“Three thousand? That’s not much at all,” Andrew Brooks nodded dumbly, stuck his hand into his pocket, and when he pulled it out again, there was a neat bundle of fifty-yuan bills—this was the five thousand he’d set aside to buy a TV.

Right in front of everyone, he carelessly started to tear off the band, but the bald man snatched it away in a flash. “That’s all there is, I won’t ask you for more!”

“Then I’ll report you to the authorities,” Andrew Brooks stared him down, refusing to back off. Although there was still a hint of fear on his face, his expression had grown much more resolute. “That’s five thousand—give me back my two thousand!”

“Boss,” a guy holding a club shot the bald man a look, his eyes carrying a complicated message.

“Unless you kill me,” Andrew Brooks looked at them calmly, feeling a bit smug inside. Ha, you see it, but you can’t get it—how frustrating is that, huh?

When it came to scheming against people, his emotional intelligence was never lacking. Maybe, it had never been lacking at all—he’d just been using it in the wrong direction.

“Killing you would only take a minute,” the guy with the club roared angrily. He didn’t like the look on Andrew Brooks’s face.

“Go ahead and try, punk,” Andrew Brooks shot him a sidelong glance. What a joke—so many immortals have tried to kill me and failed, and you, a weakling like this, dare to talk big?

He absolutely refused to let the other guy act like a boss over him. In fact, he was hoping they’d lose their temper and try to silence him—then he’d have no reason to hold back.

“Damn it,” the guy with the club strode over, but the bald man stopped him, giving him a sideways glance. “Didn’t expect that, huh? Are you from the underworld?”

Quick to pay, but still with boundaries, and bold enough to curse people when outnumbered—he could only be someone from the streets. But the bald man didn’t care. “Alright, you cursed us. The extra two thousand… you’re not getting it!”

“Not giving it back? That’s just perfect,” Andrew Brooks stood up with a grin. “Heh, I was hoping you wouldn’t. That way, I won’t feel guilty about what I’m about to do.”

As he spoke, he raised his hand and slapped two of the thugs, sending them flying. Then, with a swift kick, he broke the leg of the guy who’d been mouthing off.

The club fell from the guy’s hand as he clutched his leg and screamed in agony, rolling on the ground as beads of sweat poured down his face.

The bald man was completely stunned. It took him a while to react, then he roared in anger, pulled a dagger from his waist, and charged at him viciously. “You little punk, you’re dead!”

“I’d hate to kill you,” Andrew Brooks raised his hand and grabbed the blade, and with a burst of strength—“clang”—he snapped the dagger in half.

This was a special forces dagger I got from the army! The bald man was dumbfounded, staring at the handle left in his hand, at a loss for words.

“Give me my money,” Andrew Brooks ignored him, reached into the man’s pocket, pulled out the bundle of cash, slapped it twice in his hand with a grin, and pocketed it.

“Anyone else want to fight?” Now, his smile looked downright demonic to everyone else.

“Mountains remain, rivers flow, friend, leave your name,” someone finally spoke up.

It was actually the main culprit—the woman who looked so innocent. Her eyes blazed with hatred as she glared at Andrew Brooks. “I am Black Widow, and I won’t let you off!”

Women really are unreasonable creatures. Andrew Brooks glanced at her in mild surprise and nodded. “Oh, so you’re a hen crowing at dawn. But do you think I’ll let you off?”

That was a harsh thing to say, but Black Widow didn’t seem to understand the idiom, her literary skills apparently lacking. Her expression changed again. “What, are you really going to wipe us all out?”

“Woman, shut up!” After holding it in for so long, Andrew Brooks’s temper finally exploded. He raised his hand, and Black Widow found herself unable to make a sound. This wasn’t acupoint sealing, but an immortal’s “Silent Speech Technique.”

Seeing their former boss’s mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out, the thugs looked at each other in terror.

Even the guy with the broken leg was so scared he clamped his mouth shut and stopped wailing. This was truly beyond anything they could comprehend.

What Andrew Brooks did next would be even more unforgettable for them.

“Ahem,” Andrew Brooks cleared his throat, clasped his hands behind his back, and put on a righteous air—the kind of posture a leader would use for a speech or a summary. “Today, well, with something like this happening, I personally… am very regretful.”

“Let me sum up, consider it a progress report.” He was getting a kick out of the official tone. Lately in Donglinshui, it was always David Thompson giving these reports, and that guy only knew how to curse—his skills were way worse. Andrew Brooks had been itching to try it himself for a long time.

“You’ve made a lot of mistakes, really, far too many. Of course, the most serious mistake was provoking me. Can you handle messing with me? No, you can’t! So, that’s a very serious mistake, hmm…”