"I respect every seller in this market, and I also respect the old-fashioned way the older generation does business through brokers, which is why I need you." Shark spoke with impeccable politeness, like a well-bred gentleman, giving no hint that at this moment he had dozens of guns pointed at Jason Sullivan's head. "If you can come forward and persuade Mr. Wan to move his distribution channel to the 'Mariana Trench,' not only will I be extremely grateful, but I will also generously give up a portion of Mr. Wan's commission to you, as funds for you to continue your reclusive life, eat vegetarian for the rest of your days, pray to God, or do whatever else you please. This deal is obviously very fair. What do you think, Captain Sullivan?"

Jason Sullivan tried several times to speak but couldn't get a word in. In the end, he sighed helplessly and muttered, "It is indeed very fair, but there's just one technical issue."

Shark became interested. "What issue?"

"Wan Changwen's mother is dead."

Everyone simultaneously recalled Jason Sullivan's reputation... or rather, his notoriety in a certain area. Shark silently mouthed an "oh," unable to resist confirming, "So you and his mother...?"

"Wan Changwen risked everything to bring her coffin back to the country, and was immediately trapped inside the borders by the police. As far as I know, he should be hiding in North China right now." Jason Sullivan sighed again and said, "But I once swore that unless I was dead and buried, I would never set foot across the border again."

A deathly silence fell all around.

"So I'm very sorry," Jason Sullivan spread his hands helplessly at the gun barrels pointed at him. "Go ahead and shoot."

No one spoke, and no one moved. The wind swept through the market, strewn with debris, and the corpses lying in disarray filled the air with a nauseating stench of blood.

"..." Shark's gray-blue pupils stared unblinkingly at Jason Sullivan, and just a glance from those eyes would send a chill straight to one's core.

"You want me to shoot," he repeated with meaning, smiling as he asked, "Are you sure?"

Without needing a command, the subordinate holding the tablet just now swiped the screen, and the next live video feed appeared before Jason Sullivan's eyes—

Cars streamed by, pedestrians jostled shoulder to shoulder, and on the gate across the street, a blue sign with white characters clearly read: Jianning City Public Security Bureau. The camera paused for two seconds, seemingly to give Jason Sullivan a chance to read the words, then shifted to a silver G65 parked by the sidewalk not far away. The car window was halfway down, and a young man in a gray trench coat, looking very refined, sat in the driver's seat, the glow of his phone illuminating his unmistakably familiar profile.

"Absolutely sure!" Jason Sullivan said with grief and excitement, "I'm already prepared to go into hiding, pray, and eat vegetarian for him for the rest of my life—just do it!"

"Not going to wait a bit longer?" Shark asked with a smile.

The next moment, the video subtly shifted again—Jianning City Public Security Bureau's Criminal Investigation Division Captain Adam Turner appeared in the frame, a faint smile on his face as he strode across the street, heading straight for the G65, the hem of his coat fluttering defenselessly in the wind.

Jason Sullivan: "………………"

After a long silence, Shark teased, "Still so sure?"

Jason Sullivan lowered his head, and after a long while, rubbed his face hard and let out a long sigh.

"If you'd asked me this a few years ago, maybe my answer would have been very different. But now, I suddenly feel like the border isn't so hard to cross after all." He said sincerely, "After all, everyone knows I've always treated oaths like daily meals."

Shark burst out laughing.

Dozens of submachine guns were put away in unison with a clatter. Jason Sullivan finally stood up from the lounge chair, took off his glasses and rubbed his brow, saying helplessly, "But my brokerage fees aren't cheap. If I don't charge for this job, word will get out and I'll never be able to charge again. Worse, those clients I've fleeced before might line up to take turns blowing my head off. So, one way or another, you have to pay me something, consider it as me being hired by you, so I can still have a place in the business—anyway, you have money. How about we pay a deposit first, okay?"

This was perfectly reasonable. Shark stopped laughing and looked Jason Sullivan up and down. Without the cover of his glasses, Jason Sullivan's face looked even more innocent. Figuring that this unarmed former detective couldn't stir up much trouble, Shark said coolly, "Fine. How much do you want?"

Unexpectedly, Jason Sullivan raised one eyebrow. "I don't want money."

He turned and walked over the rubble-strewn ground toward the shop that had just been riddled with bullets, completely unconcerned about the shattered glass door and the half-collapsed counter. Countless armed gunmen watched his leisurely back, and soon the sound of an old printer came from the back room. After a moment, Jason Sullivan emerged, lifting the curtain with a portrait in hand.

A gunman took the portrait, backing away warily, and handed it to Shark, who was immediately surprised: "Not a woman?"

Jason Sullivan: "……"

His reputation as a friend of women had probably spread from Jianning to the world by now.

"I thought if you didn't want money, you'd want a woman," Shark held the portrait a little farther away, then glanced at the battered shop for a moment, seeming to understand something. With great interest, he asked, "Didn't expect your tastes to be so unique—do you have some niche hobby or something?"