The human body had its limits. Ning Zhe might have been able to kill the armed Security Captain one-on-one, and he could take advantage of feigned weakness to ambush and eliminate two Gas Station employees in succession, but if he faced more than three armed adult men head-on, even Tyson himself would have been doomed.
What was more, one of them had a gun, even if it was only a crude homemade black-powder shotgun.
"Young man, where did you come from?" The Gas Station owner looked at Ning Zhe in confusion. "Where's Boss Zhang?"
"Huh?" Ning Zhe was somewhat taken aback. Their reaction had caught him off guard. Not only were they rational, they could even communicate—and they apparently had no idea that he was "Zhang Yangxu."
The Gas Station owner raised his homemade shotgun and aimed it at Baizhi, whom Ning Zhe was holding around the waist. "Fine if you won't say. Move aside, young man. Guns don't have eyes. Wouldn't want to hurt you by accident."
"You want to kill her?" Ning Zhe frowned. "But not me?"
"Why would I kill you?" The Gas Station owner looked even more confused than he was. "Aren't you Old Ning's grandson? That old man treasured you like crazy. You even pissed on my leg when you were little... You probably don't remember that. We're all from the same town. What's gotten into you today? Why aren't you going home? Why'd you come here instead?"
"No, I remember. I just find it strange..." Ning Zhe lowered the short spear in his hand, his thoughts a tangled mess.
The people in the Gas Station had not lost their minds. Nor had they gone insane or been brainwashed. They were still the same people, with natural expressions and fluent speech. There was no confusion