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

Li Ang could feel his heartbeat becoming steady and powerful, each beat pumping warm blood to every corner of his body.

Your own muscle fibers are being reorganized on a microscopic scale, becoming tougher and more explosive.

This is a leap in the level of life.

It is the invisible threshold between mortals and cultivators.

He seemed to have touched the very edge.

Li Ang clenched his fist.

He felt like he could kill a bull with one punch.

Of course, this is just his personal speculation.

However, his current physical condition has far exceeded that of a normal human being.

Looking back, Derek was dealing with the corpse with Scorpion and his gang.

They carried the body out and carelessly dumped it by the roadside.

Derek dialed the phone.

Li Ang didn't say anything more.

It seems that in this country, everyone can make US dollars by disposing of corpses.

What intrigued Li Ang was that the system display above Derek's and a group of people's heads had undergone some changes.

[Target: Derek]

[Kill Line: Medium (Addicted to Elixir, Elder of the Demonic Sect)]

Li Ang could see that Derek's kill threshold seemed to be gradually stabilizing and subtly increasing.

This puzzled Li Ang greatly, prompting him to ponder.

Then look up at the top of Scorpion's head and the others' heads.

[Target: Kevin Du]

[Kill Line: Middle (Demonic Sect Protector)]

The "Scorpion's" kill threshold has reached the "medium" level.

His underlings have all gone from being on the verge of collapse to being "low".

Their title also changed from a bunch of random street thugs to a uniform group of "disciples of the Demonic Sect".

Is the kill threshold really like cause and effect, where one can continuously raise the kill threshold of others?

Li Ang thought to himself.

He watched as Derek hung up the phone and walked towards him with a fawning expression.

"Boss, it's all sorted out. We can even make a little more money later."

Li Ang had already calmed down and nodded to indicate that he understood.

But their gazes lingered on the words "Elder of the Demonic Sect" above his head.

Elder?

With him?

A drug addict who has just crawled out of the mire.

"You look good," Li Ang said.

"Thanks to you, boss!" Derek's smile widened. "I feel like I've been reborn."

"It's not just me, all the brothers are the same."

He turned around and pointed to the people who were rinsing the bloodstains off the ground with disinfectant.

"We used to be a bunch of unwanted dogs, and all we thought about every day was how to get our next bite."

"Things are different now."

Derek straightened his back a bit.

"We have territory, we have business, we have brothers."

"The people in Ninth District now have to be mindful of our attitude."

"All of this is thanks to you."

Li Ang understood.

The increase in the kill threshold did not come out of thin air.

Derek and his ilk are no longer the lowest rungs of society, no longer "assets" that can be "disposed of" at any time.

They have found their own "value".

Although this value is built on violence and drugs.

But within this broken set of rules, this is where the value lies.

They have a stable "income", they have their own "power", and they have the capital to survive in this neighborhood, or even live well.

Therefore, they are no longer "endangered".

They obtained their own "positions" within the magical sect built by Li Ang.

Derek is the manager, the elder.

Scorpions are executors and protectors.

Those underlings were the most basic disciples.

This system has been recognized by the system.

Leon looked at Derek, realizing that Derek's previous understanding of the kill threshold was too one-sided.

Now it seems that I can become the one who allocates this "cutting line".

He can use drugs, money, or violence to pull a dying person out of the mire of danger.

Fatten him up, make him more valuable.

This is a higher level of "demonic path".

A way of playing that is almost like "Tao".

"Boss?" Derek asked nervously when he saw that Leon remained silent for a long time.

Li Ang came to his senses.

"Well done." He patted Derek on the shoulder.

"From now on, Ninth District is in your hands," Li Ang said. "I don't want to see any more disobedient people."

"Understood, boss!" Derek replied loudly.

A black van stopped at the street corner.

Two men wearing overalls got out of the car.

Without saying a word, they skillfully put the body from the roadside into a black bag and then threw it into the carriage.

The whole process took less than a minute.

One of the men walked up to Derek and handed him an envelope.

"Dian Dian," the man said in a hoarse voice.

Derek opened the envelope; inside was a thick wad of banknotes.

He pulled out a few bills and handed them to the man.

"You've worked hard, brother."

The man took the money, nodded, turned around, and got into the car with his companion and drove away.

Derek took the remaining money and respectfully handed it to Li Ang.

"Boss, this is the revenue for this time."

Li Ang did not answer.

"This is yours," he said, "and your brothers' too."

"Use this money to hire more people."

"Tell them, follow us, and you'll get paid."

Derek was stunned; he hadn't expected Li Ang to give him the money directly.

That's at least several thousand dollars.

"Boss... this..."

"You're the boss of Ninth District now," Li Ang said, looking at him. "You need to act like one."

Derek gripped the envelope tightly in his hand.

"I...I understand, boss!"

Li Ang turned around, preparing to leave.

"Boss, where are you going?" Derek asked hurriedly.

"I have something to do."

Li Ang's figure quickly disappeared into the shadows at the street corner.

Instead of returning to the safe house, he circled around several blocks to make sure no one was following him before entering a 24-hour internet cafe. The strong smell of smoke and instant noodles mingled together, making him feel nauseous.

Li Ang found a corner seat, sat down, and turned on his computer.

What he needs is information, not entertainment.

I opened the Google browser and kept searching for useful information in the search engine.

His first search query was how to return to China from the United States.

The relevant information quickly popped up.

Looking at the dazzling array of information.

Li Ang frowned.

The screen displays links to various official channels.

The nearest embassy to Seattle is in San Francisco.

but......

Apply for a passport, obtain a visa, and purchase a plane ticket.

Each step requires a fundamental element.

Valid identity verification.

He did not.

He shut down those official websites and changed a few keywords in the search bar.

"Smuggling," "Black ships," "Returning to China through special channels."

The results that popped up were even more varied.

There's an immigration lawyer named GG who claims he can process a full set of residency documents and charges $100,000.

There are posts claiming to offer "safe and reliable" cargo ship slots at negotiable prices.

Others are outright scams.

Li Ang leaned back in his chair and slowly exhaled.

These so-called channels are either scams to swindle money or they're exploitative.

As an unidentified Asian, his fate would be predictable if he fell into the hands of these people.

Being sold to a shady factory to do hard labor, or having one's organs harvested and thrown into the sea, are both highly probable scenarios.

He suddenly realized that his previous idea of ​​returning to China was somewhat naive.

He possessed superhuman strength, capable of easily crushing a person's throat.

However, he could not conjure up a legitimate passport for himself out of thin air.

This world, with its own set of rules, has trapped him firmly here.

Violence can solve many problems, but it cannot solve the problems inherent in the rules themselves.