Taoist priest goes to America

Ides lay there, her tears all drained from her eyes, leaving only two dark red, bloodshot eyeballs.

His hands slid down from his body and lay out on either side of his body, his palms slightly curled up, like two dead spiders.

Li An squatted down and glanced at him. His bulging eyes were unfocused; the guy seemed completely desperate, and further torment was pointless.

Ang Lee stood up and took two steps back.

"Doyle".

Doyle walked over. His police uniform was covered in blood, so much so that it was impossible to tell if it was his own or someone else's.

The bandage around her neck hung down to her chest, revealing two dark brown holes with the skin at the openings rolled up like two withered flowers.

His greyish-white eyes looked at Li An without saying a word.

Ang Lee gestured with his chin towards Ides on the ground, "Take care of him, just step on a watermelon."

Doyle looked down at the huddled, curled-up body. Then he raised his right foot and stepped on the watermelon.

Doyle's shoe sole pressed down on Ides's head, and Ides's body twitched instinctively.

Doyle slowly increased the pressure.

Ides' face was pressed uncomfortably, and Doyle's foot sank directly into the watermelon, leaving a dent.

Idel kicked his heels twice on the ground, then stopped moving.

Doyle pulled his foot back and shook off the watermelon juice.

He looked down at his shoes, then looked up, his greyish-white eyes returning to Ang Lee.

Ang Lee didn't look at Ides; he turned and walked toward Isya's body.

Isya's body was still sitting against the wall, his gray eyes staring at the ceiling, his head, half-torn off, tilted to one side. Ang Lee placed his hand on Isya's forehead and closed his eyes.

Isya's memories flooded back. Weapons were hidden in a secret compartment in the basement.

It's fully automatic; Ishtar stores it here for emergencies. Ishtar knows the location of the hidden compartment, the password, the weapon type, and the number of magazines.

Ang Lee opened his eyes and walked to the east wall of the basement. A huge, deep red velvet curtain hung on the wall. He grabbed a corner of the curtain and pulled hard, and the curtain slid off the wall, revealing a hidden metal door behind it.

He entered the six-digit number that Isya remembered into the combination lock, and the lock clicked.

Behind the door was a small armory. Two rows of metal shelves were neatly stacked with various weapons: AR-15s, AK-47s, shotguns, pistols, flashbangs, and tear gas.

Dozens of magazines were stacked on the bottom shelf, their brass bullets reflecting a dim light under the lamp. Li An took two AR-15s down from the shelf; the guns were cool to the touch and smelled of gun oil.

He inspected the chamber, grabbed four magazines from the shelf, inserted them into the gun, and pulled the bolt, the sound of bullets being chambered was crisp.

He loaded the other gun, slung it over his back with the sling, and took two more magazines from the shelf, stuffing them into the pocket of his robe. The robe's pocket was now bulging.

Li An released the safety on his rifle and looked towards the exit.

The stripper was still huddled there. They had been huddled together ever since Ang Lee started torturing Ides, shoulder to shoulder, leg to leg, like a flock of sheep being herded into a pen.

Some people were crying, some were trembling, and a blonde woman's lips were moving as she kept muttering something, as if she were praying to God.

Ang Lee walked over. He stopped about two meters in front of them, took the guns out from under his arms, one in each hand, muzzles pointing downwards. He looked at them, remained silent for a few seconds, then bowed slightly.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Their crying stopped, and the women looked at him with fear in their eyes.

"I'm sorry." Ang Lee's tone was low, as if he were explaining something unpleasant to a few people he didn't know very well.

"You saw something you shouldn't have seen. It's impossible for me to believe you won't tell anyone."

"For my own safety, I will not do that, and I cannot do that."

"You have dozens of people, dozens of mouths, and dozens of cell phones."

Letting you go will only lead to you revealing more information about me, and it won't benefit me at all.

"I can't keep everyone quiet. It's not your fault, it's mine."

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

After bowing, Ang Lee straightened up and raised the muzzle of his gun.

The women screamed and shrank into the corner. Some knelt down and started kowtowing, some shouted "No!", and some closed their eyes.

Ang Lee pulled the trigger.

An AR-15 suddenly opened fire, the sound of gunfire exploding in the basement, much louder than the previous pistol shots. Casings ricocheted from the ejection port, clattering onto the marble floor.

The bullets hit the group of women, the walls, and the crystal chandelier on the ceiling, shattering it and sending shards of glass and blood raining down.

The people in the first row fell down almost simultaneously; before the people behind could even react, the bullets had already arrived.

The magazine was empty, and the bolt was in the bolt hold-open position with a "click".

Li Ansong fired the shot, calmly removed the magazine, replaced it with a new one, and pulled the trigger again.

When the magazine was empty, no one was standing in the corner behind the bar.

Dozens of holes appeared in the deep red velvet curtains, the gold wallpaper on the walls was torn to shreds by bullets, and a layer of dark red liquid covered the marble floor, glistening greasyly under the light.

Ang Lee placed the gun on the table, took out the pack of Marlboros from his sleeve pocket—he had already smoked the last one, the box was flat and empty, he crushed the empty cigarette pack and stuffed it back into his pocket.

He turned and headed for the stairs. Doyle helped him carry his gun and magazine, walking alongside him. Isya followed behind them.

One person and two corpses stepped out of the basement, walking on the dark gray carpet laid on the steps.

The rabbit masks on both sides of the corridor were still there, the white, ceramic-looking rabbit heads arranged neatly in the dim light, watching them pass by.

Ang Lee didn't look at the masks. He pushed open the deep red door at the end of the corridor and walked into the hall.

The party lights were still a muted red. The crystal chandeliers were dimmed to their most ambiguous brightness, and deep red velvet curtains enveloped the entire hall, transforming it into a vast palace.

The air was filled with the smell of smoky hemp leaves, the fermentation smell of alcohol, and the odor of some kind of chemically synthesized drug that had been heated.

Those people are still there, a dozen or so, ranging in age from thirty to sixty.

No one noticed Ang Lee; they didn't see him at all because their attention was already occupied by other things.

Some of them heard gunshots coming from the basement. But by the time the gunshots came up the stairs, they were distorted, becoming muffled "thump, thump" sounds that blended with the bass of the music and were difficult to distinguish.

Someone glanced up at the stairwell, then looked down again and continued doing what they were doing.

Ang Lee stood at the entrance of the hall, holding the two AR-15s in his hands, with Doyle and Isya standing behind him.

He looked at the group of people.

He looked at them as if they were a group of pigs wallowing in the mud.

Ang Lee took a deep breath and then smiled.

He wore the relaxed smile that only a stall owner who's had enough fun and is ready to pack up and go home would have.

"Oi, sons."

Everyone looked up at Li An. One of the shirtless men propped himself up on the sofa, his eyes still unfocused, when he saw the two black guns in Li An's hand. He was so startled that he dropped the cigar he had been holding onto the floor.

"Dad's here."

Ang Lee pulled the trigger.