However, Zheng Zha paid this no mind. Having navigated countless life-or-death struggles—from the trenches of gunfire to the brutally cruel battlefields of horror movies—his spirit had long been tempered into iron and blood. Compared to his former self, the change was a world apart; the old him would never have brandished an assault rifle to threaten newcomers. Having witnessed so much death, he cared only for his own life and the lives of his companions. He wondered if this constituted progress or perhaps a form of descent. These petty thugs meant nothing to him; if someone bothered him, he’d knock them down. If they attacked first or tried to rob him, he’d simply kill them. His only boundary was not to slaughter the innocent; anyone who threatened his and his companions' survival had to be eliminated without mercy.

Zheng Zha felt a profound sense of helplessness, yet survival demanded he maintain this stark conviction. The Wave Bar truly lived up to its name. Beautiful women were pole-dancing naked against the walls, and in the center of the room, several beauties were performing the same acts on the T-stage. Many men seated around were embracing women, with some even engaging in obscenities openly, yet the crowd remained oblivious.

They were only lost in the deafening, abrasive DJ music.

Ignoring the chaos, Zheng Zha walked straight to the bar and raised his hand. By the time the bartender snapped back to attention, Zheng Zha had already tossed a thumb-sized gold nugget onto the counter.

The bartender curiously took the gold piece, weighing it in his palm before looking at Zheng Zha with a strange expression. "What do you need, sā?" Zheng Zha stared back coldly. "I don't know your local code words, so don't try testing me with them. Be direct: get me an ID card. I need it by noon tomorrow. If you succeed, this gold brick is yours; the cost of the ID will be paid separately—I’ll give you two gold bricks for it. Do you take this commission or not?" The bartender fixed his gaze on the gold brick in Zheng Zha's hand, then suddenly shook his head. "I can certainly take a commission to produce an ID, but the timeframe is extremely tight. Getting it by tomorrow noon, I fear the schedule might not allow it."

Zheng Zha said nothing. Feigning to retrieve something from his bosom, he pulled another gold brick from his Nà Jiè (Storage Ring).

He slammed it onto the bar with a pa sound. "I have no time for your negotiation games. The commission fee is doubled. These two gold bricks are yours, and four gold bricks will go to the producer. Can you finish by noon tomorrow? You only need to give me a single word. Let’s be clear: once you agree, you must deliver on time, or you’re dead. I don't care who your backer is or how much power you wield here—you are finished!" The bartender's face shifted, but he offered no further argument.

His eyes were locked onto the two thick gold bricks on the bar. It wasn't just him; several thugs nearby stared blankly at the gold. The bartender quickly snatched the bricks and tucked them beneath the counter, murmuring, "Understood. You can have it by noon tomorrow. I need a photo of you."

This request momentarily stunned Zheng Zha. Though he carried many things, they were all gear and auxiliary items prepared for survival. Who would casually carry a photograph into a horror movie scenario? It seemed pointless. He could only shrug. "I don't have a photo on me. Can I get one taken in the bar's back room?" The bartender remained unruffled, producing a small camera from behind the counter. "We can do it right here. The quality won't be great, but the producers will touch it up..." Before he finished speaking, the camera flashed a blinding white light with a pa sound.

Zheng Zha instinctively closed his eyes, but in that moment, a violent palpitation seized him. His left hand shot backward, grasping a cold, sharp object just as his entire body spun around, delivering a kick.

Simultaneously with the camera flash, a thug behind him had lunged, plunging a dagger toward his lower back.

It wasn't just this one thug; several others were closing in. They hadn't anticipated Zheng Zha's reaction speed. While capturing the dagger, he managed to pivot and send the attacker flying with a kick. The force of this single kick was absurd; it sent the thug several meters away, knocking down four or five other people in his path. For a moment, no one dared to approach. Everyone focused on Zheng Zha. The only sounds in the bar were the piercing DJ beat and the distant, oblivious clamor of others, but around Zheng Zha, the area fell silent.

"Bartender, is the photo ready?" Zheng Zha ignored the downed thug and turned back to the bar owner.

Zheng Zha shook his head. "It’s not about double the money; I don’t have time for your games. Remember, if you fail the commission, you die. You will die! So, please, just try to complete the request."

With that, he gently placed the dagger he held onto the bar and began walking toward the exit.

The bartender’s hand remained beneath the counter, clutching a shotgun, but a closer look revealed his hands were trembling incessantly—more violently so after seeing the dagger.

The surrounding thugs gathered again. One picked up the discarded dagger and exclaimed, "Chinese Kung Fu! That’s Chinese Kung Fu!" The dagger now bore several distinct thumbprints, the whorls of his fingerprints perfectly imprinted, as if Zheng Zha's hand were a branding iron. This sight stunned the onlookers, especially the bartender, whose face cycled rapidly from pale to green, then back to pale. After a few tens of seconds, he hastily pulled out a cell phone and began speaking rapidly into it.

Zheng Zha stepped out of the bar. He glanced at the sky; it was already pitch black, around nine o'clock. Since he couldn't check into a hotel, this presented a dilemma, so he decided to find a wide-open plaza where he could rest on a bench for the night.

The road outside was slightly damp. A sudden, heavy rainstorm had struck before he entered the bar, passing as quickly as it came, leaving small puddles in places. Only the leather-clad motorcyclists paid no mind, revving their engines and riding back and forth noisily.

There were also several streetwalkers stationed just outside the bar. They were flamboyantly dressed, emanating heavy perfumes, clad only in thin, sexy outfits that left no doubt about their profession. As Zheng Zha passed them, these women called out provocatively, attempting to lure him in, only stopping when he ignored them and walked on alone.

One of the women seemed unable to contain her frustration. She spat a thick gob of phlegm onto the path Zheng Zha had just taken, her eyes filled with annoyance. Just then, a motorcycle roared past them, accidentally splashing directly into the expectoration. Perhaps due to the wet road or perhaps because of the phlegm, the bike suddenly skidded violently and shot toward Zheng Zha at an even faster speed.

The biker on the motorcycle barely had time to cry out before being thrown clear, while the bike itself slid across the slick surface straight toward Zheng Zha. By the time he turned, the motorcycle was only two or three meters away. Evasion was impossible. He had no choice but to push off the ground and quickly retreat a few steps, stumbling into a small puddle. Only then did he find the opportunity to use his Qinggong (Lightness Skill) to leap, soaring smoothly over the motorcycle, a meter above its path.

Zheng Zha landed and exhaled, pondering deeply. He couldn't decipher if this was mere chance or if he was now marked as someone death was hunting. Impossible, surely? It hadn't been that long; that mother and son duo were still alive according to the established plot.

Lost in thought for a moment, the motorcycle crashed into a utility pole behind him. Upon impact, the bike erupted in a fierce explosion. The blast was so powerful it sent chunks of pavement flying, one shard soaring upward and cleanly severing the power line attached to the pole. The severed wire whipped down toward the ground. Whether by coincidence or fate, the dangling wire landed just outside the edge of the puddle where Zheng Zha stood. With a sharp sī sound, Zheng Zha felt an excruciating, life-threatening pain.

Zheng Zha’s physical endurance was many times greater than an ordinary person’s, but he could not withstand high-voltage electricity head-on. Instantly, his body locked up, and a smell of scorching flesh emanated from him. Just as he was about to be cooked alive by the current, his eyes suddenly glazed over in a daze. He frantically reached into his Nà Jiè for the Air Cannon. His body was rigid; his fingers only managed to press the activation switch before the Air Cannon began charging and sucking in air. "Two!" "One!" Those two seconds felt as long as an eternity to Zheng Zha. He strained to point the barrel diagonally downwards. When the muzzle distortion finally manifested, the massive shockwave erupted, not only pulverizing the concrete ground into gravel but also using its recoil to shove Zheng Zha several meters away from the puddle. As his vision darkened, he passed out, while the electric wire continued to thrash violently, its length unfortunately restricting it to the immediate vicinity of the puddle, far from where Zheng Zha now lay unconscious.