What the hell is the "kill line" when you're in America?

The aroma of turkey wafting from the oven tantalized Mike's taste buds, but he found it utterly tasteless.

Catherine held Mike in her arms, burying his head in her chest, as if comforting a wounded beast.

Mike's tall body trembled slightly; he neither cried nor spoke.

Li Ang looked at the line of text that kept flashing above his head.

[Slay Threshold: Low (Dao Heart Damaged, Pure Lotus About to Wither)]

That already fragile "pure lotus" finally began to wither under the most vicious verbal attacks from her younger brother.

Li Ang walked over to Mike.

He looked at Li Ang, this Chinese friend he had only known for a short time, yet who inexplicably made him feel close to him.

He tried to force a smile to prove that he was alright, to prove that he could still handle it.

But it failed.

In the end, all I could manage was an expression that looked worse than crying.

"He is my younger brother."

Mike's voice was hoarse, as if it had been sanded, as he repeated the sentence.

Li Ang did not speak again.

He simply reached out and patted Mike on the shoulder.

Mike could sense Li Ang's emotions.

"I'm going for a walk."

After a long while, Mike stood up, his voice filled with an overwhelming weariness.

"I'll go with you," Catherine said immediately.

"No," Mike shook his head. "I want to be alone for a while."

After he finished speaking, he grabbed his coat, opened the door, and walked out, leaving behind the aroma of turkey and the awkwardness that filled the room.

Catherine looked anxiously at the doorway, at a loss for what to do.

"Let him have some peace and quiet," Li Ang said.

He walked to the door and put on his coat.

"Please keep an eye on him, I beg you," Catherine whispered to Li Ang's retreating figure.

Li Ang didn't turn around, but simply gave a soft "hmm," then opened the door and followed him out.

......

Mike was unaware that Li Ang was following behind him.

Little did he know that less than half an hour after he slammed the door and left, his brother Jamal was walking into a smoke-filled underground bar in the Ninth Street area.

In a corner of the bar, a fat black man wearing an extravagant floral shirt and a thick gold chain around his neck was drinking with two heavily made-up women.

His name was Marcus, and he was the leader of a small gang in the area called the "Street Jackals."

Jamal sidled up to him like a lapdog.

"Hey, Boss Marcus."

Marcus didn't even lift his eyelids, he just snorted through his nose.

Jamal smiled obsequiously, "I'm out of that damned place."

"He's in 13th Street right now, renting a run-down apartment." A hint of resentment flashed in Jamal's eyes.

"He ruined my life, Boss Marcus," Jamal's voice rose in agitation. "If it weren't for him, I could be making you a fortune right now! It's all his fault! He sent me to rehab and made me suffer for a year!"

Marcus's smile slowly faded.

He remembered.

Jamal used to be a very useful "laborer" under him, capable of fighting and fighting, and most importantly, obedient.

Because of his ambitious older brother, he lost one of his money-making tools.

"He made me lose a lot of money, Jamal," Marcus's voice turned cold.

"Yes, boss!" Jamal immediately chimed in. "Who does he think he is? A traitor! He betrayed the neighborhood, he betrayed us!"

"Does he think that reading a few books will wash away the stain on his reputation?"

"A traitor should pay the price."

"Your brother, I will make him pay back double for the suffering he caused you."

......

Mike and Leon were completely unaware of all this.

Mike wandered aimlessly through his familiar neighborhood.

He walked past the basketball court where he had played since childhood; the iron mesh on the rim was already rusted.

He walked past the fast food restaurant where he used to work; the greasy signboard gleamed dimly in the night.

These places he desperately wanted to escape had now become the only places he could linger in.

Jamal's harsh words echoed in his mind over and over again.

"It's like a doghouse!"

"Did you like him because of his muscular physique?"

"traitor!"

Li Ang followed behind, at a distance of several dozen meters.

He could clearly see that the slash mark above Mike's head was fading at a visible speed, and the ominous flashing frequency was getting faster and faster.

[Slay Threshold: Low (Dao Heart Shattered, All Hope Devastated, Death Omen Appears)]

Li Ang frowned.

The situation was worse than he had imagined.

Mike's energy and spirit are being worn away little by little by himself.

When a person no longer wants to live, even a god can't save them.

Mike turned into a narrower alley.

This is the intersection of the 9th and 13th blocks, a notorious no-man's-land.

The walls are covered with graffiti from various gangs, overlapping each other in a mottled and chaotic manner, proclaiming the chaotic ownership of this area.

Just then, several figures appeared at the other end of the alley.

They blocked the way.

The one leading them was that fat black man named Marcus.

Behind him were four equally menacing-looking men, each carrying a baseball bat or an iron pipe.

Mike stopped in his tracks, looked up, and stared at the uninvited guests before him.

He didn't even have the strength to ask, "What do you want to do?"

"Mike Williams?" Marcus tilted his head, sizing him up with a malicious smile. "You've got some serious muscle."

"Your brother, I will make him pay back double for the suffering he caused you."

He wasn't a big shot; he was just a local bully in the chaotic area of ​​Ninth Street.

He doesn't understand what justice is, nor does he care about what betrayal is.

He only understands one very simple principle.

Those who cut off my source of income shall die.

Mike Williams, this "traitor" who wanted to climb out of the mire, lost a powerful and useful money-making tool for a whole year.

He'll have to pay this price with his blood.

"Let's do it."

Marcus didn't waste any words. He simply raised his chin slightly, took a step back, and gave the space to his subordinates.

Mike only then realized that they seemed to be about to do something to him.

"you......"

All of this was observed by Li Ang, who was standing at the entrance of the alley, just a few dozen meters away.

He leaned against the shadows in the corner of the wall.

He looked at the thugs with the word "endangered" on their heads, his eyes calm and unwavering.

They're just a few low-level street thugs.

After exchanging for "Martial Arts Profound," opponents of this level were no different from a few crabs waving their pincers in his eyes.

He doesn't even need to do anything; he just needs to wait.

Wait until they make the first move, until the system identifies them as "demonic cultivators," and then you can legitimately "slay demons and eliminate evil," reaping a wave of demonic points.

However, just as those thugs were about to rush in front of Mike...

Li Ang's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly.

Not right.

The situation was different from what he had expected.

At the other end of the alley, two more people emerged from behind Marcus.

Unlike the others, these two were not dressed in baggy hoodies and baggy pants, but in tight black sportswear, with baseball caps pulled low so their faces were obscured.

They were not carrying baseball bats or iron pipes.

Their hands were always in their pockets.

That's a professional attitude.

A posture of being ready to pull out a deadly weapon at any time.

Almost simultaneously, Li Ang's gaze swept over the four thugs who had rushed in front of Mike.

One of them was slowly pulling his hand out of his pocket.

The last rays of the streetlight flashed across the man's hand.

It's not a knife.

It's a gun!