Every few steps, someone would approach him to strike up a conversation, with topics ranging from "How did John find you?" to "What weapons are you good with?"
It was a mix of curiosity and probing.
Zhang Jie followed John's instructions, responding with ambiguous smiles and nods, until... "Ah, our newcomer!"
The golden-rimmed glasses reflected a cold light under the chandelier.
The Professor appeared before him at some point, holding two glasses of champagne.
Zhang Jie noticed that his tie clip was shaped like a miniature syringe.
Lethal poison!
That was Zhang Jie's instant thought.
"I heard you saved John's dog?"
The Professor offered him a drink. "Truly... a touching story."
Just as Zhang Jie was about to reach out, John, in his wheelchair, suddenly coughed.
"He's allergic to alcohol." Veronica emerged from nowhere, naturally took the glass, and said with a beaming smile, "He almost coughed his lungs out yesterday, didn't he, little brother?"
A cold glint flashed in the Professor's glasses: "Is that so? What a pity."
He turned to Zhang Jie, "So, what did John teach you? The Mozambique drill? Close-quarters combat? Or..."
"The quickest thing he learned was to shut up," John said coldly.
After an awkward silence, the Professor suddenly burst into laughter: "Indeed, typical John style!"
He patted Zhang Jie's shoulder, his finger lingering near the latter's carotid artery for half a second. "I look forward to your performance, newcomer."
Only after he had walked away did Zhang Jie realize his back was completely drenched in sweat.
The rest of the time felt like a nightmare.
Zhang Jie followed behind John's wheelchair like a puppet on strings, listening to all sorts of jargon and coded language he didn't understand.
Someone mentioned "the cleanup in Brooklyn," someone else discussed "the price of new suppressors," and a woman with emerald earrings kept sizing him up as if he were a menu item.
"Don't worry," Veronica whispered to him when no one was looking, "She only eats people she's killed herself."
Then she giggled.
Zhang Jie: ?
Halfway through the party, Winston tapped a glass: "Ladies and gentlemen, please allow me to introduce tonight's special segment."
Zhang Jie's breath hitched. More to come?
"A new wine list from Sicily."
Polite applause filled the room.
Zhang Jie let out a long breath, but then saw John's expression grow even more serious.
"What's wrong?" he whispered.
"Sicily is Camorra territory," John explained in a low voice, "and the Camorra and the Professor..."
Before he could finish, the lights in the hall suddenly dimmed.
A spotlight shone on the central display stand, and a waiter pushed out a cart covered with a red cloth.
"I hate this part," Veronica muttered.
The red cloth was removed, revealing an exquisite oak barrel.
Winston dramatically opened the tap, and a dark red liquid flowed into a crystal glass.
"A special vintage from 1982," he raised his glass, "To new friends and old acquaintances."
Zhang Jie took the glass offered by the waiter and pretended to take a sip.
The wine looked thick as blood under the lights. Damn, could it really be blood?
"Don't drink it," John's voice was barely audible.
Just then, Zhang Jie noticed the Professor walking through the crowd towards them, holding an exquisite cigar box.
"John," his voice was as smooth as a snake, "I hear you've been having some... trouble lately?"
John, in his wheelchair, remained motionless: "Retirement life is very peaceful."
"Is that so?" The Professor opened the cigar box, revealing six cigars neatly arranged inside. "Then what are these?"
Zhang Jie looked closely; each cigar was engraved with a small inscription: "KH."
"I found them in the alley," the Professor said slowly, "Exactly six... what a coincidence, wouldn't you say?"
John's fingers tightened on the armrest of his wheelchair: "What do you want?"
The Professor suddenly turned to Zhang Jie: "A test."
He pulled out a cigar. "Newcomer, prove you're worthy of John's reputation."
The entire room fell silent instantly.
Zhang Jie felt everyone's gaze on him like spotlights.
His throat tightened, cold sweat seeped into his palms, and his suit collar suddenly felt like a suffocating noose.
[Crisis Perception: Lv0 (18 → 25 / 100)]
Just as he was at a loss, John in his wheelchair suddenly moved.
He raised his hand at an incredible angle, precisely knocking over the cigar box in the Professor's hand.
The six cigars rolled onto the carpet.
"He doesn't smoke." John's voice was as cold as ice. "Now, if you'll excuse us, my newcomer needs to get back to training."
Veronica immediately pushed the wheelchair, and Zhang Jie mechanically followed behind.
As they walked through the silent crowd, he heard the Professor's sinister whisper from behind him:
"We'll meet again very soon, newcomer..."
Back in the elevator, Zhang Jie realized his legs were trembling like a sieve.
"Those... those cigars..."
"They're custom bullets." John closed his eyes wearily.
"The Professor and John don't get along, little brother, you'd better be careful~"
"Veronica!"
"Alright, I won't say anything then."
As the elevator ascended, Zhang Jie suddenly realized something: from tonight onwards, the entire underworld would know that John had taken an apprentice.
And this apprentice couldn't even tie a tie properly.
"John," he asked hoarsely, "Is it too late for me to quit now?"
The man in the wheelchair rarely curved his lips: "Too late."
The elevator doors opened, and the hallway lights cast long shadows of the two.
Zhang Jie suddenly felt that perhaps in this crazy world, having a teacher like John wasn't the worst thing.
At least it was better than facing the Professor alone.
Zhang Jie stared at the Continental Hotel bill, his fingers trembling uncontrollably.
Three days of accommodation, meals, laundry, plus the so-called security surcharge; the zeros after the number made him dizzy.
"This is f***ing robbery, isn't it?" he muttered, flipping the bill over three times, hoping to find a calculation error.
"Sir?" The receptionist smiled professionally, "Do you need an invoice?"
"No, thank you." Zhang Jie gave a dry laugh, stuffing the bill back into the envelope. "My... my friend will take care of it."
The moment the elevator doors closed, he let out a long sigh.
John's injuries hadn't fully healed, but the doctor said he could go home to recuperate, which meant they could finally leave this money-burning hellhole.
Zhang Jie felt the remaining 20 dollars in his pocket; it was the only property he had left after staying at the Continental Hotel for several days, and he'd found it in the laundry room.
The door to John's suite was ajar.
Zhang Jie pushed the door open and saw Veronica helping John pack.
She was wearing a low-cut black dress today, and the cleavage revealed when she bent over made Zhang Jie involuntarily avert his gaze.
"Little brother, you're just in time," she said without turning around, "Help your mentor pack his medicine."
Zhang Jie took the medicine bottles, the dense Latin text on them making him dizzy: "Do I... have to take all of these?"
"Unless you want to see me die of liver failure." John sat in his wheelchair, his voice much stronger than a few days ago. "Is the car arranged?"
Zhang Jie nodded: "As you said, I rented the cheapest one."
Veronica chuckled: "The cheapest? John in an economy car? I can't miss that sight."