Zheng Zha’s fragmented consciousness snapped back into place as he collided with the sedan, the sickening crunch echoing as his entire body became half-embedded in the front windshield. Thankfully, he thought, had the impact point been a jagged piece of metal, this would surely have been fatal; no matter his strength, taking a heavy blow while unconscious meant he wouldn't even have time to react defensively.

Though he reasoned this way, the ordeal of the high-voltage shock left him searingly hot, aching, and numb all over, as if he had been submerged and fried in boiling oil. Yet, he could endure this pain, especially given that his physical constitution was several times superior to that of an ordinary person. After lying on the hood of the car for about two minutes, he gradually regained full control of his body.

Bystanders had already gathered around, and the petty thugs arrived swiftly. One of them snatched the Air Cannon from Zheng Zha's hand and immediately aimed it at a nearby wall, pulling the trigger. Unfortunately, lacking internal energy or any sort of vampiric power, the mechanism was utterly useless. The others began rifling through Zheng Zha’s pockets, one even attempting to drag away his Spatial Ring.

The first thing Zheng Zha did upon reclaiming control was to violently snap his eyes open.

The thug still trying to pull at his Spatial Ring blinked in surprise but didn't loosen his grip. A cold fury flared in Zheng Zha’s heart. Without hesitation, he clenched his left fist with tremendous force, resulting in a few sharp cracking sounds.

The hand gripping the Spatial Ring was instantly crushed to powder. The thug let out a piercing howl, clutching the mangled limb and writhing on the ground, his cries of agony utterly miserable.

Zheng Zha pushed himself off the sedan and stood up.

He fixed the youth still holding the Air Cannon with a cold stare. “Give me that back!” The thug was clearly terrified and numbly handed the weapon over. He then watched, bewildered, as the Air Cannon simply vanished into Zheng Zha’s left hand.

Zheng Zha, loath to waste any more effort on them, merely stretched his limbs and turned to walk away from the street.

As Zheng Zha walked off, the expressions of several of the thugs hardened into something vicious. There were over a dozen of them here; they began muttering amongst themselves in low tones.

One of them, who seemed to hold some semblance of authority, suddenly lunged forward and clapped a hand onto Zheng Zha’s shoulder. “I curse your—” The rest of the sentence never left his lips, for the man was immediately sent flying backward.

Zheng Zha pivoted sharply, driving off the ground, and spun around, delivering a vicious kick that landed squarely on the thug’s left cheek. He was sent rocketing nearly ten meters away, his status unknown. The sheer, impossible force of that single kick stunned the other approaching thugs into stopping dead in their tracks. They all looked at Zheng Zha with a strange, unnerved gaze.

Ever since entering this horror film, Zheng Zha had been simmering with suppressed rage. His once solid companions had vanished without a trace; Zhang Jie was actively concealing secrets from him; and the thought that he might be attacked by his own teammates within the next five days had left his mind a tangled mess.

Beyond the internal team crisis, the sheer strangeness of this horror film pressed down on him. Anything could claim his life—perhaps while eating, perhaps while drinking water, perhaps even while simply walking. He dared not ride in a vehicle, yet fate had clearly tracked him down so quickly. That recent incident could not possibly have been pure coincidence; he refused to believe he was that unlucky. Death itself had marked him.

Under such circumstances, being further entangled and provoked by this group of petty criminals pushed him to the breaking point; he needed a massive release. Whether he killed or not was suddenly secondary; if anyone was to blame, it was these thugs for provoking him first.

“Chinese Kung Fu!” one of the thugs exclaimed in startled Chinese. Zheng Zha, who had been winding up for a kick, instantly retracted his foot. Instead, he slammed a fist into the stomach of the thug next to the speaker. With a dull thud, the man was launched nearly two meters high. As he fell, Zheng Zha lashed out with a kick to his left back, simultaneously knocking another thug to the ground.

In barely two minutes, the ground was littered with more than ten downed thugs. While none appeared fatally wounded, several were severely injured—all suffering broken limbs from Zheng Zha’s assault. By the end, only the thug who had shouted in Chinese remained standing.

This last man was absolutely terrified and let out a scream, making a dash to escape. Zheng Zha caught him easily. “Damn it, trying to abandon your partners and run? You know what to do with this bit of gold—get them all to a hospital.” As he berated him, Zheng Zha pulled several pieces of gold, each the size of a fingernail, from his Spatial Ring and pressed them into the thug's palm.

The thug stared blankly at the gold dust. He instinctively asked, “Boss, how should this be split among the brothers?” Zheng Zha felt a strange mix of exasperation and amusement. He turned to leave, muttering, “I don’t care how you divide it, just get them settled. So many of you, and you can’t even manage something this simple—this simple thing!” Suddenly, a thought struck Zheng Zha. He spun back toward the thug, his gaze—usually frank and open—now burning with an intensity that suggested a predator spotting prey, which made the thug visibly jump. Had it not been for the terror inspired by Zheng Zha’s terrifying “Chinese Kung Fu,” the man would have bolted already.

“How many of you are there? Not just here—how many like you, who have motorbikes and divide up spoils?” Zheng Zha asked thoughtfully.

The thug, already somewhat dazed, quickly replied, “Hundreds, no, maybe two or three hundred. There are several large gangs just like us. There’s even the boss of a 'Raging Fire' gang who wants to teach them a lesson?”

“No,” Zheng Zha smiled. “Tell them this: they want gold? Real gold? I have as much as they want. All they need to do is find me six people—six Chinese, six Asians—three men and three women, including one small boy about eleven or twelve. Let the leaders of these gangs come see me for the specifics. I give gold, and in return, they work for me. As long as the job is done…” Zheng Zha circulated his internal energy and began pulling solid gold bars from his Spatial Ring. He stacked them on the hood of the sedan until they formed a shimmering pile at least ten bars high. The blinding metallic luster made the thugs, the surrounding pedestrians, and even the streetwalkers gasp in astonishment. If not for their fear of Zheng Zha’s “Chinese Kung Fu,” they would have undoubtedly rushed forward to seize the hoard.

Seeing the powerful effect, Zheng Zha swept the gold bars back into his Spatial Ring. He glanced at the thug and several lightly injured gang members who were now drooling as they watched him. He continued, “Spread the word: find me six people—six Chinese, six Asians, three men and three women, including one boy around eleven or twelve. Let the gang leaders come to me for the details. Remember, for every person found, I pay two gold bars. If all six are found, I’ll give thirty gold bars!”

“I will be at the Wave Bar from tonight until noon tomorrow. If they need me, they can talk to the bar owner; I will give him my phone number tomorrow. Anyone who accepts this task must meet me before noon. Do you understand?” The thugs nodded dumbly. Zheng Zha then shouted, “Then get moving! First, take them to the hospital! This half gold bar is your travel money.”

Zheng Zha pulled out another full gold bar from his Spatial Ring. Everyone watched as he used both hands to forcefully tear the bar in half. He tossed one half to the lead thug. “After you finish this, I’ll give you another bar and a half. Don't think you can take the money and run. Measure your own strength carefully, and don't provoke my temper again!”

The thug caught the piece of gold, his mind blank. Several distinct thumbprints were still clearly visible on the fractured surface. The sheer display of inhuman strength caused the watching thugs to swallow hard. Under this combination of reward and overwhelming force—a strength that defied human limits—they harbored not even a flicker of rebellious thought. The lead thug nodded repeatedly, and then they carefully lifted their heavily injured comrades to hail a taxi on the street corner. Only then did Zheng Zha finally let out a breath and turn toward the Wave Bar.

This was part of Zheng Zha’s evolving strategy: to use the environment and circumstances to fight. Zhang Jie could control four companions; then Zheng Zha would marshal the inhabitants of this horror film world against them. He doubted Zhang Jie could control everyone. In fact, if his power were sufficient, he would much rather drag the police to Zhang Jie’s location, but that was currently unrealistic.

(This, perhaps, was wisdom. Combat wasn't just about brute force. Both Chu Xuan and Xiao Honglv had used intellect to place themselves in advantageous positions. Even when temporarily disadvantaged, they adapted based on the environment and various factors to secure ultimate victory. He needed to learn their method of thinking!)

Having enhanced his intelligence, Zheng Zha’s memory and processing power had indeed improved significantly. However, he still couldn't map out complex strategies like Chu Xuan or Xiao Honglv. Intelligence was one thing; method of thinking and true wisdom were different—those couldn't be enhanced. Still, he was beginning to approximate that style of thought, even if only applying it to direct combat scenarios. Zheng Zha walked slowly, pushing open the door to the Wave Bar and stepping inside alone.