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

Zhou Xingxing zipped his suitcase all the way up, calculating which bus to take to town and how much taxi fare he could save by getting to the train station.

If you can hitch a ride on a tractor transporting tree seedlings, you can save eight yuan on bus fares.

"Director Zhou! You absolutely cannot leave today!"

Old Zhao dragged the half-dripping, bloody lamb leg into the shed.

"What are you doing?" Zhou Xingxing grabbed his suitcase. This guy rushed in with a bloodstained weapon. Could it be that he's trying to forcibly detain him and keep him in the Northwest to dig soil and plant trees?

"I've already bought the tickets, hard seat for early tomorrow morning. I need to report back to the bureau!"

"The wind and sand in the Northwest are too harsh, my skin can't handle it, I need to go back to Beijing for skincare."

Old Zhao grabbed Zhou Xingxing's wrist.

"What's the big deal! Thank you so much, Bureau 749, for introducing Sister Masha here! This is an immense favor!"

"Sister Masha saved these hundreds of acres of land for us, and you're practically family to her! Tonight we'll have a whole roasted lamb at the campsite, and all you can eat with Urumqi beer! Let's go!"

Upon hearing that roasted whole lamb was all-you-can-eat, Stephen Chow's eyes darted around, and he stopped in his tracks.

A whole roasted lamb costs at least two thousand yuan, and with drinks, the meal would cost at least three thousand yuan.

Stay for a meal, and you'll not only break even, but you might even make a profit.

He coughed twice and brushed the yellow sand off his suit.

"Since the people's demands are so strong, as a cadre, if I were to become detached from the masses, I would be committing a line error!"

"Inspecting the grassroots and gaining a deeper understanding of the people's food situation is also one of the important tasks of this trip."

"Hey! That's more like it!" Old Zhao picked up the lamb leg and turned to leave, shouting as he went, "I'm going to tell Old Li to brush on the sauce; we're going to have a good drink tonight!"

Martha nodded. "Xiao Zhou, we're having mutton soup tonight! Eat a lot. The boss will probably say we didn't treat you properly when we get back."

"Your accent is so good that even the Statue of Liberty in New York would question her existence. It's a blend of Texas country accent and Hexi Corridor dialect—a truly effective combination."

Martha wiped the flour off her hands on her apron. "Wow, this place is nice. The sand is golden yellow, and everyone here is a good kid."

"No one treats me like an outsider, and no one takes my blood. I turn them into water, and they make me butter tea."

The busy pace did not stop because of the feast; the desertification control workers were still rushing to plant the last batch of saplings.

Stephen Chow took off his white suit and hung it on a wooden pillar.

He rolled up his sleeves, walked to the pile of tools, picked up a wooden-handled shovel, and went to the ground.

Eating and drinking for free is not Ling Lingqi's style; working in exchange for food is the only way to be right.

Fill in sand, stabilize the soil, and move dead tree roots.

This job looks simple, but it's incredibly difficult to do.

The sand was loose and soft; a single shovelful would often slip and lose half its weight. The scorching sun baked the ground so hot that the soles of shoes would practically steam when stepped on.

The men worked tirelessly, while Masha was responsible for providing water and keeping the plants moist; they worked together seamlessly.

I was busy until dark.

The desert sun sets late, and its afterglow paints the sand dunes a dark red.

Iron rafts were erected on the open ground of the desertification control camp.

The whole roasted lamb sizzles and releases its oil, filling the air with a wonderful aroma.

Old Zhao, shirtless, was applying sauce to the sheep with a brush.

Oil dripped onto the charcoal, sending up plumes of white smoke, and the aroma of charred meat wafted for miles on the night breeze.

Large bottles of Urumqi beer in green glass containers were scattered all over the ground.

Stephen Chow sat in the main seat, clutching a lamb leg and gnawing on it, his chin covered in grease.

"Come on, Director Zhou! I, Old Zhao, will toast you with this bottle!" Old Zhao approached, carrying a bottle of freshly opened Wusu beer.

Stephen Chow gave a cold laugh.

The incident in Henan was due to Harry, that mutant with an aquatic body, physically cheating.

Can these ordinary folks really cause a stir by drinking beer today?

"Dry!"

Old Zhao held the bottle up high. "Director Zhou! We don't do small sips here, you have to blow it out! You have to blow it all out in one go to be considered respectful!"

The men around started banging on the table and making a fuss.

"Give it a shout!"

"Director Zhou, show off a little!"

"Yes! Let's show off a door!"

Under the watchful eyes of the public, how could he, a dignified cadre of the 749 Bureau stationed abroad, show weakness in front of the masses?

He tilted his head back and poured the large bottle of Urumqi beer into his mouth.

The Adam's apple moves as one swallows.

The beer, with its malty flavor, hit my throat, and the foam almost popped out of my nostrils.

Stephen Chow made a sword gesture with his left hand behind his back.

The magical skill of forcing wine!

start up!

The foamy liquor dripped from my fingertips into the sand, but this Urumqi liquor is different from baijiu.

Baijiu is strong, while Wusu is plentiful.

Even if he forced out half of the 600-plus milliliters from the bottle, the remaining half would still make a commotion in his stomach.

"Director Zhou has an incredible capacity for tolerance!" Old Zhao exclaimed, his eyes widening as he turned and shouted.

"Brothers! Director Zhou can chug bottles without breaking a sweat! Line up!"

Stephen Chow doesn't laugh.

queue?

Again?

A tall, burly man squeezed to the front, clutching an open bottle of Urumqi beer: "Brother Zhou! I'm toasting you! Help yourself, I'll go first!"

After saying that, he tilted his head back and gulped down the liquor, his Adam's apple bobbing rapidly up and down.

"Director Zhou, show off a little!"

"Show off! Show off!"

"The cadres from Beijing can't afford to lose!"

"Let's go!" The second bottle was downed.

The third bottle, the fourth bottle, the fifth bottle...

Two hours later, Stephen Chow's fingers, which were behind his back, started to cramp.

The sand on the ground was soaked with beer, turning it a dark color, and white foam rose to the surface.

He stretched out his foot and rubbed it across the dry sand to cover the water stains.

An hour later, Stephen Chow discovered the problem.

These people aren't drinking it by the alcohol content! They're drinking it by the volume and frequency!

Bottle after bottle, lined up one after another, not even giving me a chance to catch my breath. The worst part is that Wusu makes my stomach bloated!

Just as Stephen Chow was about to give up, Masa approached with an earthenware bowl in her hand.

The bowl contained a thick soup made from licorice and cistanche.

"Little Zhou, this is a licorice and cistanche soup that I personally prepared to help you recover from illness. You're weak, so don't be shy about showing off."

Old Zhao was making a huge fuss from the side.

"Director Zhou! This is a token of Sister Martha's appreciation!"

"That's awesome!"

"Show off! Show off!"

Zhou Xingxing stared at the dark brown liquid and swallowed his saliva.

Forget it, a short pain is worse than a long one.

He closed his eyes, picked up the earthenware bowl, and gulped it down in one go.

As soon as he swallowed the "nutritious soup," Stephen Chow realized something was wrong.

The violent medicinal power rushed directly into his meridians and ran rampant.

Licorice is strong, and Cistanche is drying.

In addition, the counterforce of the Urumqi beer actually disrupted Stephen Chow's smoothly flowing internal energy!

"belch!"

Stephen Chow let out a burp that smelled like Chinese medicine, and his fair face turned purplish-red.

Top-heavy.

The world spun around.

He straightened up and pointed at Old Zhao: "You...you have no martial ethics..."

"thump!"

The drinking table warrior has fallen for the second time.

"Oh dear! Director Zhou is drunk! Quick, quick, carry him inside!"

The surrounding area was in complete chaos.

……

Noon the next day.

Stephen Chow groaned in pain.

The familiar time I woke up, the familiar feeling of discomfort.

Now the ticket is useless again.