Faced with the offered cigarette, the homeless man pointed at his mouth, then opened it.
He seemed unable even to speak.
"Ah."
Gao Jian sighed softly and put the cigarette away. He felt all over himself, then rummaged through his Storage Bag, but could not find anything to eat.
Foundation Establishment cultivators could already go without food to some extent. He really had no habit of keeping food in his Storage Bag. He did have some cash, but it was all Chinese yuan, not dollars. Even the quarter he had used in the phone booth was something he had picked up by the roadside.
The homeless man looked a little disappointed too and slowly lowered his hand.
Gao Jian could not bear it.
How did the United States end up like this?
Gao Jian sighed inwardly.
The rise and fall of dynasties was a fact of life, but this was not some mortal dynasty back home. It was a modern government with highly developed productive capabilities. Besides, the United States had only just passed its golden peak. Its decline was far too swift.
It was as though a giant had suddenly contracted a terminal illness, its body deteriorating at an astonishing rate.
He rummaged through his Storage Bag again and finally felt some soft packaging. When he pulled it out, it turned out to be the Space Corn Roll left over by Allen, the lunar astronaut.
He had casually swept it into his Storage Bag when he smashed the spacecraft's window and the contents of the cabin were sucked out.
"Uh... someone else already ate part of this. Do you want it?"
Before Gao Jian had finished speaking, the homeless man reached out with a hand like a withered claw. Gao Jian let him take it, then watched him wolf it down. The small remaining portion of the roll vanished in two or three bites.
Unable to bear the sight, Gao Jian turned his head away.
Once the homeless man finished eating, Gao Jian took one of the lunar crew's disposable water pouches out of the water. He tore it open and handed it over. The man put it to his mouth without hesitation and soon sucked the pouch flat.
The food and water seemed to restore some of the homeless man's energy.
He stared at the empty wrapper and water pouch, gazing at the NASA logos on them for a long while.
After a moment, he tucked both NASA-marked packages inside his clothes, then felt around himself as though searching for something to repay Gao Jian with.
"No, no, no." Gao Jian waved him off.
The homeless man was already destitute. How could he accept anything from him? Besides, what could this skin-and-bones man possibly have to offer... huh?
The homeless man pulled out a clean, old revolver.
Gao Jian could not help being startled.
The gun's rifling was badly worn, but it had been wiped clean. Clearly, it was something the homeless man treasured. By now, there was no time to marvel at American customs or the proliferation of firearms, because the man was already holding the gun out to him.
Gao Jian immediately pushed it back and said solemnly, "Thank you, my friend, but I don't need this."
A small handgun like this could, at most, threaten a minor cultivator at the first or second level of Qi Refining. It was no use to him. He was simply touched by the man's desire to repay his kindness, while also vaguely sensing that he was entrusting him with something of emotional significance.
The man probably felt he did not have long to live.
Their only connection was a single roll-and even that was Allen's leftover. Gao Jian felt he did not deserve such a gift.
"Take it."
The homeless man spoke, each word taking all his strength. Under Gao Jian's puzzled gaze, he said in a parched voice, "A knight must repay a kindness. This is my-my weapon, the most valuable thing I own. It helped me kill many sheep."
Gao Jian frowned.
He examined the handgun again. The bluing had worn off the frame, exposing the grayish-white metal underneath. There were only two rounds in the cylinder, one with a brass casing and the other steel. Clearly, they had been scavenged from different places.
Whether this thing could even fire was questionable.
"Keep it. I have no use for it," Gao Jian said earnestly.
The homeless man did not withdraw it. His arm remained outstretched, holding the gun as he looked at Gao Jian. His sunken eyes stared straight at him. He was still kneeling on the ground, and it was clear that maintaining this posture took considerable effort.
A moment later.
Gao Jian picked up the revolver. Almost the instant he touched it, he sensed a trace of bloody aura on the weapon, and his brow furrowed.
It had killed people. More than one.
He had an almost uncanny instinct for weapons that had inflicted harm.
This piqued his interest in the homeless man. He held the handgun and examined it from every angle. At the same time, an almost imperceptible glow formed at his fingertip. Like a dim spark, it slipped into the man's body.
"What's your name, brother?" Gao Jian put the gun away and sat cross-legged, ignoring the greasy grime on the ground.
At a speed that left Gao Jian reeling, the homeless man delivered one clear, long, complicated sentence:
"My name is Don Quixote, and I belong to the Silver Cross Crusader Knights of Saint America, with the rank of sergeant, having entered service in 2017, and my mission was to hunt the dragons and giants hiding among us, but I failed, I couldn't protect my king, he was killed by a dragon... my direct superior is White Moon Knight Carrasco, but he went missing while defending His Majesty, and missing doesn't mean killed in action, so I'm still waiting for his orders."
Gao Jian was left speechless.
What a marvelous fantasy adventure.
Saint America, the Silver Cross Crusader Knights, a king and dragons, the White Moon Knight... had he forgotten the princess's part?
Gao Jian dearly hoped this was a man suffering a psychiatric episode. That might explain why he had become homeless. But judging by the logic of his speech, mental illness seemed extremely unlikely.
Gao Jian silently swept his divine sense over him, confirming that Don Quixote's heartbeat was steady, his pupils reacted normally to light, and his body temperature was low, with no fever... there were no obvious abnormalities in his brain either.
Gao Jian withdrew his divine sense and followed the man's understanding of things. "Oh, this king you mentioned-who was he? What happened to him?"
"He was killed by a dragon," Don Quixote said in grief and anger. "We failed to keep him safe..."
Gao Jian sat in front of him, listening as Don Quixote haltingly related a few things. His manner of speaking was unusual: the chronology was jumbled and the people vaguely described, yet his account was packed with specific details. Occasionally, a term from the news would slip out.
Sometimes he even said things like "The king once tried to mediate the conflict in eastern Ukraine," which made it hard not to laugh.
In short, after the king's death, the order of knights was disbanded. He lost his monthly allowance of three silver coins, and some vile sheep people swindled him out of all his discharge gold. Gao Jian could not quite grasp what Don Quixote meant by "sheep people," though.
Still, from his description, he roughly pieced together a story stripped of its fantasy trappings: the homeless man before him was most likely a veteran, and the supposed order of knights was probably a United States Army formation like the 1st Cavalry Division.
After his discharge, Don Quixote had hitchhiked from California to San Leon. He settled in the city and initially worked at the port, but was later driven out because he often talked nonsense. About a year ago, his homeless tent had been burned down, and he had moved into the abandoned phone booth nearby.
The average survival time for a homeless person in the United States was around two years. Clearly, if he had not met Gao Jian, he would already have reached the end of his life.
The sky gradually darkened, and the dim yellow streetlights came on.
A sudden beam of bright light swept over them.
Gao Jian narrowed his eyes.
A black Cadillac had turned onto the street. Its bright headlights easily overwhelmed the dim streetlamps. Finally, it stopped slowly beside the phone booth.
Old Chen rolled down the window and leaned out to look their way.
"How long are you planning to keep chatting?"
"Oh, Old Chen." Gao Jian smiled and waved.
"Engineer Gao," Old Chen said, entirely unmoved by Gao Jian's smile, "where did you get that gun?"
Gao Jian immediately tossed the gun to Don Quixote.
Don Quixote immediately tossed it back to Gao Jian.
Gao Jian tossed it back again.
And so it continued.
Old Chen wore an indescribable expression. Gao Jian was just about to explain when Old Chen cut him off. "Get in first. We're going back to the consulate. I'm telling you, you've gone from a yellow name to a red one now. Someone posted photos online of you at the launch hall in Houston.
"Combined with the news that everyone aboard the Orion spacecraft survived, you're now the third-hottest topic on the entire internet. First and second are the geomagnetic storm incident and the Intercontinental Missile Incident."
"The entire internet?"
"Internet service was fully restored twenty minutes ago. This public phone booth has been located too. You'd better come back with me before the FBI gets here. We'll find a way to send you home."
At that, Gao Jian sprang to his feet and headed toward the car, but stopped after just two steps.
The homeless man was still struggling to stand, looking determined to give the gun away.
Gao Jian smiled at him, then opened the car door and got in. Old Chen's gaze did not linger on the homeless man's eyes for even a moment. He had worked in the United States for over a decade and had seen far too many people like him.
The homeless man stared blankly after the departing Cadillac.
Suddenly, Gao Jian's voice sounded beside his ears. It seemed to pour in from every direction, cutting through the clamor of the wind and lingering long afterward.
"Brother, a knight can't be without a weapon. Keep your gun safe. It's important to you."
Before you continue