Crushing Them and "Get Lost"

Xiaoyu, who had collapsed to the ground, huddled at the entrance of the booth, her body trembling uncontrollably, her mind hazy. Meanwhile, Brandon's roar and footsteps were already approaching, like the drumbeats of a death knell.

"You fucking Asia Monkey! Give her to me now!"

Brandon clutched his forehead, which was still bleeding and haphazardly wrapped with a towel. His face was smeared with half-dried blood and alcohol, making him look like a demon crawling out of hell.

He rushed to the low railing of the booth, his bloodshot eyes fixed on the limp Xiaoyu, then suddenly looked up, scanning the several calm Asian faces in the booth, finally locking onto Lü Yi, who had just stood up and looked impatient.

The extreme pain and humiliation (having his head cracked open by a seemingly delicate woman) drove him to madness, leaving only a destructive frenzy. He paid no attention to the reactions of the others in the booth; or rather, at that moment, all he saw were his prey and the obstacles.

Before he could finish speaking, he even tried to reach out and grab Xiaoyu's hair.

However, he had only raised his hand halfway.

Lü Yi made a move.

He didn't even wait for Brandon's racially charged insult to completely fade. The instant Brandon uttered the last word, "NOW," Lü Yi's nonchalant expression vanished abruptly, his eyes turning cold and focused like a hungry wolf before its prey.

He didn't get up at all, remaining in a half-sitting, half-standing position. His right hand shot out like lightning, grabbing the almost full, heavy, rock-like whiskey glass in front of him (the amber liquid inside sloshed and spilled as he moved violently).

Without any fancy moves or unnecessary roars, Lü Yi exerted force from his waist and abdomen, his body snapping back like a taut bowstring. Using this momentum, he swung his arm in a wide arc, and through the low fence less than a meter high, he smashed the heavy glass down on Brandon's already bloodied forehead as if throwing a discus!

"Bang-- Crash!!!"

A deafening roar, ten times more muffled and terrifying than when Xiaoyu smashed the beer bottle, suddenly erupted! The thick-bottomed glass shattered into countless fragments, mixing with the expensive whiskey inside, like a miniature bomb exploding on Brandon's head! Glass shards, liquor, and blood splattered everywhere, with even a few drops splashing onto the marble tabletop inside the booth.

"Ugh--!!!"

Brandon's roar and all his subsequent words were slammed back into his throat by this blow, turning into a short, distorted, and inhumanly painful growl. He felt as if his head had been hit head-on by a battering ram; everything went black, stars flashed before his eyes, and the whole world instantly turned upside down and spun.

That heavy blow brought not only excruciating pain from torn flesh, but also a shockwave and dizziness that went straight to the brain.

His legs buckled, his knees buckled uncontrollably, and he collapsed heavily to his knees on the hard, cold ground with a "thud." His hands, which had been covering his head, fell limply to his sides, revealing an even more gruesome, deep, and bone-revealing pit on his forehead. Blood gushed out like a stream, instantly staining his entire face and front of his shirt red.

Brandon knelt there, his body shaking violently, gasping for breath, as if even the strength to scream had been shattered.

Inside and outside the booths, a deathly silence fell instantly. Only the music from the dance floor below continued its frenetic pace, but at this moment it seemed like distant background noise.

The people in the nearby booths were all stunned, their mouths agape as they stared at the bloody scene. Alex was chasing behind, happened to witness this horrific attack. He was so frightened that his feet froze on the spot, his face ashen, and his pupils shrank to pinpoints with extreme fear.

He was holding a wine bottle in his hand, intending to help, but it fell to the ground with a "clatter," spilling the wine, though he didn't even notice.

Lü Yi then slowly stood up, brushing non-existent dust off his hands. He didn't even glance at Brandon, who was kneeling and swaying on the ground, as if he had merely swatted a buzzing fly. He walked to the low fence, looked down at the dazed Brandon kneeling on the ground, clicked his tongue in disdain, and cursed, "Damn, he's really weak."

Then, he raised his foot, clad in a hard-soled military boot, and pressed the sole against Brandon's unconsciously twitching shoulder, delivering a merciless kick forward!

"Thump."

Brandon was kicked backward like a heavy, tattered sack, his head hitting the ground with a thud. He fell silent, his body still twitching slightly. Blood, alcohol, and broken glass smeared all over his head and face, a gruesome sight.

Lü Yi bent down and casually picked up a brown glass bottle with a little less than half a bottle of beer left from the table next to him. He weighed it in his hand, seemingly finding it too light, but still raised it and, without hesitation, smashed it down on Brandon's already messy and unconscious forehead!

Thump!

The sound became much muffled. The beer bottle hadn't broken, but Brandon's body convulsed violently and then went completely still. Only the faint rise and fall of his chest proved he was still alive.

Lü Yi then threw away the deformed beer bottle, clapped his hands, straightened up, and his gaze, like a cold knife, swept over the dumbfounded Alex.

Alex was startled by his gaze, like a frog being stared at by a venomous snake. He instinctively took several steps back, his back slamming into a passing waiter, knocking over several glasses on the waiter's tray. This drew a chorus of gasps and curses, but Alex remained oblivious.

He looked at Lü Yi, then at Brandon lying on the ground like a dead dog, and boundless fear gripped him. He usually followed Brandon to bully ordinary people and take advantage of female international students, but he had never seen a character like Lü Yi who would beat someone to death at the slightest disagreement, a ruthless and merciless killer. His legs were trembling, his mind was blank, and only the thought of "escape" remained.

However, the commotion was too great, and the smell of blood was too strong. The people maintaining order at the nightclub could no longer stand idly by.

"Get out of the way! Everyone get out of the way!"

A furious shout rang out. The crowd was roughly parted, and a security captain, dressed in a black fitted suit, with an extremely muscular build, a nearly shaved head, and ferocious tattoos on his neck, led four or five equally burly men in the same black suits as he rushed over.

The head of the security team had a livid face and sharp eyes. He first glanced at Brandon, who was lying unconscious on the ground with blood all over his head, then looked at Alex, who was stunned, and finally his gaze shot like lightning to Lü Yi, who had just withdrawn his foot and looked indifferent, as well as several other figures deep inside the booth.

"Fuck! What the hell is going on here?!" The security captain roared, his voice booming, trying to intimidate the crowd. Several of his men quickly dispersed behind him, forming a swarm, their hands reaching for the batons and walkie-talkies tucked into their waistbands.

Alex, as if seeing a savior, scrambled to the head of security, grabbed his arm, pointed at Lü Yi and Lin Feng's booth, and whispered urgently and incoherently in a voice distorted by fear:

"They... they attacked Brandon! He's... he's Walton! You have to do something! Call the cops! Arrest them!"

The name "Walton" made the security captain's pupils shrink sharply. He clearly knew what that name meant in Seattle.

He glanced again at Brandon's gruesome state on the ground, a vein throbbing on his forehead. Regardless of who was right or wrong, the fact that a member of the Walton family had been beaten to this state in his own territory was a serious matter. He had to immediately subdue the assailant, give the Walton family an explanation, and absolve himself of responsibility.

The head of security took a deep breath, suppressing the pressure from the name "Walton" and his apprehension about the ruthless methods of the group (especially Lü Yi). He stepped forward, pointed at Lü Yi, and said in a commanding, unquestionable tone:

"You! And all of you in there! Stay right there! Don't move! My men are calling the police right now! This is a serious assault!"

As he spoke, he gave a wink to his men behind him. Several burly men in black suits immediately stepped forward, preparing to forcibly enter the booth and control Lü Yi, or at least isolate him.

In the booth, Lin Feng remained seated deep within the sofa, holding a seemingly endless glass of wine, his gaze calmly fixed ahead, as if the tense atmosphere before him had nothing to do with him. K sat beside him, relaxed, but his eyes sharp as an eagle, sweeping over every black suit that approached.

Just as the security captain's men were about to step into the low enclosure of the booths, their hands already touching the handles of their batons—

Around them, several "guests" who had been scattered in nearby booths, either drinking alone or whispering and laughing with their female companions, stood up silently at almost the same time.

Their movements were slow but extremely synchronized, with a well-trained rhythm. There were six of them, men and women, dressed fashionably and looking no different from the other patrons of the nightclub. But as they stood up and moved, they instantly formed a loose yet incredibly precise encirclement, surrounding the security captain and his four or five men, along with Alex.

There were no shouts, no warnings, not even any extra eye contact.

Six people, six hands, almost simultaneously, reached for different parts of their own bodies—some slipped their hands inside their suits, some slid them down to their lower backs, and some simply let their hands hang down seemingly casually, but with a slight twitch of their wrists.

The next second, several dark gun barrels, gleaming coldly in the dim light, came from different angles and steadily and silently pressed against the vital parts of the security captain and two of his closest subordinates—their waists, ribs, and backs.

The gun muzzle, through the thin fabric of the suit, conveyed a hard, cold, and deathly sensation. The hand holding the gun was steady without the slightest tremor, the finger resting lightly on the trigger guard, the eyes indifferent, as if looking at a herd of livestock awaiting slaughter.

The air seemed to freeze completely at that moment.

The music continued to blare, but the security captain and his men felt as if the world had suddenly fallen silent. It was as if all the blood in their bodies rushed to their heads and then froze instantly. Cold sweat seeped from the security captain's bald head at a visible rate, trickling down his temples.

He could clearly feel the gun barrel pressed against his left kidney, the cold metallic texture, and the unmistakable killing intent emanating from the gunman. His two men behind him froze instantly, too afraid to move, their faces drained of color, their eyes filled with terror.

They were just nightclub security guards, good at dealing with drunks, maintaining order, and occasionally taking action. But had they ever experienced being held at close range by several guns, in such a well-trained manner, with vital organs pointed at them? This was not even a confrontation on the same level!

The security captain's Adam's apple bobbed violently. All the roars, commands, and the courage fueled by the "Walton" name vanished in that instant. He turned his stiff neck with difficulty and extreme slowness, his gaze passing over the shoulder of the gunman in front of him and looking into the depths of the booth.

There, the young man (Lin Feng) who had been silent all along seemed to finally feel a little impatient with the "noise" on this side. He turned his head slightly, his gaze sweeping lightly over the terrified, sweat-drenched face of the security captain, and then over the unconscious Brandon and the terrified Alex on the ground.

Then, he parted his thin lips slightly and uttered a single word in clear, flat Chinese:

"Roll."

The voice was not loud, and there was hardly any emotional fluctuation, but in the deathly silence surrounding them, it was like a cold decree, clearly reaching the ears of the security captain.

The security captain felt like he'd been granted a pardon, nearly collapsing from exhaustion. He dared not hesitate for a moment, nor utter a single harsh word. With all his remaining strength, he gave his equally terrified subordinates a wink and forced out a few words: "Let's go... Move... Now..."

The group retreated slowly and extremely carefully, like puppets on strings, their movements stiff, as if afraid of causing a misunderstanding.

Only after completely retreating out of the threatening range of the gun and back to the edge of the crowd of onlookers did the security captain feel his almost frozen blood begin to flow again, but his back was already soaked in cold sweat.

He glanced one last time at the booth, his eyes filled with complex emotions—fear, lingering dread, and a deep sense of apprehension—before turning back and quickly disappearing into the crowd and shadows of the lights with his men. He didn't even dare to look at Brandon, who lay unconscious on the ground, again.

Alex was utterly desperate. His last hope had slipped away. He stood there all alone, looking at Brandon lying on the ground, his life hanging in the balance, then at the menacing group in the booth. He didn't know whether to stay or leave.

The immense fear and pressure nearly broke him. He thought of Brandon's identity and the terrible consequences that might follow, and a chill ran from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. He couldn't just abandon Brandon like that; otherwise, he couldn't bear the wrath of the Walton family.

After much hesitation, in the suffocating silence and under the indifferent gazes of those in the booth, Alex mustered his last remaining courage and, in a trembling, tearful voice, stammered in English towards the booth:

"Sir... please... my friend... he... he is a Walton... If he dies... you... you will be in big trouble..."

He wanted to bring up his background as a last resort, hoping to scare the other party into allowing him to call an ambulance.

Deep inside the booth, Lin Feng seemed not to hear his words, his gaze still fixed on the dance floor below, his fingers unconsciously stroking the rim of his glass.

But K, standing slightly behind Lin Feng, turned his head slightly and calmly stated in clear, cold, and accent-free English, to the air, or rather, to everyone present:

"If he talks again, knock all his teeth out."

This was said to Lü Yi, but in English, to ensure Alex could understand every word.

Alex's voice stopped abruptly. He abruptly covered his mouth, his eyes wide with extreme fear. He bit his lip so hard he could even taste blood. He dared not utter another sound, his body trembling like an autumn leaf, frozen in place like a comical and pathetic sculpture.

In the booth, Lin Feng downed the last bit of wine in his glass. Then, he put down the glass, took out a cigarette case from his pocket, knocked out a cigarette, and put it in his mouth. K, who was next to him, took out an antique-style brass lighter, and with a crisp "ding," lit it for Lin Feng.

Lin Feng took a drag of his cigarette and slowly exhaled a bluish-white smoke. He then glanced at Xiaoyu, who was still groaning in pain and dazed on the sofa, and said calmly to K, "Arrange for her to go to the hospital."

K nodded and gestured to the silent and capable female mercenary who had been guarding the inside of the booth. The mercenary immediately stepped forward, deftly wrapped Xiaoyu's trembling body in a prepared light jacket, and half-lifted her up, her movements professional and effortless.

Lin Feng stubbed out his cigarette, which he had only taken a couple of puffs of, and stood up. Lü Yi, Kong Xiang, and the others immediately followed suit. At K's signal, the six "Blood Spear" mercenaries around him quickly holstered their guns, as if they had never drawn them, and silently merged into the group behind Lin Feng, maintaining their protective formation.

Ignoring the unconscious Brandon on the ground, the terrified Alex, and the countless horrified, curious, and fearful gazes around them, the group calmly passed through the still-reveling crowd, like Moses parting the Red Sea, and headed towards the nightclub exit. Wherever they went, the crowd instinctively parted to make way for them; no one dared to block their path, or even meet their gaze.

Stepping out of the nightclub, the cool, damp Seattle night wind instantly swept over them, dispelling the suffocating noise and stench of blood behind them. The convoy was already waiting on the street. Lin Feng took the lead and sat in the back seat of the middle car. K sat in the passenger seat. The female mercenary helped the unconscious Xiaoyu into another car. Lü Yi and Kong Xiang got into the car behind. The other mercenaries also quickly got into the cars.

With a deep, rumbling roar, the convoy slowly drove away from this place of trouble, still shimmering with dazzling neon lights.

Inside the car, the atmosphere was somewhat subdued. Lü Yi seemed still immersed in the afterglow of the violence, licking her slightly dry lips. Kong Xiang, on the other hand, looked with some concern at the rapidly receding street scene outside the window.

While glancing at his phone screen (which might be displaying some information), K leaned slightly to report to Lin Feng in the back seat, "Boss, judging from the behavior of that white youth (Alex) and the reaction of the security guard, the one who got beaten up (Brandon) seems to have some connections." His tone was a flat, descriptive statement, without any questions, simply reporting what he had observed.

Lin Feng leaned back in the back seat, the car window rolled down a crack to let the night breeze dispel the smell of smoke inside. He looked out at the city, brightly lit yet cold and unfamiliar, slowly exhaled a smoke ring, and calmly said:

"Fine."

He paused, his voice clear yet indifferent amidst the engine's hum and the wind:

"Now that we're here, we're bound to cause some trouble."

The lights outside the car window flickered in his deep eyes, revealing no emotion whatsoever.

"Otherwise, everyone will really treat us like lambs to the slaughter."