Chapter Four: The Most Delicious Noodles in the World

After sending Britt off, who had repeatedly promised to come for ramen tomorrow, Qiu Fengyu finally finished the noodles in his bowl. After tidying up, he sat by the door, lost in thought. He had nothing in particular to do, nowhere he wanted to go, and his social security number was mainly registered in Texas. Perhaps it would be best to rent this shop and specialize in selling ramen.

The more he pondered the idea, the more sensible it seemed. He began to plan what would need to be added—tables, chairs for dining—should he make them booth-style or set up large communal tables? After much deliberation, he felt he had considered everything, only to realize the shop still belonged to someone else. He didn’t know if Britt would be willing to rent it to him, or if he should buy it outright. He wondered if the twenty thousand dollars in his pocket would suffice.

Then, reflecting on the potential complications of opening a restaurant, he felt a bit discouraged. He decided to let the matter rest for now and revisit the specifics when the time came. This was a classic case of procrastination; Qiu Fengyu was merely entertaining the idea.

After his ramen, he strolled through the streets, at least to get acquainted with a few people. Then he headed for a drink at the town’s only bar, simply named Mark’s Bar. It was obvious who the owner was. Qiu Fengyu pushed open the door, took a seat at the counter, and called out, "Mark, give me a glass of vodka."

"Mark was my grandfather’s name!" The owner, a white man in his thirties, approached and poured Qiu Fengyu a drink. "From now on, call me Hill—Breakin Hill."

"Alright, Hill," Qiu Fengyu snapped his fingers at him. "Just a glass of vodka, please."

With a sharp sound, the vodka was placed on the counter. Qiu Fengyu drained it in one gulp. "Another, pal. This drink packs a punch."

"Hill. My name is Hill!" the owner insisted.

"Fine, Hill, another one. Your vodka here is really pure—I swear, I’ve never had such authentic vodka, not even in Ukraine!" Qiu Fengyu said.

Hill was finally pleased and poured him another.

He drank until nightfall, as the bar grew crowded. Some people approached Qiu Fengyu to chat—a group of four, three young men and a young woman.

"Hey, man, I know you. You’re that Asian guy who’s been wandering around town lately," the leader said to Qiu Fengyu, "This one’s on me!"

"Thanks!" Qiu Fengyu accepted without ceremony, raising his glass and drinking it all.

"I heard you killed a Mexican," the young man sat beside Qiu Fengyu, while the others clustered around. The girl rested her hand on the young man’s shoulder, which he impatiently brushed off.

"David—" the girl pouted, but seeing his irritation, she swallowed her words, standing aside and sipping her beer.

"You know Chinese kung fu?" the young man continued, reaching out to Qiu Fengyu. "I’m David Birkin."

Qiu Fengyu glanced at him, then snapped his fingers at Hill, indicating his glass. Hill shrugged, "That’s ten already. If you want more, you’ll need to settle your tab first."

Without a word, Qiu Fengyu slapped a hundred-dollar bill on the bar. "How many more drinks will that get me?"

"Ten more," Hill replied, pouring another. "I can recommend some other drinks—"

"No, just vodka," Qiu Fengyu winked at him. "I like the taste; it’s strong." He raised his glass to Hill.

"Hey, buddy—" David Birkin said, somewhat displeased. "If you want to hang around here, you need to know who I am."

"David Birkin. You just introduced yourself," Qiu Fengyu glanced at him, drained his glass, and said, "Hill, keep the remaining nine drinks for me. I won’t forget. I’ll be back tomorrow." He turned and left.

"Of course, I’ll keep them for you—if you’re still able to come tomorrow… You’ve tangled with the wrong people," Hill called out after him, then said to David Birkin, who was also leaving, "Be a little kinder to outsiders."

"Mind your own business…" David Birkin pointed at Hill, then followed Qiu Fengyu out. The others hurried to catch up, the young woman flashing Hill a middle finger as she passed.

Qiu Fengyu didn’t walk quickly. He strolled down the street. Night had fallen, and the streetlights were aglow. David Birkin hurried to catch up and blocked his path.

"Now, how will you answer me?" David Birkin said, his tone lightly provocative.

Qiu Fengyu looked at him, puzzled. "Did you ask me a question?"

"Ha—did I ask him a question?" David Birkin, furious, laughed and turned to his companions. "He asked me—Did I ask him a question?"

"Seems… not, David. Maybe you should ask him one now," the young woman, under David’s glare, shrank back and fell silent.

"Oh, my God, are you speaking with your *****? Idiot—" David Birkin, enraged, turned to Qiu Fengyu, "Either kiss my ass or get beaten until your teeth rattle—your choice."

"Go ahead and show your ass," Qiu Fengyu smiled at him.

"You know your place! Come on!" David Birkin, triumphant, pulled down his pants, exposing his backside, and slapped it. "Come on—"

Suddenly, David Birkin felt a searing pain, as if his backside were on fire. He jumped like a startled monkey and hastily pulled up his pants.

Qiu Fengyu held a leather belt, shook his head at him, and beckoned with his finger. "Again—I love licking your ass with this."

"Dammit—" David Birkin cursed, and the group surged forward.

It wasn’t that David Birkin wasn’t tough in a fight—they’d put in some effort, but now all were sprawled on the ground. Qiu Fengyu dispatched them effortlessly—one punch for each, always aiming for the nose, leaving faces bloody. One fellow, realizing he was bleeding, shrieked like a frightened woman.

In the end, only Qiu Fengyu and the young woman remained standing. Qiu Fengyu beckoned to her. She shook her head in panic, face pale, and when Qiu Fengyu snapped the belt, making a sharp crack, she screamed and fled without looking back.

One of the men crawled up behind Qiu Fengyu and shakily drew a pistol. Before he could shout, Qiu Fengyu snatched it away, as if by magic, twisted it in his hands, and the gun fell apart, pieces scattering on the ground. Golden bullets dropped from Qiu Fengyu’s palm, clinking melodiously.

"I’ve killed before," Qiu Fengyu said bleakly to the stunned man, then left without a backward glance.

The man seemed frozen by the words, trembling all over, eyes vacant.

With a smack, David Birkin climbed to his feet and slapped the man on the back of his head.

"Hey—why are you hitting me?" the man protested.

"He’s killed before—have you? Idiot, your brain’s been kicked by a mule." David Birkin smacked him again. "Pick up the pieces. If Officer Coffin sees them, we’re all done." He held his nose and walked ahead.

"David, are we just going to let this go?" Another man, holding his bloody nose, asked David Birkin.

"Give him the pieces!" David barked at the one gathering the gun parts, then turned to the questioner. "Feel free to avenge us." Without another glance, he walked on.

"Oh—no, I was just saying, not for revenge… Maybe we should invite him for drinks tomorrow… Hey—why are you hitting me—"

"Your brain’s been kicked by a mule?"

"You kicked my head just now… Oh, no, you slapped my head… Hey—why are you hitting me again—"

The group quickly disappeared down the street, vanishing within minutes. After they were gone, a female officer emerged from a nearby corner, picked up a stray spring from the street, and frowned. This was simply unbelievable.

"What kind of person are you, really?" the policewoman muttered, gazing at the spot where Qiu Fengyu had disappeared.

Qiu Fengyu had caught Ariel Coffin’s attention, just as he expected. Ever since he killed those two Mexicans, he knew he’d made it onto the police blacklist.

Returning from the bar, after so much vodka, feeling a bit dizzy, he did nothing but collapse onto his bed fully clothed and slept until dawn. He didn’t wake until after ten, roused by knocking at the door.

"It’s you, Officer Coffin," Qiu Fengyu greeted her with a smile. "I haven’t had time to wash up. Is there something you need?" He patted the unruly tufts of hair at the back of his head, trying to smooth them down.

"Last night, there was a fight outside the bar?" Coffin stood at the door, her expression stern, hands resting on her belt. The belt cinched her waist, accentuating a fine figure.

"No, I didn’t do anything!" Qiu Fengyu leaned casually against the doorframe. "Saw a bunch of guys break their own noses—lots of blood."

"Break their own noses—you think I’m an idiot?" Coffin had wanted to warn Qiu Fengyu not to cause trouble, but his blatant lies infuriated her.

"You’re very clever," Qiu Fengyu shrugged and raised his hand.

Coffin’s chest heaved with anger as she glared at him. "I’m warning you—I don’t care who’s causing trouble, but you won’t want to stay here after a month—"

"Who says I won’t stay? Maybe I’ll change my mind," Qiu Fengyu smiled, looking at her. "Anything else?" Despite her cold manner, he found the tough policewoman somewhat likable. Her brusqueness was irritating, but otherwise, she was quite decent.

Coffin left in a huff, repeating the same phrases: "Don’t cause trouble," "I’m in charge here," nothing of real value.

As Coffin left, Josh Britt arrived, glancing at her retreating figure and grinning at Qiu Fengyu. "Hey, man, I really admire you. She’s our local ice queen—never gives men the time of day, never seen her dating anyone, but as soon as you arrive—"

"You want noodles?" Qiu Fengyu quickly cut him off.

"Of course, of course, we agreed yesterday, didn’t we? Today I’m officially here!" Josh Britt said, putting his fingers in his mouth and whistling loudly. Instantly, a crowd gathered outside, bursting in cheerfully. "I brought my family and friends to try it—I promised them this is the most delicious noodle in the world."