My teacher is Bruce Lee, who dominated Hollywood.

Chapter 20 is not random.

Luo Na looked at Qin Han with some confusion. It was just a place name, so why was he so excited?

This intelligence report, which he had recorded a few days ago, combined with information about Luo Na, gave Qin Han some ideas:

Your own system may not send them randomly.

For example, this seemingly useless piece of information might actually be hiding a future top Hollywood heartthrob!

A true man who single-handedly defined the term "American tough guy" and fought his way through the Vietnamese rainforest:

Sylvester Stallone!

His story is practically a living inspirational textbook for Hollywood in later generations.

Born in Hell's Kitchen, New York, he was probably still a "loser" struggling at the bottom of society at that time. Because of his good physique, he occasionally received offers for "borderline adult films".

In the winter of 1973, a destitute Sylvester Stallone had no money for food and had to sell his beloved dog, Bux, who had been with him for many years, for a mere $50.

It wasn't just a dog; it was his only source of emotional support in his life of despair.

Shortly after selling the dog, he miraculously wrote the script for Rocky, which brought him instant fame.

The first thing Stallone did after making the money was to frantically search for that dog.

He spent a full $3000 to redeem Books!

Buying back his dog at a price 60 times higher than the original price earned him the respect of countless people in Hollywood.

And this "Old Jack" pet shop is very likely the place where Stallone sold his dogs.

If I could buy the dog before he sold it to the store...

Thinking of this, Qin Han looked up at the two people who were enjoying their meal and said, "Tomorrow morning, you two will continue to attend the summit. I'll go to Hell's Kitchen by myself."

"Pfft—cough cough cough!"

Andrew Morgan, who was slurping a strand of fettuccine, spat out a mouthful of noodles from his nose when he heard that he was going to "Hell's Kitchen".

A few drops of red tomato sauce splattered on the pristine white tablecloth.

"Cough cough... Qin, are you crazy?" Andrew didn't bother wiping his mouth, looking at him as if he were a madman contemplating suicide.

"That's Hell's Kitchen! Even NYPD officers have to write their wills before going in! You, a Chinese person, going in there, do you have a death wish?"

He waved his fork excitedly: "We're here to do business, not to die!"

Lorna Barrett put down her glass and looked at Qin Han with a puzzled expression: "Qin, Andrew is right. The chaos there is far beyond your imagination."

"I know." Qin Han picked up a napkin and calmly wiped the stains off the table for Andrew. "But this matter is very important, and I have to go there in person."

Seeing Qin Han's resolute attitude, Luo Na fell silent.

She was a smart woman; she knew that once a man made up his mind, nothing could change it.

He took out his menthol cigarette from his handbag, and was about to light it when the waiter stopped him:

"Excuse me, ma'am, smoking is not allowed here."

Lorna shoved the cigarette back into her bag and scratched her wavy blonde hair:

"Fine, since you're determined to go and die, as your partner, I'll make sure you die with some dignity."

"When we get back to the hotel tonight, I'll try to get you a 'self-defense tool.' I don't want you to use it, but it's better to be safe than sorry."

Qin Han smiled slightly, raised his water glass to Luo Na, and said, "Thanks, this is exactly what I needed."

Then he turned to Andrew, who was still wiping his nose: "Also, I need some cash."

"How much do you want?" Andrew asked warily, clutching his pocket.

"One hundred dollars."

"One hundred?" Andrew was taken aback. "What can you do with a hundred dollars in a place like that? Buy yourself a coffin?"

"It's buying a future," Qin Han said with a smile. "If we're lucky, this hundred dollars could turn into tens of millions in returns."

Andrew glared angrily at the riddle-maker, sighed, and pulled a crisp new Franklin bill from his wallet: "Here you go. I hope you know what you're doing."

After the three finished dinner and left the restaurant, the New York night wind, carrying a biting chill, swept over them once again.

The ragged beggar from before was still huddled there, shivering.

Qin Han stopped, took out a dollar coin from his pocket, and gently placed it in the old tin can in front of the beggar.

A crisp "ding-dong" sound rang out.

"I hope this brings you good luck, buddy," he said softly.

……

The next morning, heavy snow began to fall from the gray sky.

Inside the Hilton Hotel room, Lorna took out a heavy velvet bag and handed it to Qin Han.

Upon opening it, one finds a Colt Detective revolver, short and compact, gleaming with a cold sheen.

"There are six bullets inside. Remember, never take them out unless absolutely necessary. In Hell's Kitchen, brandishing a gun means there's no turning back."

As Luo Na straightened Qin Han's collar, she spoke in a low voice.

"Don't worry, I value my life very much." Qin Han checked the revolver, tucked the gun into his lower back, and covered it with his thick coat.

After saying goodbye to the two who were heading to the venue, he walked alone towards the intersection of 46th Street and 9th Avenue.

Half an hour later, we arrived at a street intersection covered in graffiti.

"Hey, buddy," a homeless white man picking through trash on the side of the road called out.

"If I were you, I wouldn't go in. Tourists aren't welcome here, especially not... people like you."

"Thanks for reminding me." Qin Han lowered the brim of his hat.

The snow underfoot had turned into black mud, and each step made a "crunching" sound.

The buildings on both sides of the street were dilapidated, many windows were boarded up, and the walls were sprayed with strange symbols from different gangs.

This is Hell's Kitchen in the 70s—it was even worse than the slums of later India.

Qin Han wrapped his coat tighter, trying to make himself less conspicuous, and quickly searched for the "Old Jack" sign on both sides of the street.

However, a clean-looking Chinese person appearing in such a place is like a white sheep wandering into a pack of wolves; it's hard not to attract attention.

Several pairs of greedy eyes immediately lit up by the roadside.

Three hippies with long hair and numerous earrings strolled out from the entrance of an abandoned record store, blocking Qin Han's way.

They walked unsteadily, their pupils dilated, clearly having recently taken drugs.

"Hey, look what we've found!"

The tall, thin man leading the group whistled and looked Qin Han up and down as if he were a newly released product.

"Hey! Caterpillar!" Racial discrimination was commonplace for these people: "Are you lost? Or are you looking for your mother?"

The other two hippies burst into laughter, blocking Qin Han's retreat route from the left and right.

"Why aren't you saying anything? Don't you understand English?"

The tall, thin man took a step forward, extending a dirty hand to grab Qin Han's coat.

"Did you bring any cigarettes? How about we get some? Or... take out all the dollars in your pocket and let us count them for you?"