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

Collect the body.

When Jerome uttered those two words, it was as casually as if he were talking about the weather.

In the world of cultivation, handling corpses is a skill; looting spoils, destroying evidence, and crafting puppets—every step has its intricacies.

Here...

All of them have clearly marked prices?

A single one can fetch fifty dollars?

Five or six hundred US dollars is a lot of money for Li Ang.

With this money, at least I can get out of my current situation and not have to worry so much.

However, he looked at Jerome with a scrutinizing gaze.

"Is this job not very clean?" Li Ang asked.

Jerome gave a wry smile: "The clean work, do we even get a chance to do it?"

"A few hundred dollars might be a lifesaver for you," Li Ang said, his gaze sweeping over the dilapidated RV. "But for me, it could be money to save my life."

"I understand," Jerome nodded.

Out of caution, Li Ang also understood that there are no free lunches.

"If I accept, how will the money be split?" Li Ang continued to ask.

Jerome was taken aback; he hadn't expected Leon to be so direct.

He hesitated for a few seconds: "You get 70%, I get 30%. I'll just be the matchmaker; you do all the work."

Li Ang did not agree immediately; he was quickly analyzing the pros and cons.

With five or six hundred dollars, you no longer have to worry about where your next meal will come from, and you don't have to be wary of those "relief meals" laced with drugs.

This is a benefit.

The drawbacks are equally obvious.

The Golden Rust Gang—just hearing their name doesn't make them any kind of good guys.

The bodies left after a gang fight are inevitably difficult to dispose of, and may even lead to deeper disputes.

Jerome's statement about "silencing" is not impossible.

More importantly, he didn't trust Jerome.

This white man with the bulbous nose is willing to do anything for his daughter. Who can guarantee that he won't sell himself out for greater gain?

"You're taking 30% just to pass on a message to me?"

Upon hearing Li Ang's question, Jerome's face flushed slightly: "I need money, Anna..."

"Anna is still inside... What will Anna and I do if the Rust Gang comes knocking?"

He was very emotional, but his emotions revealed a deep sincerity.

Li Ang looked at the [Kill Threshold: Low] light screen above his head and remained silent.

From the perspective of the "kill line," Jerome certainly had no motive to lie.

His social value rests almost entirely on his daughter Anna; any action that might endanger Anna would instantly jeopardize his chances of being killed.

For him, betraying Li Ang was far more risky than rewarding.

"Deal." Li Ang's answer was crisp and decisive.

Jerome was stunned again; all the words he had prepared were now stuck in his throat.

He had expected Li Ang to bargain, question, or hesitate.

Li Ang said calmly, "I need money more than you do right now."

Only by surviving can you have the right to talk about anything else.

In the world of cultivation, he would dare to venture into a monster's lair to fight for a single spiritual herb. What is it to deal with a few mortal corpses now?

Seeing that Li Ang agreed, Jerome seemed to breathe a huge sigh of relief.

"When do we start the work?" Li Ang asked.

"Tonight," Jerome said in a low voice, "the sooner the better. It's hot, and it'll rot if we leave it any longer."

"Place?"

"The abandoned cannery in the west of the city is seven or eight blocks away from here."

"Will the Rust Gang make contact?"

"No," Jerome shook his head. "They won't show themselves; it's too dangerous."

"They would leave the money and the tools for disposing of the bodies at a designated location, and we would go there to get them ourselves, finish our work, and leave."

This approach minimizes the risk.

Li Ang nodded, then asked, "What's the contact information?"

“There’s no way to contact them,” Jerome said. “They don’t trust anyone, and I don’t trust them. This is a one-off deal.”

He pulled a crumpled napkin from his pocket and drew a simple map on it with a nearly empty ballpoint pen.

"Get to this location at 10 PM." He pointed to a cross on the map. "The tools and half the deposit will be in a red trash can."

"What about your other half?"

"After you finish the job and clean up the body, go to this place." He drew another cross. "The final payment will be there."

Li Ang took the map and wrote down the route and locations.

The whole process sounds quite thorough. The two parties do not meet in person and only exchange information through a dead mailbox, which can indeed avoid a lot of trouble.

However, this process is still fraught with uncertainty.

What if the Golden Rust Gang double-crosses them and sets up an ambush at the second location?

What if the police patrol the abandoned factory?

These are all potential risks.

"I need to make some preparations," Li Ang said.

Jerome seemed to have expected this, and pulled a worn-out canvas bag from the corner of the RV, handing it to Leon.

"There's a raincoat, a pair of gloves, and a working flashlight in here."

He paused, then pulled a rusty crowbar from under the bed.

"This might come in handy."

Li Ang took the bag, weighed it in his hand, and then inserted the crowbar inside.

Thanks.

"Don't mention it." Jerome waved his hand. "You're risking your life for me, this is only what I should do."

He looked at Li Ang, seemingly wanting to say something but then stopping himself.

"What's wrong?"

"You...are you really going alone?" Jerome asked hesitantly. "Should I...?"

"You stay," Li Ang interrupted him.

Jerome has a daughter, who is a burden. If things really get dangerous, Leon won't have time to take care of him.

A hint of guilt flashed across Jerome's face, but he ultimately nodded.

"Then be careful. Those guys are ruthless. If things go wrong, forget about the money; saving your life is the most important thing."

Li Ang said nothing more and turned to leave.

He did not return to the St. Mary's Asylum.

Instead, he found an empty park bench and sat down.

With more than ten hours to go until 10 p.m., he needed to use this time to get himself into peak condition.

First and foremost, there was hunger.

He touched his pocket; the twenty dollars had already been given to Jerome.

He is now penniless.

Li Ang's gaze swept over the pedestrians coming and going in the park.

A kill line floated above everyone's head.

The heights vary.

A man in a suit, walking briskly, with the word "Kill Line: Medium" above his head.

A young mother pushing a stroller, her face beaming with happiness, also has a "kill line: medium" above her head.

Li Ang's gaze finally settled on a street performer.

The man was playing a guitar and singing an unknown country song. In front of him was a hat with a few coins scattered inside.

Above his head is the [Kill Line: Medium].

Li Ang stood up and walked over.

He neither robbed nor begged.

He stood beside the man and listened quietly.

When the song ended, the street performer looked up, saw Li Ang, and his eyes showed some wariness.

Li Ang's gaze was calm and unwavering as he spoke:

You played it wrong.

The street performer was stunned.

"What did you say?"

"You were a beat too slow, which caused the slide," Li Ang continued. "Your strumming rhythm was off. The emotion in this song should be release, not suppression."

The street performer looked on incredulously.

He sized up the ragged, emaciated homeless man in front of him; he didn't look like someone who knew music at all.

"How...how did you know?"

Li Ang did not answer.

He spent a hundred years in the cultivation world, mastering all the arts, including music, chess, calligraphy, and painting. Although it was to hone his Dao heart, he had also put in real hard work.

He held out his hand and made a "give it to me" gesture.

The street performer hesitated for a moment, but still handed him the guitar.

Having not touched a musical instrument for a long time, his fingers were a little rusty, but he quickly regained his touch.

Under the astonished gaze of the street performer, Li Ang casually plucked the strings, and a smooth yet melancholic melody flowed from his fingertips.

The music was melodious, carrying a touch of desolate vastness, as if telling a story of a century of loneliness and struggle.

Soon, a large crowd gathered around.

When the music ended, there was complete silence, followed by enthusiastic applause.

People pulled out their spare change and threw it into the tattered hat.

The street performer stared in disbelief at the pile of banknotes and coins that had suddenly appeared in his hat, then looked at Li Ang with eyes full of awe.

Li Ang returned the guitar to him, didn't look at the money in the hat, and turned to leave.

"Wait!" the street performer called out to him.

He frantically grabbed all the banknotes from inside the hat and stuffed them into Li Ang's hand: "Master! These... these are yours!"

Li Ang glanced at it; it was probably fifty or sixty dollars.

Without hesitation, he pulled out a twenty-dollar bill.

"I only need these."

After saying that, he walked into the fast food restaurant on the street corner without looking back.

Twenty minutes later, Li Ang let out a satisfied burp.

Two hamburgers and a Coke. Although the Coke was a bit too sweet, it finally suppressed the hunger in my stomach.

My strength is recovering.

He glanced at his watch; there were still three hours until 10 p.m.

He found a quiet corner to sit down, closed his eyes, and began to plan his actions for the night.

The Golden Rust Gang, an abandoned factory, and more than a dozen corpses.