American comic: From Beijing with Love, starting with a mutant.

Stephen Chow spat out the snow shards from his mouth, his eyelashes still covered in ice.

Current coordinates: Mt. Fuji, altitude 3776 meters

Deadpool's belt screen flashed blue text, and even included a snowflake icon.

Deadpool's masked eyes lit up with excitement: "The system says this is the highest point in Japan, Mount Fuji! A perfect tourist destination! Check-in, hot springs, Mount Fuji ice cream, all in one!"

Stephen Chow pounced on Deadpool, grabbing his collar and slamming his fists against the ground.

"Damn it! You teleported me to the top of Mount Fuji?! I have to memorize Japanese texts for my third-year, D-class morning reading tomorrow!"

Deadpool's voice was aggrieved: "Let go of me! You've practically turned my brains into a matcha milkshake!"

"What I'm shaking is the matcha in your head!"

Stephen Chow gritted his teeth, ready to punch someone in the face.

Deadpool quickly rolled over, covered his head, and crouched down, shrinking into a red and black mushroom.

"Spare me! I've suffered enough! Muller's connection is completely severed; he was burned to ashes by Silver Peak's own people!"

"What did you say? Where's the evidence?"

"There's no evidence. Actually, I first went to Universe 616 to have someone fix my belt. Then I easily teleported into Silver Peak's building in New York."

Deadpool stood up as he spoke, took out his phone and handed it to Stephen Chow.

Zhou Xingxing took the phone with some skepticism and opened it.

It contains a surveillance video.

In the video, Agent Zero personally executes Mueller.

However, Stephen Chow was unsure whether this guy was the original or a clone.

Yin Feng's annihilation was swift, ruthless, and thorough...

Stephen Chow slapped Deadpool on the back of the head. "What's going on? What are you doing in Japan?"

Deadpool covered his head, his masked eyes drooping in a V-shape: "I found a secret address in New Mexico. I just kicked the door open, and there was a man in sunglasses and a leather coat sitting inside."

"Sunglasses covered half his face, and his leather coat collar was turned up even more pretentious than mine. He held a revolver in his hand, the barrel of which gleamed as if it had just been waxed."

Stephen Chow squinted.

This outfit... it sounds so familiar...

"He made a move?"

"He tried to reason with me first." Deadpool sniffed, his voice suddenly lowering as he mimicked the situation with utmost seriousness. "He pointed a revolver at me and asked, 'How can someone like you change?'"

Stephen Chow's eyelids twitched. "And then?"

"I had barely opened my mouth when he smashed my nose with the butt of his rifle!"

Deadpool pointed to his mask, his voice filled with grief and indignation, "Holy crap! My brand new nose bridge! That guy actually pointed a revolver at my head and let me gamble on whether there were any bullets in it!"

Stephen Chow had only one thought in his mind: How did these two end up together?

...

Three days ago, in New Mexico.

Deadpool kicked open the warehouse door and raised the Golden Desert Eagle.

"Yinfeng gets off work pretty early, huh? Everyone else has left, leaving you to guard three broken chairs and a chipped coffee machine?"

The man was wearing a black leather coat, his left hand on the table, and his right hand fiddling with a silver dollar.

You've mistaken me for someone else.

"That's what everyone at Yinfeng says. The last one said he was delivering bottled water, but it turned out there were two anti-personnel mines in the bottle."

Deadpool walked into the room, slammed the door shut with his heel, and moved the gun along the man's forehead.

"Tell me where Muller is, and I can just break your legs and hang you in front of the Consumers Association of America, saying the reason is terrible after-sales service."

Yan Shuangying looked down at the muzzle of the gun, then rolled the silver dollar in his hand around his index finger knuckle and along the back of his hand.

"I bet your gun is empty."

"Huh?" Deadpool's eyes widened behind his mask.

"These outdated psychological tactics don't work on me. I've received professional training, and I even watched a 12-minute crash course on interrogation online, graduating with a score of 66!"

Deadpool pulls the trigger.

"Click..."

The Golden Desert Eagle stalled immediately.

Deadpool turned the gun to the side, ejected the magazine, and neatly packed the bullets inside, with the top one engraved with Wade's love for Vanessa.

"What's going on? Is it a quality issue?"

He pushed the magazine back in, pulled the slide, and aimed once more at the motionless man in front of him.

"Friendly reminder: the Desert Eagle's recoil will ruin your hairstyle, but your hairstyle isn't worth salvaging anyway."

"Your gun is empty."

"If the lines are repeated, the author will deduct money."

"Click."

The third strange tale of Yan Shuangying's rules: When you point a gun at Yan Shuangying's head, there are no bullets in your gun.

Deadpool stared at the magazine for two seconds, then tucked the muzzle under his mask and pressed it against his temple.

"Did you secretly install facial recognition on my gun? That doesn't seem like a good idea!"

Yan Shuangying tapped the table with a silver dollar.

I advise you not to try it.

Are you scared?

"I'm afraid you'll make the floor dirty."

Deadpool pulls the trigger.

"Bang!"

Gunfire pierced through the mask, and half of the head, still attached to the red and black fabric, was flipped to the side, causing the person to tumble over the chair and crash into the wall.

The bullet casing fell into the coffee cup and spun around at the bottom a few times.

Yan Shuangying picked up his cup and poured the spent cartridge case onto the table: "I warned you."

Deadpool leaned against the wall, his broken skull growing back, his right eye now just a smoking hole, his left eye still staring at the golden Desert Eagle lying on the ground.

"This doesn't make sense! The gun stops working on you, but it's on full duty with me, even voluntarily completing its headshot quota?"

"Because your eyes can deceive you."

"Come on! I only have one eye left! It's already under enough pressure! If you keep spreading rumors, I'll file a complaint with the Disability Protection Association!"

Yan Shuangying launched the ocean into the air.

Deadpool raised his gun and fired.

Gunshots rang out, the ocean tumbled halfway through the air, the bullet grazed the silver edge, and pierced the wooden plank behind the man.

But the seats were empty.

Deadpool, gun in hand, turned to the left, a black leather coat swept past on the right, and a hand pressed the gun barrel to the ground.

"You're too slow."

"Who's slow? I just hadn't finished downloading the brain tissue yet. Wait until I finish installing the patch!"

Deadpool drew his twin swords and slashed at his wrists, but just as the blades left his shoulder, the other man's left hand had already grabbed his elbow.

The other knife was only half-drawn when Yan Shuangying's right hand, holding the butt of his gun, struck his nose.

Click.

Deadpool crashed into a chair while lying on his back, his nose collapsing into his mask, and his twin swords flew out of his hands and onto the table.

The Thirteenth Strange Tale of Yan Shuangying's Rules: When you fight Yan Shuangying with cold weapons, his attack speed is twice that of you.

"stop!"

Deadpool covered his nose and got up, raising his other hand high above his head.

"I demand an inspection of your latency! My attack animation was only 50% loaded when I launched my attack, how come it's already finished?"

"Should we continue?"

"Of course I'll fight. I'm just requesting a pause. By the way, what kind of insurance does Silver Peak provide for field operations? Is the bridge of the nose considered a consumable part?"

"I have no connection with Yin Feng."

"So you stayed in Silver Peak's secret warehouse in the middle of the night, dressed as an underground godfather who just stepped out of a black-and-white TV, and even gave me free plastic surgery with a gun butt?"

"I'm waiting for someone."

"Waiting for whom?"

"Waiting for an idiot in a red shirt."