The Printer and the Plucking Machine
Luan Zhengwei inhaled sharply. As expected, when an expert made a move, it was extraordinary.
But he could never learn that trick!
When you had money and enough nerve, you could naturally solve problems with money, wearing a feathered fan and silk cap, chatting and laughing as you defeated the enemy without fighting.
Smearing banknotes across someone's face naturally produced immediate results.
We can't afford to play like that!
The Indians had been slapped into a daze. No one would have expected that those bear-paw-sized slaps, powerful enough to send a person flying, would come from their own side. Weren't they supposed to be united against a common enemy? How had they turned on each other in the blink of an eye?
Who could blame the Russians? They were dirt-poor right now. With cash payment, naturally it was one hand giving the money and the other delivering the goods. DiDi Beating People—no discrimination between young and old.
Unexpectedly, that Indian could take a beating. After being helped up, he could still stand on his own. Cradling half a pig's head of a face, he shouted indistinctly, "Maxim, why did you hit me?"
The other Indians also glared furiously at the Russians. They had blocked the Chinese people's doorway themselves—did they really have no idea what they were doing?
Weren't they supposed to be allies? How could they turn on each other just like that?
"Sorry! Your face isn't as handsome as Franklin's!"
Big Mao shook the brand-new hundred-dollar bill in his hand, making it rustle loudly. What a beautiful sound!
He then turned around. A cold light flashed in his eyes as he said, "I know you, Chinese man!"
Li Bai had already made a small name for himself in Somalia's gray areas. If