American forensics, but the gourmet system

A light snow was falling in New York, and there seemed to be fewer pedestrians on the streets than usual; it was quiet and deserted.

But inside the cramped apartment kitchen, a lively scene unfolded.

On each of the two burners of the gas stove was a wok. In the wok on the left, a thick, light brown broth was bubbling away, and a row of slices of meat, each about half the size of a palm, lay neatly in the pot.

Russell held the wok handle on the right, and a fresh green vegetable was sizzling inside. With his left hand on the handle and his right hand holding the spatula, Russell kept stirring the vegetables, and the aroma of garlic quickly spread throughout the wok.

Braised pork strips and stir-fried lettuce with garlic.

These are two new dishes Russell learned. He had just acquired the wok-flipping and pan-holding techniques from the system, so of course he had to show them off.

Meanwhile, in the skill statistics of Wei Shu Er, Russell's culinary skills have already surpassed 93% of his competitors.

Even if he didn't become a forensic pathologist, Russell could easily find a job as a chef at a Chinese restaurant in New York and earn more than a forensic pathologist, which doesn't sound as sinister as the pathology profession...

Russell decided that if he ever lost his job, he would consider becoming a chef as a fallback option.

Pour the blanched romaine lettuce into a prepared plate, while the braised pork strips in the other pot have finished reducing the sauce.

Russell picked up the pot with one hand, using his upper arm to propel his forearm and wrist in a delicate arc. The neatly arranged strips of meat and broth inside the pot flew up, tumbled in the air, and fell back into the pot.

"Wow...that's so cool!"

Aina clapped her hands happily at the kitchen door, like a baby seal slapping its belly after eating a fish.

"Ha ha……"

Russell put on a mysterious smile and plated the finished braised beef strips, which were made from beef brisket and beef belly, cut into slices about half the size of a palm. The broth was rich, flavorful, and smooth.

At Aina's suggestion, Russell controlled the portion sizes for dinner today and opted for a combination of one meat dish and one vegetable dish to prepare for the upcoming fitness activity.

With the tender, oily beef and the crisp, fragrant lettuce, Russell ate his rice with gusto.

At the dinner table, Russell and Aina remained silent, focusing intently on their meal. A warm, comforting feeling spread from Russell's mouth throughout his body with the delicious food, dispelling the resentment, oppression, anger, and confusion that had accumulated while working on the case…

Those negative emotions seemed to vanish along with the steam rising from the hot food.

"I've been feeling like you're not in a good mood..." Aina asked Russell as she cleared the table. "Is it because the recent cases are putting a lot of pressure on you?"

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"A little."

Russell nodded.

He didn't tell Aina the truth about the unsolved leg case. Perhaps Dr. Beckman was right; as a forensic pathologist, all he needed to do was ensure the criminal received the punishment he deserved. As for the heavy truth...

It's really inappropriate to discuss these things on a comfortable and harmonious evening.

"If you're under a lot of pressure..." A mysterious smile appeared on Aina's face, "I do know a good way to relieve stress..."

……

Clap clap clap clap!

At the shooting range, Aina, dressed in a sleek leather short jacket, brown cargo pants, and black knee-high boots, looked every bit the cool cowgirl. Holding a gun in both hands, she fired five shots in quick succession at a target 15 yards away.

How many meters is one yard again?

Russell started compulsively converting units...

"Well done, girl! Forty-five rings! Two shots were ten-rings, perfect!"

The shooting coach on the side clapped and cheered, and Russell also clapped twice.

The shooting instructor was a white woman in her forties, quite stocky-looking. She turned to look at Russell:

"Hey kid. I heard you're a newbie who's never handled a gun before?"

That's not entirely accurate, because Russell did indeed touch Jesse's sidearm once or twice.

Moreover, Russell had studied hundreds of cases of gunshot wounds during his graduate studies, so he was no stranger to guns and bullets.

But as for pulling the trigger and firing a gun, he had never tried it.

"That's right," Russell nodded in acknowledgment. "I've never fired a handgun."

Hmm... that sounds a little awkward...

Aina put down the gun, took off her earmuffs, walked over to Russell, and said with a smile:

"You should try it too. I used to come here and play a few rounds when I felt stressed. It's very stress-relieving."

Russell felt that stress relief was relative; the $100 per person cost actually put more pressure on him…

But Aina meant well, and what boy hasn't dreamed of becoming a sharpshooter when he was a kid?

"Come here, I'll teach you, boy." The instructor, an older woman, told Russell to pick up the Glock 19 pistol on the table. "Relax your grip, don't lock your shoulder and elbow joints, apply force evenly with your hand, and don't let your thumb block the slide... Raise the gun to shoulder height, very good."

After teaching Russell how to hold a gun, the instructor taught him the proper stance for shooting.

"Feet shoulder-width apart... Oh, and lean forward slightly, shifting your weight onto the balls of your feet to avoid the recoil knocking you over... Just kidding, you're not small. A 9mm Luger bullet won't knock you over..."

After teaching Russell the basics of shooting, the instructor then taught him how to load and chamber bullets.

"Never point your gun at anyone, boy," the instructor said sternly. "Whether it's yourself or someone else, whether you're at the shooting range or somewhere else, always point your gun at a place that's 100% safe, unless you're a cop or the FBI... Okay, try firing a few shots."

Russell took a deep breath; he was still a little nervous.

After all, it was my first time shooting with real guns and ammunition, which was a completely novel and different experience.

Aina watched him encouragingly from the side.

Russell aimed at the center of the target paper fifteen yards away and pulled the trigger with his right index finger—

boom!

Russell felt someone punch his palm; the impact wasn't strong, but it was very sudden.

There was a small, dark hole on the edge of the target paper.

"Hit the target! Well done!"

Aina patted Russell on the shoulder happily.

"Not bad, you hit the target on your first shot." The instructor encouraged her from the side. "It's a 15-yard target... I usually recommend beginners practice with a 7-yard chest target. Even so, there are plenty of newbies who miss... Try one more shot."

Having experienced the recoil from the shot, Russell realized that holding a gun was no harder than flipping a wok to cook... He simply didn't understand the magnitude of the recoil when a bullet is fired.

Moreover, Russell is a man with elite-level wok-flipping and pan-holding skills.

After firing just one bullet, he already knew how to control the strength of his arm to counteract the recoil when the bullet was fired.

Elite-level wok-flipping and pan-holding skills not only taught Russell how to cook, but also how to use the strength of his arms and wrists to precisely control the tools in his hands.

That's exactly what you need to do when holding a gun and shooting.

Master the gun, conquer the gun.

Russell, brimming with confidence, aimed again and pulled the trigger—

boom!

Nine rings!

boom!

Rings 10!

Bang bang bang!

All of them are rings!

After firing six bullets, except for the first shot which hit the target but didn't score, the remaining five shots actually hit 49 points!

Aina's beautiful eyes widened in disbelief.

The coach's mouth could practically fit a goose egg:

"You're really a newbie? Damn, if all newbies were like you, I'd be fucking unemployed..."