America: Starting from collecting corpses, leveling up to godhood

Texas Stars firing range area.

This is the liveliest place in the entire Coyote Valley, where the air is filled with the strong smells of barbecue, sweat, and Budweiser beer.

A huge five-pointed star-shaped steel target stood twenty meters away.

"Bang!"

"bite--"

With a crisp sound, the last disc on the spinning steel target was knocked away.

"8.03 seconds!"

The referee in charge of timing shouted.

"WOOOO—!"

The crowd erupted in cheers and whistles, while the man at the shooting position smugly blew on the muzzle of his gun, twirled it a few times, and then put it back in his pocket.

He was around forty years old, with a standard full beard and wearing sunglasses.

Jason, former Ranger, now the Gun King of Coyote Canyon.

"Who else wants to challenge me?!"

Jason spread his arms wide, like an arrogant gladiator.

"Are you out of bullets? Or are your wallets emptier than your eggs?"

"I have someone here who wants to play a round."

The crowd parted, and Old Qiao pushed Chen Ming inside.

"Old Joe?"

Jason took off his sunglasses, his eyes swept over Chen Ming, and then he burst into exaggerated laughter.

"Hey, look who's here! Our delivery guy!"

"Guys, this is the driver of that food truck I told you about... What's wrong, can't you find your way back to the kitchen?"

Laughter erupted from the surrounding area.

In the eyes of the rednecks, Chen Ming, a fair-skinned Asian man driving a food truck, is not worthy of playing at the shooting range.

"He wants to give it a try."

Old Joe played along.

"This kid has some talent; he was practicing quite well over there just now."

"Not bad, are you?"

Jason laughed so hard he almost cried.

"Old Joe, if I remember correctly, it's only been two hours since he got into your container, right?"

"What can you learn in two hours? Why don't you point a gun at your own toes?"

"I...I think I can."

Chen Ming subconsciously touched the Glock at his waist, his movements appearing somewhat stiff and lacking confidence.

"Old Joe taught me a lot of tricks... I want to try them out, I have money."

Jason witnessed this series of subtle movements.

A typical nervous reaction—this guy would probably even have trouble drawing his gun.

"Sure, if you want to send money, no one's stopping you."

Jason toyed with the M1911 in his hand, his tone dismissive, as if he were watching a turkey willingly jump into a pot.

"Do you even know the rules? It's Texas Hold'em, hit five targets on a spinning wheel, whoever's fastest wins. But since you're a delivery guy, I won't bully you. How about three hundred dollars?"

"Three hundred..." Chen Ming pretended to think.

But just when Jason thought Chen Ming might be scared away and was about to lower the stakes, the latter spoke up.

"I have 800 here, can I bet it all?"

Chen Ming slammed a roll of banknotes, still smelling musty, onto the table.

"I want to earn some money for car repairs."

"Eight hundred yuan?!"

The rednecks around them looked at each other in bewilderment.

In this kind of amateur game, a few dozen dollars is just for fun, a hundred dollars is serious, and eight hundred dollars...

That's half a month's salary for many blue-collar workers.

"Hey kid, are you sure you've thought this through?"

In the crowd, a kind-hearted bald man couldn't help but shout.

"Jason could shoot those targets down with his eyes closed... Take my advice, take the money back and buy two cases of beer for everyone, that way you'll at least have a good reputation."

"Yes, don't be silly, cook!"

Despite the dissuasion and commotion from those around him, Chen Ming acted as if he hadn't heard them, and even pushed the money forward a little.

However, Jason did not immediately reach for the huge sum of money that was offered to him.

This is very unusual.

An Asian man who runs a food truck had only been handling a gun for two hours. Instead of backing down in the face of his provocation, he went all in with eight hundred dollars.

Years of battlefield experience told him that there might be a trap here.

"Old Joe..." Jason turned his head and looked at the one-eyed old man with a gloomy gaze.

"Your student isn't some professional shooter from a shooting club, is he/she just here for fun?"

Old Qiao's heart skipped a beat. He was about to speak up to smooth things over when Chen Ming made the first move.

His hand clenched slightly, as if he regretted it and wanted to take the money back.

"However... since I've placed so many bets, shouldn't we change the rules?"

"What?" Jason frowned.

"You used to be a Ranger, a professional."

Chen Ming swallowed.

"This is the first time I've ever handled a real gun. Although Old Joe said I'm good at shooting stationary targets, this thing moves."

"If it's a tie, it's not fair. This 800 yuan is what I've worked so hard to save up..."

Seeing this, Jason actually relaxed.

That's right, that's how a newbie should be—greedy yet afraid of death, wanting to win big money yet lacking confidence in themselves, so they try to compensate in this way.

"Ha, I knew it."

Jason laughed loudly and reached out to press down on the money on the table.

"Nobody talks about fairness on the battlefield... but I'm in a good mood today."

As he spoke, he arrogantly switched the M1911 from his right hand to his left.

"I'll fight you with my left hand, are you satisfied now?"

Another gasp erupted from the crowd.

Shooting with your non-dominant hand not only makes it extremely difficult to control recoil, but also makes aiming very awkward, essentially crippling half of your skills.

"You said it yourself."

"Stop talking nonsense, newbie."

Jason spat impatiently, took his gun and stood at the firing position, and Chen Ming followed suit, raising his Glock.

"You'd better be prepared to say goodbye to your car repair bills."

"Beep—"

A whistle was heard.

Almost simultaneously, the gunshots rang out in unison.

Although Jason was left-handed, as a former Ranger, he was still very fast. He raised his gun and the first steel target flew away.

However, just as he was about to aim at the second target, a series of gunshots suddenly rang out in his ears.

"Bang bang bang bang!"

It was so fast it didn't feel like a pistol; it felt like a submachine gun firing.

As a result, by the time Jason aimed at the third target, all five discs opposite Chen Ming had already been destroyed.

"8.03 seconds!"

The referee read out the time aloud.

The noise from the surrounding crowd subsided.

Jason stood frozen in place, his mind blank.

"You're too kind."

Chen Ming blew away the gunpowder smoke from the muzzle and walked to the table to count the money under everyone's watchful eyes.

"Damn it...you tricked me!"

Jason finally realized what was happening.

Five rotating targets were destroyed in 3 seconds and 43 seconds...

Screw newbie, screw first time handling a gun!

This terrifying rate of fire and stability is definitely the work of a seasoned veteran, honed by tons of bullets.

And like a fool, I believed his nonsense, even going so far as to give him half a body length with my left hand...

"You're playing me, you despicable yellow-skinned monkey!"

Jason roared and, relying on his 1.9-meter-tall physique and the fighting skills he had honed through long military service, leaped over the table and grabbed Chen Ming's collar.