Inside apartment 2B on 108th Street in Jamaica, Queens, New York, the twenty-one-inch CRT television in the living room was playing some crime drama. On screen, a detective was shouting at a suspect.
Lin An sat cross-legged on the sofa, watching intently—or, rather, he looked like he was watching intently. In reality, he was reading the Bullet Screen and occasionally chatting with it in Chinese.
Darnell sat in the armchair on the other side of the room, sunk into a cushion that had been sagging for ten years. His arms were crossed over his chest as he stared expressionlessly at Lin An's profile.
He had grown somewhat accustomed to Lin An's occasional bouts of muttering to himself.
The clatter of a spatula came from the kitchen, mingling with the sizzle of onions frying in hot oil.
Chen Meiling wore a faded apron and stood at the stove, stir-frying something. She moved with practiced ease, flipping the wok with the kind of quick, efficient motions you only saw in a Chinese restaurant kitchen. Clearly, she had learned the skill as a child.
When Darnell's stepfather was alive, he had probably put the siblings to work in the kitchen plenty of times.
The air was filled with the aroma of soy sauce and minced garlic, mixed with the faint, toasted scent of dried chili peppers. It was classic Chinese home cooking: simple ingredients, high heat, and a generous amount of oil.
On television, the detective finally cornered the suspect.
Darnell was still staring at Lin An.
The silence lasted about three minutes before he finally gave in and asked in a low voice,
"What were you doing just now?"
Lin An turned his gaze away from the Bullet Screen and blinked.
"What do you mean?"
"Back at the subway station!"
"You asked me to help get that guy to leave, so I did."
Darnell took a deep breath.
"Then why did you flirt with my sister?"
The sizzling in the kitchen paused for a second, then resumed.
Lin An tilted his head. The angle was just right, making his face look especially clean in the TV's cool light. His features were gentle, his skin almost unrealistically pale. He seemed completely out of place in this living room, crammed with old furniture and cheap air freshener—like a meticulous ink painting hung by mistake on the wall of a small restaurant.
A small head poked out from the kitchen, unnoticed by anyone, gazing this way in a daze.
Lin An raised one hand, palm up and fingers slightly spread, in a polite gesture that said, "Please, let me explain."
"Didn't you ask me to use this face of mine to make Jack Wang leave?"
Darnell's jaw muscles tensed. Two canine teeth sprang out from beneath his upper lip, then shrank back again.
"I didn't ask you to flirt with my sister!"
Lin An shrugged.
"I wasn't flirting. I was just using my acting skills to shatter Jack Wang's confidence."
"Besides, you finally admit I'm better-looking than you?"
A laugh came from the kitchen, followed by a deliberately forced cough.
"Damn it, stop bringing that up."
Embarrassed and angry, Darnell swung a punch at the air in front of him.
"What are you doing!?"
A scolding voice came from the kitchen. Chen Meiling rushed out with a spatula in hand, her long, wavy ponytail bouncing wildly behind her.
"Big brother, don't be so rude to our guest!!!"
Lin An obligingly nodded.
"Exactly."
The corner of Darnell's eye twitched, and he hurriedly raised both hands in surrender.
"No, no, no, Meiling, I'm not hitting anyone!"
"Then why were you punching the air to scare Brother Lin?"
"I... What did you say? Brother Lin!?"
Darnell looked utterly shocked.
"Since when did you have another brother?"
Meiling planted her hands on her hips, the spatula in her right hand pointing diagonally at the ceiling.
"Brother Lin An is older than me, and he's your good bro. What's wrong with me calling him big brother?"
With that, Chen Meiling turned and ran back to the kitchen, leaving Darnell staring after her.
The silence lasted about ten seconds more.
Then Darnell suddenly stood up, motioned for Lin An to follow, and headed to his bedroom.
Lin An followed. After Darnell closed the door, he spoke to him in a low voice.
"Okay, let's talk about something else. Now that we know the name, shouldn't we investigate?"
Investigate what?
Lin An immediately realized what Darnell meant.
Sergei Kuzmin—the name they had pried out of the mercenary squad leader—and Brighton Beach, Black Sea Seafood.
[Brighton Beach is a Russian community—Little Russia.]
[It's a Russian immigrant neighborhood, nicknamed "Little Red-Light District."]
[Is Black Sea Seafood a restaurant or a code name?]
[Among Russians, Sergei is about as common as "Zhang Wei" is in China.]
[Stay safe.]
[Stay safe +1]
"No rush. Now's not the time to investigate."
"Why?"
"Because we don't have the strength."
Lin An spread his hands, perfectly frank.
"You're a rookie. You're strong, but you don't know how to fight. And I'm a rookie too. I've barely fired a gun before.
"Brighton Community is Russian territory. If that guy named Sergei dares to run a muscle-for-hire operation, he's obviously got some clout. Given where we're at, how are we supposed to investigate?"
"I know a few guys around here. I can ask them to help us, and we can go together..."
"That won't work."
Lin An shook his head, dismissing Darnell's naïve idea.
"If you're planning to go looting for free, I don't mind you bringing your Ni Ge friends along. But this is too dangerous. They're not reliable enough."
"Genius, what's your plan, then?"
Darnell knew he wasn't the brightest, so he gave up on arguing.
"First, we make some money."
Lin An held up one finger.
"Without money, we can't do anything."
"Genius, aren't you a wizard? Can't you conjure up some money?"
"Idiot, that money belongs to the gunmen. I just put it somewhere you don't know about."
"Oh..."
"Second, we use that money to buy a few unregistered guns and some extra bullets. We find somewhere to fire off a few shots and practice our aim. Then, third, we start investigating."
"Bro, didn't you pick up a few guns at the factory? Why buy more?"
"Are you stupid? Can we even use those guns?"
Lin An rolled his eyes.
"How many shots did I fire? How many people did I kill? If I use those guns a second time, the police can check the ballistics and figure out I did it."
"Uh, okay."
Darnell scratched his head and smiled sheepishly.
"What are you planning to do with those guns, then?"
"Let the viewers redeem them."
Lin An answered honestly. In fact, his favorite Ruger .22 Pistol and all the .22 bullets had already been claimed.
"Bro, stop saying things I don't understand."
[You're letting us redeem them? Who'd dare?]
[Check the System Store. The Ruger .22 Pistol and all the bullets have already been claimed.]
[Which brother's got the guts to mess around with firearms in China?]
"I claimed them."
[Who said I'm in China? I'm in Africa. I can do whatever I want.]
[Speaking of which, the streamer's a criminal too. He's actually selling weapons to us. Isn't he afraid the censors will clamp down on him?]
"Knock, knock, knock... Come out, you two! Dinner's ready!"
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