My teacher is Bruce Lee, who dominated Hollywood.

Chapter 21 Vicious Dog

Faced with such a petty thug, Qin Han didn't even want to waste his energy on talking.

His left hand shot out suddenly, grabbing the opponent's wrist with lightning speed and twisting it with a sharp, swift motion.

"Click—"

"ah!!!"

The tall, thin man let out a bloodcurdling scream, and his entire body collapsed to his knees, his pale face slamming hard into the muddy snowmelt.

Before the other two companions could even react to what was happening, they saw a dark shadow flash before their eyes.

Qin Han slid to the side, extending both hands simultaneously, and used a dislocating technique to break the elbow joints of both men's right arms.

In less than ten seconds, the three hippies, like three mangy dogs, curled up on the ground, howling in pain.

The thugs who had originally planned to get a share of the spoils quickly shrank back and hurriedly left.

In this godforsaken place, violence is the most effective language.

Qin Han squatted down and grabbed the tall, thin man's long hair: "Look at me."

The hippie stared wide-eyed in terror, his teeth chattering.

"If I ever hear those two words come out of your mouth again..."

"I'll cut your dick off and shove it into your mouth, completely suffocating you, understand?"

"I understand...I understand! I won't say it again!" The tall, thin man nodded frantically, his face covered in snot, tears, and mud.

Qin Han disgustedly released his grip, wiping his fingers on the man's jacket: "Get lost."

The three of them scrambled and disappeared at the end of the street.

He straightened his coat, turned around, and continued walking deeper into the block.

Finally, he saw his target – "Old Jack's Pet Shop".

Although it has just opened, the storefront looks like a poorly managed century-old shop.

As soon as I opened the door, a strong smell of animal wafted out.

The shop was extremely cramped, with rusty iron cages piled up on both sides.

Most of the dogs inside were listless, some even disabled, missing a leg, and there were also a few cages containing several emaciated blind cats.

"Slay, can't you understand human language? I'm in business!"

A loud, rough shout came from behind the counter.

Qin Han looked in the direction of the sound and saw a bald old man roaring at a tall figure standing in front of the counter:

"You've been here countless times! A healthy bulldog is only worth $30 on this street! Not a penny more!"

The figure looked somewhat stiff, and the wool coat he was wearing was badly worn and had many pills.

Even in winter, his clothes couldn't hide his rock-like, bulging muscles.

Qin Han took two steps without making a sound and looked at the man's profile.

His heart skipped a beat—he had found the right person.

His eyes droop slightly, giving him an innate melancholy air; the muscles on the left side of his face are somewhat stiff, making him look like he's always wearing a cold smile.

At that time, Sylvester Stallone was not yet the superstar with a multi-million dollar salary; he was just a poor, down-on-his-luck vagrant.

Qin Hanqiang suppressed his excitement, adjusted his breathing, and made himself look like a customer choosing a pet.

"Old Jack, you know..."

Sylvester Stallone's voice is somewhat unclear, a consequence of facial nerve damage at birth, but it has become his signature voice.

"I would never sell Books unless it was absolutely necessary."

He reached out his large hand and vigorously rubbed the head of the dog in his arms:

"It's been with me for two years, it's my only family... $50, old Jack, I swear I'll buy it back as soon as I get my paycheck, even if it's worth several times more."

"Payment? Ha!" Old Jack let out a harsh laugh.

"Besides those Category III films, what other movies can you make? Those garbage scripts you write yourself?"

"Stop dreaming, Sly. 30 dollars, leave the dog here, or take this stupid dog and get the hell out of here!"

He yelled impatiently, "Hurry up and decide! Can't you see I have a new customer?"

Stallone bit his cheek and looked down at Brooks. The big dog also raised its head and looked at him with its wet eyes, its tail wagging gently.

Finally, he picked up the large dog, which weighed at least forty or fifty pounds, and turned to walk towards the door.

Once outside the store, he plopped down on the cold steps, head down, without uttering a word.

"What an idiot," Old Jack muttered, turning his gaze away and scrutinizing Qin Han.

Upon seeing that Asian face, he immediately lost his goodwill: "Hey, I'm talking about an Asian guy."

"Did you come to the wrong place? A pretty boy like you shouldn't be buying a perfumed teddy bear to 'fuck' you and satisfy your peculiar fetishes, right?"

"The little guys here aren't made for people like you."

Qin Han felt a little embarrassed. Are all the people who run businesses in Hell's Kitchen this charismatic?

Before you even have a chance to speak, you're already kicking people out?

"Boss, what's up with that young man just now?" He ignored the other man's profanity and nodded towards the door.

Old Jack paused for a moment, then roared impatiently, "A fool dreaming of becoming a star. He's starving to death, and he's still clinging to that stupid dog."

"What? You've got your eye on that dog? Or that big, dumb oaf?"

"Get out! Don't bother me with your business, get out of here!"

As he spoke, he waved the feather duster in his hand, shooing Qin Han toward the door as if driving away a plague.

Qin Han had come to understand the aftermath of the Chinese Exclusion Act and thus left the suffocating shop.

Outside the door, the wind and snow continued.

Sylvester Stallone sat on the steps, his lips turning slightly purple from the cold, but he still held Brooks tightly in his arms, warming the dog with his body heat.

The big dog seemed to know its owner's predicament, and lay quietly, its rough tongue licking the back of Stallone's hand.

Ignoring the snow on the steps, Qin Han plopped down next to Stallone.

The two were less than half a meter apart, their shoulders almost touching.

Sensing the movement beside him, Stallone looked up: "Chinese?"

"What are you doing in Hell's Kitchen? This isn't Chinatown."

Qin Han took out the cigarettes he had prepared in advance from his pocket, knocked one out and handed it over, and put one in his mouth himself, but did not light it.

"I'm a kung fu instructor, and I'm here to buy a 'tough guy-like vicious dog'."

"But..." He pointed to the door behind him, "The owner here is obviously a blind bastard who only has those cripples."

Stallone took the cigarette, sniffed it deeply, and then carefully tucked it behind his ear.

"The pets here... are all sold to homeless people to make them look more pitiful so they can earn more charity."

He patted the large dog in his arms: "You want to buy a vicious dog? How about my Brooks?"

"It is the most loyal and strongest dog in the world."

Qin Han turned his head and carefully examined Buss:

"Good dog, very good eyesight." He reached out and patted the dog's head.

Books didn't dodge; instead, he comfortably rubbed against Qin Han's palm.

"It's smart; it knows who the good guys are." Stallone gave a smile that looked more like a grimace—due to stiff facial muscles.

The two were chatting happily when a series of chaotic footsteps came from the other end of the street.

"Hey! It's that damn yellow-skinned monkey! Right there!"

Qin Han and Sylvester Stallone both looked up at the same time.

Not far away, a large group of people gathered.