Taoist priest goes to America

Harrington's body flew across the living room, shattering a stained-glass window. The glass broke into countless sharp shards, embedding themselves in his face and neck, instantly staining his burgundy suit with blood.

Harrington's body crashed through the window, his upper body hanging outside the second-floor window while his lower body remained in the window frame. Below was a dark, gravel path.

Fortunately, his last instinct for survival made him instinctively spread his legs and wedge his feet firmly against the edge of the window frame, preventing him from falling directly down.

Harrington was covered in blood, his face was studded with shards of glass, and he was hanging on the window frame in an extremely disheveled position.

Harrington desperately bent over, trying to pull his upper body back up, but he couldn't get any leverage in this upside-down position. He could only rely on his legs to hold onto the window frame, maintaining this awkward position.

Every sliver of skin cut by the glass burned with pain. With each strain of his muscles, the shards of glass pierced deeper into Harrington's face, blood flowing into his eyes, casting a red veil over everything in his vision.

Suddenly, through his blood-red vision, he saw the white figure that had already walked to the window.

Harrington looked as if he had lost his parents; his posture made it seem as if he were hosting a banquet for everyone, leaving no way to escape.

He raised his bloodied and mangled face and yelled into the apartment, "Is anyone going to help me?! Fuck me—!"

A huge, white-haired figure stood by the window frame, its blood-red eyes lowered, watching the human struggling desperately below.

Harrington's legs were spread wide and wedged against the window frame, a position that looked extremely pathetic to anyone, like an animal being put on a chopping board.

Harrington looked up and met those blood-red eyes, and all his arrogance and harsh words instantly turned into utter terror.

He wanted to beg for mercy, to say he would give you whatever you wanted, to say that his father was the president of Worthington Corporation and that he had a lot of money.

But before he could utter a single word, Old Bai moved.

It bent down, opened its mouth full of fangs, and precisely bit between Harrington's legs.

Harrington's screams echoed throughout the entire building.

"Splat." Two eggs were broken, and the egg whites slid out of the shells and landed on the hot iron plate, immediately making a sizzling sound.

The uncle at the pancake stall used a scraper to directly break up the egg yolk, and the golden egg liquid slowly spread out, blending with the transparent egg white on the batter, and was baked on the iron plate with a thin layer of charred edges.

Ang Lee stood in front of the stall, one eye open and one eye closed. A faint smile played on his lips. His right eye was fixed on the pancakes on the griddle, while his left eye, sharing the same view as Old Bai, reflected Harrington's pained and contorted face.

Old White was chewing something, and bright red liquid dripped from its fangs onto the floor at its feet.

With a muffled "plop," blood gushed from the torn groin, splattering onto the window frame and glass, the dark red liquid slowly trickling down the wall.

Harrington's tense body suddenly relaxed, his legs lost their strength, and he could no longer hold the window frame.

He fell from the second-floor window, spitting blood, his body covered in shards of glass and mangled, before crashing onto the gravel pavement below.

The image that appeared through Ang Lee's left eye shifted to the fleeing crowd, and among them was the companion who had mocked Harrington earlier.

He was a burly man, like a college football player, with broad shoulders and strong muscles. He suddenly turned around and slammed open a locked emergency exit door, about to rush downstairs.

Harrington fell, and Old White lost his target. He stood by the window, his massive body momentarily still, then he moved.

The two-meter-tall white-haired body suddenly bent its waist and knees, its thick white fur standing straight as iron. The next second, it shot up from the ground like a cannonball, and the entire second floor trembled from the recoil.

It leaped over the overturned table and scattered food, and with a loud "BANG!!" Old White landed solidly two steps behind the football player, making the floor tiles creak and groan.

The rugby player whirled around and was met with a white-haired face with blood-dripping fangs right in front of him. Blood-red eyes were almost touching the tip of his nose, reflecting his own terrified face.

"ah--"

He instinctively stepped back, but years of rugby training had made his muscles react faster than the average person. He bent down, grabbed a solid wood dining chair from the side, raised it above his head, and slammed it down hard on Old White's head with all his might.

"Click—"

The solid wood backrest shattered into seven or eight pieces above Lao Bai's head, with wood chips flying everywhere. A few of the chips got stuck in the thick white fur and slowly fell off as Lao Bai gently shook his head.

Its blood-red eyes didn't blink once, as if what had just happened was merely a gentle breeze.

The rugby player's eyes widened. He dropped the broken chair leg he was holding and turned to run.

Old White raised his right foot, and his huge, hairy foot, like an iron door, slammed into the rugby player's left shin with tremendous force.

"Click—"

The bones cracked like snapped dry tree branches, three broken pieces of bone protruding from different directions, the white bones piercing the skin and muscle, blood instantly staining half of the trouser leg red.

The rugby player screamed and fell to his knees. The excruciating pain contorted his facial features. He instinctively reached out his right hand to brace himself against the surface of a white table next to him, trying to keep himself from collapsing completely.

Old White didn't give him any chance to catch his breath. With a "smack," his fan-like giant hand fell like a hammer, crushing the rugby player's right hand into a flat puddle of paste on the table.

The flesh and bones of the hand were smeared together in a dark red color on the white tablecloth, the entire hand was embedded in the tablecloth, and blood dripped down the table.

The rugby players burst into heart-wrenching sobs, their faces streaked with tears, snot, and sweat.

His body convulsed violently, and his broken, flattened right hand slid off the table, leaving a long trail of blood.

Old White looked down at the crying football player, stretched out his hands, grabbed his broad right shoulder, and twisted it outwards sharply, one on each side.

"Rip—"

The uncle held a spatula in each hand and deftly tore the chicken strips in half, revealing the snow-white chicken fibers inside, and placed them on the spread-out pancake with a thud.

Fineria stood on tiptoe and got closer to Ang Lee's face. She had noticed long ago that he kept his left eye closed, his eyelid trembling, as if he was enduring something uncomfortable.

"What's wrong with your eyes? Why is one of them closed?" She tilted her head, her tone full of concern, and gently touched his eyelid with her slender white finger.

"I got a sore throat from the cooking fumes." Li An glanced at her with his right eye, a forced smile playing on his lips. "It's nothing."

Fineria blinked her bright blue eyes, then suddenly leaned even closer, her nose almost touching his cheek: "Let me blow on it for you..."

She stood on tiptoe, placed one hand on his shoulder, and gently supported his chin with the other, tilting her head back to blow two breaths into his closed left eye.

"Whoosh—whoosh—" The breath was warm and gentle, with a hint of red wine.

Ang Lee's left eye twitched. In his vision, Old Bai was casually tossing aside the half of his body that had been torn off, with blood splattered all over the wall.

He subtly closed his left eye even tighter, letting Fineria blow on his face, a helpless smile on his lips, while inwardly directing Old White in the apartment.

After throwing down the bloody mess, Lao Bai turned around, his blood-red eyes sweeping across the empty apartment.

The other guests had already scattered and fled, leaving only Old Bai behind.

"And another of Harrington's companions, go to the balcony and search among the people who fled downstairs!" Li An ordered.

Old Bai walked onto the balcony, his massive body leaning over the edge of the railing, his blood-red eyes scanning downwards.