Taoist priest goes to America

Chapter 120 Veteran

[Remaining Time: 00:00:05]

"Five seconds wasted," Li An thought to himself with regret. "Next time I'll have to be more careful with it; unless it's a major crisis, I won't use it."

The tunnel was deathly silent, save for the roar of vehicles passing by on the viaduct and the dripping sound of blood.

The old man leaned against the wall and slowly slid down to sit on the ground.

Ang Lee withdrew his hand and turned to look at the old man who was still slumped on the ground.

He should have dealt with the witness as well to avoid trouble, but he found something in the memories of the red corpse, Kugan.

Brenty was elected president. He was the guy he'd seen on TV at the fried chicken shop, the one who'd survived a gunshot wound to the head. He defeated his opponent by a landslide on election night.

The first thing he did after being sworn in was to sign two executive orders!

One option is to significantly improve the benefits for veterans, and the other is to use federal resources to find the person who saved his father's life.

Russell Boone, a young soldier in a Vietnam War uniform, stands in front of a rice field next to another, even younger soldier, who is Brentey's father.

The notice stated that Boone had saved Brent's father's life on the battlefield by taking a grenade's shrapnel for him.

After the war, the two lost contact. One of Brent's father's dying wishes was to "find Boone."

And now, the man whom the US president had mobilized the entire nation to search for was slumped on the muddy ground in front of Ang Lee, his face smeared with other people's blood and mud, staring intently at him with a pair of cloudy old eyes.

In Kugan's memory, he was sitting at the police station with his legs crossed, drinking coffee, when the federal government issued a frantic search order, ordering them to launch an emergency search.

The sight of the young soldier in the photo and the name on the missing person poster made Kugan spit out his coffee on the spot.

He recognized the face, even though the man was old and gray, because he had shot that face with a gun the night before.

Kugan panicked. He felt dizzy and lightheaded, as if a horror movie was shooting up his spine, making his hands and feet feel cold.

This isn't something that can be settled with money. If this veteran says a few bad things about him to the president, his life is over.

What's more, Kugan himself counted on his fingers all the things he and the gang had done: robbing his relief checks, smashing his tent, breaking two of his ribs, dragging him half a block through the mud—

Each of these actions against veterans, taken individually, is enough for the FBI to uproot their entire police department, following the momentum of the presidential order.

If the president orders them to be killed outright, that's considered merciful; it's possible they could be locked in a basement and cruelly tortured for life.

So Coogan made a decision: tonight, no matter what, this old guy must die.

Kugan quickly found the gang he was protecting and roared at them to kill the veteran: "If we keep bullying him like this, and the president finds us, we're all dead. We're all fucking dead."

""

Their scheme was simple. Kugan used his connections with the police to inform all the underground drug dealers in the area that no one was allowed to sell antibiotics to the veteran with the ailing leg that night, not even a single one.

Then he arranged for Huang Mao and his gang of thugs to lure the veteran to a sparsely populated bridge tunnel, ostensibly to sell him medicine, but actually to kill him and hide his body. Regardless of whether the veteran had enough money, he was doomed.

A homeless man died in a bridge arch, his body was stuffed into a black oil drum and burned to ashes, then dumped into the drainage ditch under the overpass. Not even a bone fragment could be found, and no one would ask any questions.

Every winter, several homeless people freeze to death under the bridges in this city; one more or one less makes no difference.

As for him, he quickly gathered two colleagues and went to another jurisdiction to search for and create an alibi that night.

Once the veteran's death is confirmed, the gangsters who did the dirty work will be dealt with. With the evidence and the body, they can claim their reward and make a fortune. "Too bad, this guy didn't live to see the veteran with the ailing leg die," Li An silently added to himself. Kugan, on the other hand, waited for him.

Ang Lee took a step forward.

The old man shuddered and pressed his back tightly against the graffiti-covered wall, as if trying to embed himself into the concrete.

The veteran's lips trembled, and his chapped lips were splattered with blood. He raised one hand to shield his chest; that hand was covered in calluses and frostbite scars.

"God—God—" The old soldier's voice was broken and shattered as he desperately tried to suppress the surging fear. "You—what are you? A devil? Did the devil send you?"

Li An stopped two steps in front of him. The smell of burnt meat and blood in the bridge arch had not yet dissipated, and the flames in the black oil barrels were still crackling.

Ang Lee looked down at the old man and said, "I am not a devil."

"I am the Archangel, the Supreme Archangel, Saint Michael, the one who resembles God."

As he said this, a gust of night wind blew through the underpass, causing the flames in the black oil drums to be momentarily suppressed before leaping up again.

The flickering firelight cast shadows on Li An's face, obscuring half of it. Combined with his hand still dripping with someone else's blood, and the severed limbs and blood scattered behind him, the whole scene was extremely eerie.

"I saw that kind people in the mortal world had suffered injustice, so I came down to help you."

""

The old man's hand froze in mid-air. His eyes scanned Li An's face several times, his Adam's apple bobbing, before he finally managed to utter a broken sentence: "Really—really?"

The young Asian face was stained with blood, but his expression was calm, unlike someone who had just killed five black people with his bare hands.

A flicker of doubt crossed the veteran's eyes, then he timidly added in a low voice, "Then—why are you an Asian?"

After he finished speaking, he realized that his question was a bit inappropriate and subconsciously shrank back.

Ang Lee looked solemnly at the old man, his tone full of comfort: "I possessed someone else's body, using this mortal's form to walk through the world. As for race—"

Ang Lee softened his voice, saying, "My love for you is equal for both God the Father and me. To me, there is no distinction between white, black, and yellow people."

"There are only lambs in need of saving, and lost souls who have not yet returned to the sheepfold."

The old man stared at him blankly, his whole body trembling involuntarily, and his eyes began to redden.

It's like someone who has been frozen for too long is suddenly draped in a blanket; he can finally feel that there is still warmth and salvation in the world.

The veteran opened his mouth to say thank you, but Ang Lee didn't give him time to process it. He took another half step forward, squatted down, and looked the old man sitting on the ground at eye level.

"You are a veteran who has been through many battles. Your right foot was injured on the battlefield. Shrapnel blew your foot off. At that time, the field hospital had limited resources and did not perform debridement and repair surgery in time. After the wound healed, it left serious sequelae."

,

"When you walk, your weight is on your left leg, and you can only barely support yourself with your right leg on tiptoe, so you can only walk with a limp, right?"

'

The veteran looked down at his right leg, then looked up at Li An, his eyes welling up with tears.

"It's alright, kid." Li An reached out and gently patted the old man's shoulder, then helped him up from the ground and led him to sit down in front of the overturned, broken sofa next to him.

"I will heal it for you," Ang Lee said.