh, and by the way, buddy, a word of advice: every single gun's ballistics are completely unique. If the gun you registered gets into trouble, the government will track you down in no time."
An Yang walked out the door without looking back. Talk about a joke—if the American government could chase him all the way back to the real world, he would gladly take the blame for any crime he committed.
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