Chapter Forty-Five: Journey to the Harbor Dock

There was no need for Wang Ling to give the command; Wang Long simply lifted his staff and charged at the two boxers—not because he could tell they were experts, but because he had already fought with other professions among the Shadow Fighters, and they were pathetically weak, making the fights dull. These two seemed at least a little more interesting.

The two boxers, empty-handed, heard the staff howling through the air and knew better than to try to block it head-on. They dodged, one to the left, one to the right. However, even a large transport helicopter’s cabin isn’t spacious, and Wang Long’s staff was almost two meters long. Combined with his arm span, it could easily reach both men. Mid-swing, his staff abruptly changed direction, its tip dipping low before rising to hook upward, catching one boxer at the waist. The staff bent and twisted, sending the man flying with ease.

The airborne boxer wasn’t pursued any further, but he let out a terrified scream as his body was flung straight out of the broken cabin door, plummeting from a height of over thirty meters. There was no one in midair to serve as his stepping stone this time—he crashed directly onto the ground below. Blood sprayed from his mouth, forced out by the immense impact that compressed his insides.

Boxers, after all, were hardier than the lowest-ranking thugs, so although he smashed against the hard concrete, he didn’t die instantly. He twitched a few times before glancing up—just in time to see the second boxer tumbling out of the sky, landing beside him.

After tossing both boxers out of the helicopter, Wang Long looked at the remaining terrified Shadow Fighters. Remembering how he’d once been burned by incendiary grenades, he raised his staff and made short work of the remaining hippies.

Wang Ling, meanwhile, paid no heed to the fight in the cabin. He drew his Iron-Cutting Axe, yanked open the cockpit door, and with one swing, killed the elite hippie responsible for reconnaissance. Without hesitating, he brought the axe blade down on the pilot’s neck.

The pilot’s head rolled away, his headless body collapsing. After killing these two Shadow Fighters, Wang Ling hacked through all the plane’s control levers and yokes, then took a few wild swings at the instrument panel. Sparks flew as the dials short-circuited and popped.

Hearing the helicopter rotors begin to slow, Wang Ling realized the aircraft was about to crash. He rushed back to the cargo hold, saw that Wang Long had already finished off the remaining fighters, and shouted quickly, “Jump out of the door! And remember, grab a corpse to cushion the fall—right now, we’re still in midair!”

There was no time for more. Wang Ling tossed a corpse to Wang Long, grabbed one himself, and glanced down—it was only seventeen or eighteen meters to the ground. He leaped from the door, using the corpse beneath him to break his fall. With a dull thud, the body hit the concrete, with Wang Ling landing atop it.

Thanks to the corpse’s cushioning effect, his superior physique, and the damage reduction from his Iron Legs and Iron Head, Wang Ling managed to survive the drop—though he felt shaken, his body aching, and the taste of blood in his mouth. He shook his head to clear his thoughts, then sprang to his feet.

With a bang, Wang Long hit the ground nearby, groaning as he rubbed his body. Weighing over two hundred pounds, the hippie he’d used as a cushion was completely flattened and mangled—but since he was already dead, he felt no pain.

Just then, a distant explosion rang out, accompanied by screams and cries of terror. The transport helicopter had crashed into a building, its fuselage buried inside. Some people, unable to escape in time, were pinned and killed by the impact, their bodies crushed into pulp.

The helicopter hadn’t burst into flames, but it was clearly totaled. This meant Wang Ling could now escape easily, outpacing the pursuit of the terrifying boss, A**. From the fact that the large black man hadn’t commandeered a car or motorcycle to give chase, it was evident he didn’t know how to drive. Besides, with the chaos on the streets, all the cars had already fled in panic.

Even if A** managed to hijack a car, starting it and getting to the building would take enough time for Wang Ling to make his escape. With no helicopter to guide the pursuit from above, even if a chase began by car, Wang Ling could hide by hopping fences and slipping through buildings—cars were bound by roads, and couldn’t match a helicopter’s speed.

He saw the imposing figure of A** appear atop the building. Smashing through the hole left by Wang Ling’s axe, he leaped from the high-rise. With a thunderous crash, he landed like a meteor. Several people, running outside after hearing the commotion, were caught in the shockwave and flung back like plastic bags in a gale.

This shockwave had no effect on Wang Ling, who was now hundreds of meters away—after he’d seized the helicopter, the pilot had flown a considerable distance before being killed, and the craft had glided even further before Wang Ling and Wang Long jumped out.

Spotting A** in the distance, Wang Ling shot him a rude gesture, then swiftly stored Wang Long in his Kung Fu Scene Card and took off running.

He knew that, with four days left on this escape mission, it wouldn’t be so easy to see it through. Even if he managed to get away, there was a high chance A** would find him again—just as he’d tracked Wang Ling down in the Double Dragon Dojo before. He suspected the Dream Space was deliberately guiding events from behind the scenes. Wang Ling could easily imagine himself hiding in a sewer, only for A** to discover him regardless.

Still, by destroying the transport helicopter, he’d cut off the enemy’s main means of pursuit. Even if they tried to reorganize and send another helicopter, it would take time. Wang Ling figured that as long as he ran far enough today, he’d be safe.

His clothes were singed from running through fire to board the helicopter, and splattered with blood from the axe fight. After about twenty minutes of running—certain he’d shaken off pursuit—he ducked into a small motel.

He released Wang Long, threatened the clerk, and in the bathroom, thoroughly scrubbed all traces of blood, grime, and the scent of gore from himself with soap. He found a set of clean, well-fitting clothes, and made Wang Long do the same to avoid any unnecessary trouble later.

Freshly cleaned and with new clothes, Wang Ling tossed a hundred-dollar bill at the clerk and left the motel. The clerk stared in shock—he’d never seen such a generous criminal. After all, the two old sets of clothes together were worth at most sixty dollars.

“Oh, thank God—if only things like this would happen more often!” he exclaimed.

Wang Ling now had more than enough money. Earlier, in Williams’ house near the disco—while searching for nunchaku—he’d smashed open a safe. As the leader of all the thugs, Williams had stashed a small fortune inside: not only wads of cash, but eight thick, golden bars, each a foot long!

These were, of course, in-world quest items, and unlike the tea exchanged by Hei Zi in Dream Space, couldn’t be stored in his spatial bag or taken out of the mission world. Still, as someone who’d once been a commoner, Wang Ling couldn’t resist stuffing two thick stacks of bills—ten thousand dollars each—into his pockets, and tied the eight gold bars to his calves with string inside his trousers. He was, for now, extremely rich!

After changing and showering, feeling fresh and clean, Wang Ling stood on the street, considering his next move. He first thought of the Double Dragon Kung Fu School in Chinatown, but abandoned the idea. He couldn’t be sure of the situation there—had Bai Feng killed the Double Dragon brothers? Did the brothers know they’d been used? Might Bai Feng be lying in wait for him to walk into a trap?

In short, he couldn’t go to the dojo—not until he’d completed the third main mission, or at least survived these next four days until the Shadow Fighter high command’s hunt was over.

“I managed to take down the transport helicopter and escape this time—but next time, it won’t be so easy…” A heavy feeling welled in Wang Ling’s heart.

“No matter what, the darker the situation, the more I must calm myself and give it my all! But my mind is weighed down, and I don’t know where to go. Since that’s the case, I’ll go unwind by the sea—I’ve never seen the ocean in my life!”

New York, the world’s greatest city, lies by the sea with many ports. Wang Ling decided to visit the docks. He hailed a cab straight there. The earlier battle had drained both his body and spirit, leaving him exhausted. After confirming the driver was just an ordinary man, he closed his eyes and took a nap.

When he awoke, he had arrived at the port—Lower New York Harbor. Because of world wars and nuclear conflict, many skyscrapers near the harbor stood as broken shells, and the docks were filled not with oil tankers or freighters, but fishing boats. The distant piers swarmed with crowds, fishmongers peddling their catch, fruit vendors hawking their wares, and so on.

Wang Ling had hoped to quietly admire the sea and enjoy the breeze, to relax. Seeing the bustling scene, he could only sigh. It was nearly noon, and after the morning’s battles, hunger gnawed at him. He searched for a restaurant and, as luck would have it, found a Chinese eatery—no surprise, since New York is a world city with a large Chinese community.

(Haha, everyone, try to guess who the mysterious character appearing in the next chapter will be—but I doubt anyone will get it right.)