Taoist priest goes to America

Ang Lee returned to the vicinity of the parking lot; he was going to find Old Bai, who was still in the public restroom.

But the parking lot was no longer the same as when he left. Red and blue lights spun in the night sky, and blinding red and blue beams swept across the concrete ground of the parking lot and across the SUVs and pickup trucks parked there.

Three police cars were parked across the entrance to the parking lot, their roof lights spinning silently, their sirens not blaring. There was also a white car with "NYPD Crime Scene Investigation" printed on the door, and its side lights were shining white.

Seven or eight uniformed police officers were positioned at different locations in the parking lot, having set up orange police tape. Some were taking photos, while others were dispersing onlookers and maintaining order. Two others were squatting on the ground, shining flashlights at something on the ground.

Ang Lee stood at the edge of the parking lot, his hands tucked into the sleeves of his Taoist robe, leisurely watching everything unfold.

Before leaving, he cleaned up all traces of himself. He wiped away all his fingerprints, and even the chicken wing bone stuck in the rat-faced man's eye was pulled out, wrapped in a tissue, and thrown into Chinatown.

There were no security cameras in the parking lot. Those guys were too clever for their own good. They kidnapped him in a place without cameras, saving him the trouble of dealing with the surveillance footage.

Old White has no fingerprints. After evolving into a white-haired zombie, the skin on its fingertips has become as rough as old tree bark, and the original texture has long been torn apart.

Ang Lee stood outside the police cordon, watching the police officers inside working busily.

He then turned around and walked towards the public restroom. Old Bai was there.

He took a few dozen steps when a cold metal object pressed against the back of his head.

"Raise your hands. Raise them slowly." A voice came from behind, low and arrogant, with a hint of excitement that said, "I've been waiting for this for so long."

Li An stopped in his tracks, without turning around, and slowly raised his hands above his head, fingers spread. The sleeves of his Taoist robe slipped down, revealing his two empty arms.

The man behind him stepped forward, one hand still holding the gun to the back of his head, the other hand groping his body.

The movements were very practiced; it was a search technique that the police had done many times and that had become muscle memory.

His hand moved from his shoulder to his waist, paused, and found the Glock pistol tucked into his belt. He pulled the Glock out and tossed it aside. He then reached for the other side and tossed away the other pistol as well.

"Two guns," the voice behind me said, a hint of amusement in its tone. "How afraid are you of death?"

He pulled Ang Lee's hands down from above his head, crossed them behind his back, and handcuffed them. The sound of the metal snapping together was crisp and clear, a "click" that sounded particularly loud in the night.

Ang Lee did not struggle.

The man walked out from behind Li An and circled around to face him.

A white male, in his early forties, tall with broad shoulders, was wearing a dark blue NYPD uniform. His shirt was neatly pressed, and the badge on his chest gleamed under the lights.

He had a large face with a square jaw, prominent cheekbones, and deep-set eyes. His hair was brown, parted to the side, and heavily styled with hairspray.

His lips were thin, carrying a natural, mocking smile. His eyes were a deep, eerie green, making him look no different from a jackal under the streetlights.

Ang Lee saw the name sewn on the left breast of his uniform: Patrick Doyle, with the police number below it.

This guy named Doyle is a senior superintendent.

Doyle looked at Li An from head to toe, his gaze lingering on Li An's Taoist robe.

"You're that guy from Tokyo University," he said.

Ang Lee looked at him without saying a word.

He pulled a pack of Marlboro cigarettes from his pocket, the same kind that Ang Lee smoked, took one out, put it in his mouth, lit it with a lighter, and took a deep drag.

Smoke billowed from his mouth and hit Ang Lee's face, but Ang Lee did not flinch.

"You know what," Doyle said, tucking a cigarette between his fingers and gesturing towards the parking lot with the butt, "it turns out suspects really do go back to the crime scene to check things out. We learned about it in training, but never really took it seriously. Tonight has been an eye-opener."

"Where's your burly companion? Isn't he with you?" Seeing Li An obediently being handcuffed, Doyle relaxed his grip on the gun considerably, but his right hand was still raised warily, the muzzle sweeping around.

"Don't tell me he was hiding in some corner planning to ambush me. Or did you raise a tiger? Or a lion? Only someone who could eat someone like that."

He put the cigarette back in his mouth and pointed the gun at Ang Lee's chest.

"Whatever it is, it was a big mistake for you to come back alone." He took off his cigarette and exhaled a puff of white smoke.

"I've seen the scene. There were seven of them, Chad and his men, who died in different ways, but they all had one thing in common: none of them were people of your build who could have done it."

"You only shot and killed the driver, the rest was all done by your burly companion, right? Where is he? Did he run away? Did he abandon you?"

Ang Lee remained silent. His hands were cuffed behind his back, the silver handcuffs gleaming under the streetlights.

"Are you that rabbit-faced person?"

"Otherwise, why would you target me? Do you know that one of the people who wanted to kidnap me is named 'Chad'? And you called him so affectionately?" Li An said.

Doyle laughed even harder and whistled.

"It seems you're being targeted by more than one group of people; you should also consider which side I'm on," he said.

"Mr. Rabbit Face asked me to give you my regards. Although he can't come himself, he's genuinely interested in you."

Doyle looked at Li An with an excitement that seemed to indicate he had caught a big fish.

"Mr. Rabbit Face said, 'You are not an ordinary person, you are very special.'"

"Looking at it today, it seems he was right; it really is quite special."

Doyle put the cigarette back in his mouth and put his free left hand on his belt.

"Do you think you're lucky? That you could evade Mr. Rabbit Face's pursuit so many times?"

He took the cigarette out of his mouth and stubbed it out with the sole of his shoe.

"I'm lucky. Mr. Rabbit Face has been urging me to keep an eye on this job for days."

"After what happened tonight, I was thinking, it's been so long since I got a promotion, is God finally going to give me another chance to rise through the ranks?"

"I rose from a probationary police officer to a full-fledged police officer by cleaning up Mr. Rabbit Face's butts, and now I've been promoted to superintendent."

"I achieved a position that others take 5-7 years to reach in just 2 years."

He looked at Ang Lee and laughed loudly.

"So, you are the gift that God sent to me, the great gift that led to my promotion to police inspector."

"If there had been enough time, I would really have to thank you properly."

Ang Lee's right fingers dug at the seam of the handcuffs. A crack appeared on the silver cuff ring.

Doyle was still talking.

"To be honest, I'm curious. Has your companion undergone some kind of special training? Do you realize how much trouble you're getting into by causing this kind of trouble in New York?"

"I don't care where you used to hang out, whether it's Tokyo University or somewhere else, here, you're on my turf."

The handcuffs on Ang Lee's hands had a broken collar, revealing a silver metal cross-section.

He held the small piece of broken handcuff between his index and middle fingers; the edge of the broken piece was very sharp.

Doyle was still talking, his gun barrel pointing to the ground, his right index finger on the trigger.

"Alright, Mr. Rabbit Face, you've been waiting long. It's time for you to hit the road. My car's over there." Doyle pointed his pistol at Ang Lee's head with his right hand and gestured towards the car with his left. "Time to go. My promotion gift package."

Just then, Ang Lee pressed his thumb against the edge of the fragment, while his index and middle fingers gripped both sides of it. With a flick of his wrist, the fragment shot out like a bullet.

Doyle hadn't finished speaking when his right hand suddenly felt like it had been stung by something, a sharp pain shooting through his fingers.

He glanced down at it.

The shrapnel struck Doyle's right index finger, shattering the nail that held the trigger. The upper half of the nail was still hanging on the trigger guard. Blood gushed from the broken end, splattering onto the gun handle.

Doyle's mouth gaped open; he was still immersed in the joy of his promotion and hadn't reacted yet.