Taoist priest goes to America

Mr. Rabbit Face took a half step back. His face showed no fear or anger, but rather a more unsettling surprise, as happy as a child unwrapping a present on Christmas morning.

His eyes darted back and forth between Ang Lee and Doyle.

"Isya, what's going on?" Mr. Rabbit Face asked curiously.

Isya's gun barrel didn't leave the back of Li An's head. He tilted his head slightly, his gaze falling on Doyle.

"Something's wrong with Doyle," Isya said.

He paused for a moment and then looked at the back of Ang Lee's head.

"This guy is acting strangely too. He was tied up the whole way, and his heart didn't race, and he didn't break a sweat. A normal person wouldn't act like that when they're kidnapped."

Ang Lee's eyebrows twitched. He had underestimated this butler.

Ang Lee reassessed the butler in his mind. He was no ordinary servant; the way he looked at people, handled a gun, and spoke suggested a military background.

After hearing Isya's words, Mr. Rabbit Face slowly grinned.

"You mean...this isn't Doyle?" He circled Li An, as if examining a rare animal. "Or is Doyle possessed by something?"

Isya didn't answer. He beckoned to a few strippers standing in the corner. The women, who had been cowering against the wall in fear, hesitated for a moment when they saw him beckoning, but then came over.

One of them pulled a small silver box from under the bar, opened it, and inside were several syringes and a few small glass bottles neatly arranged.

The bottle was labeled "muscle relaxant," a military-grade drug that makes the body limp while keeping the mind clear.

They were clearly trained; they moved quickly. One wiped Li An's neck with an alcohol swab, while the other had already removed the cap from the syringe.

Ang Lee felt the needle pierce his neck, and the cold liquid was pushed into his veins. His body went limp starting from his neck, then his torso, legs, and muscles felt as if they had been drained, becoming loose and limp.

He was conscious and could see Mr. Rabbitface's sickly face magnified in front of him, and he could see Doyle being held down and injected by another dancer.

Although his body could withstand the drug, Li An pretended to fall backward, but Roca caught him and prevented him from falling to the ground.

He was dragged to a chair next to him and sat down. Just then, the system beeped.

Harmful substances have been detected entering the host's body.

[Drug resistance development]

Harmful substances will be completely decomposed in ten seconds and completely metabolized within twenty seconds.

Mr. Rabbitface crouched down, bringing his face close to Ang Lee's. His breath brushed against Ang Lee's face, his eyes bulging so much they seemed about to pop out of their sockets, Ang Lee's reflection shimmering in his pupils. The black nylon rope still hung around his neck, its end dangling at his chest, swaying gently with his breath.

"Master," Isya called out, interrupting Mr. Rabbit Face's beastly outburst.

"Stop messing around, let's just take them out. This guy's been acting strange from the start, one weird thing after another. Chad and his seven men were all killed by him even with guns. Let's not keep this dangerous guy alive..."

Mr. Rabbit's lips began to tremble slightly, not from fear, but from excitement. He turned his head, his eyes bloodshot, and roared at Isya:

"You're telling me not to play? You're telling me not to play? How can I not play?!"

If Beethoven were sitting in front of you and wanted to play the Moonlight Sonata for you personally, would you refuse?

"If Michael Jackson offered to dance for you, would you refuse?"

You can't!

"And you're telling me to refuse this opportunity!"

The rabbit-faced fingers moved aimlessly in the air, as if playing an invisible piano.

"Also, I spent seven years training Doyle. Do you know what seven years means? I started watching him when he was still a probationary police officer, and I pushed him up step by step, giving him money and women."

"Why am I doing all this? So that one day he can sit in the sheriff's seat and take my orders."

His voice began to tremble. "I raised him for seven years, and I never had the heart to play with him. Do you know why? Because he was a tool. A good tool shouldn't be played with; once it's broken, it's gone."

He turned around and looked at Doyle, who was also slumped in a chair.

"But now that he's been changed, he's not Doyle anymore. So what's the point of keeping him? Just as a decoration?"

Mr. Rabbit Face bent down and brought his face close to Ang Lee's, so close that their noses almost touched.

"So he can play too. You can play too. You both have to play with me tonight."

He straightened up and turned to look at the middle-aged man still trembling in the iron cage.

The man was still kneeling on the ground, wearing a mask, his face covered in tears and snot.

He saw that Mr. Rabbitface had turned his attention to him again, and his body trembled violently, letting out a series of muffled whimpers.

"This is no fun," said Mr. Rabbit Face.

He took the double-barreled shotgun from Isya and walked to the front of the iron cage. The middle-aged man's pupils suddenly contracted, and his mouth opened and closed frantically under the gag, like a fish thrown ashore.

Mr. Rabbit Face pressed the gun to his forehead and pulled the trigger.

"Bang."

Gunshots rang out in the basement, and the middle-aged man's upper body disappeared.

Brain matter and blood splattered onto the bars of the iron cage. His body remained kneeling for two seconds before collapsing forward, face down on the ground.

Blood was still gushing from the cut surface, and the dark red blood spread rapidly on the dark gray marble floor, like a flower slowly blooming.

Mr. Rabbitface slung his shotgun over his shoulder and glanced at Isya.

"Have someone bring some. The big kind. Strawberry."

Isya nodded, took his phone out of his pocket, and sent a message.

Less than five minutes later, two chefs in white uniforms pushed in a stainless steel food cart.

On the food cart were several round baking trays, each containing a strawberry pie, topped with bright red strawberry slices and snow-white cream.

The edges of the pie were baked to a golden brown, and syrup seeped out from the gaps in the slices, gleaming with an amber luster under the light.

Mr. Rabbit Face walked over, scooped up a piece of cream with his finger, put it in his mouth, and sucked on his finger.

"Okay. Very good." His voice softened.

Rabbit Face turned to look at Li An, who was slumped in a chair, and then at Doyle, who was sprawled on the floor. "Let them have a taste today."

He glanced at the bartender, Roca.

"Loca," Mr. Rabbit Face pointed to a strawberry pie on the food cart, "show them how to make it."

Roca swallowed hard, walked to the food cart, bent down, and picked up a piece of bread.

The bread shone brightly white under the warm yellow light, creating a striking contrast with Roca's wheat-colored hands.

Loca took a deep breath and slowly lowered the bread, intending to place it on the pie for dipping sauce.

He held the white bread, and as the bread got closer and closer to the pie, Roca paused, took a deep breath, and continued to lower the bread until it was almost touching the surface of the strawberry pie.

The aroma of cream rose from below, carrying the slight tartness of strawberries.

Loca put the bread down.

Cream dribbled from the edges of the pie, white cream and red strawberry jam overflowing from the bottom of the bread like a small avalanche.

Cream spilled over the bread, over the edge of the stainless steel tray, and dripped onto the marble floor.

The bread on the pie looks like a king sitting on a throne, except the throne is a giant strawberry pie.

The bread was picked up, leaving a clear indentation in the pie. At the bottom of the indentation was the pie crust, with a thin layer of butter and jam remaining on top.

A few slices of strawberry still clung to the edge of the strawberry pie's dent, their red flesh standing out vividly against the white cream background.

Mr. Rabbit Face stood to the side, his eyes fixed on the bread in Roca's hand.

"Did you see that? This is what real food is. Good food doesn't need explanation."

"However, I don't know if it's because I've seen it too many times, but I have absolutely no interest in you doing this."

The rabbit-faced creature turned to Ang Lee and Doyle. "Now it's your turn. You two, one pie each. I want to see the bread dipped in the pie, I want to see the butter squeeze out from the side of the bread."

He didn't finish his sentence.

Ang Lee stood up from his chair.