Just as Faye Shangguan was about to make a move, the two CIA agents suddenly reached into their jackets and quickly strode over.
Immediately, Faye's expression tightened and her movement froze. Hesitation flashed in her eyes—if she drew her gun now and fired, she might not be able to kill the two experienced CIA agents, and could very likely get her best friend and Ian Song caught up in it.
If she didn't draw her gun, then she'd have no choice but to surrender.
While she hesitated, the two CIA agents had already come over, each pulling out a black handgun from their jackets and aiming at Faye.
The middle-aged white man said sternly, "Ms. Shangguan, we're CIA agents. You're suspected of leaking U.S. state secrets and committing espionage. Please come with us for investigation. We hope you'll cooperate."
Upon hearing this, Faye's expression changed dramatically, but soon she looked utterly defeated. Cynthia Murong stared at her best friend in shock—she couldn't believe the CIA had come for Faye, and for espionage at that.
Only Ian Song remained calm, even picking up his teacup to take a sip.
The black agent raised his brow at this. "Hey kid, behave yourself. Don't make any unnecessary moves, or I'll assume you're threatening us. If that happens, I have the right to shoot you!"
The U.S. is a country where guns aren't banned, so during law enforcement, suspects can't make any extra moves. If officers believe a suspect is threatening their lives, they have the right to shoot on the spot.
Of course, that black CIA agent didn't really think Ian Song was a threat—he just didn't like Ian's calm attitude and was deliberately trying to provoke him.
Ian ignored the black CIA agent's threat, raised his teacup to his lips, took a leisurely sip, and remarked, "This tea's pretty good."
"Oh, shit! Damn yellow-skinned monkey, you really dare provoke the CIA right to our faces? You're asking for trouble!" The black CIA agent was furious, swinging his pistol down toward Ian's head.
"Stop!"
Seeing this, Faye Shangguan jumped up and shouted. But as soon as she stood, the white CIA agent raised his gun at her: "Miss Shangguan, I suggest you sit down and stay quiet!"
"Ah!"
A scream rang out—but it wasn't Ian's. It was the black CIA agent's.
For a moment, even the white, middle-aged CIA agent instinctively looked at Ian, their faces filled with shock and disbelief. The black agent was clutching his wrist in agony.
His other hand had been pierced straight through by an ordinary chopstick, blood dripping steadily from the wound. As for his pistol—it had already changed owners, now sitting on the table in front of Ian.
In just an instant, Ian had used a chopstick to impale the black CIA agent's hand and snatch his gun. How did he even do that?
After the initial shock, Faye Shangguan couldn't help but feel puzzled. CIA agents were supposed to be elite fighters, feared by intelligence operatives worldwide. Yet now, one had been taken down by a seemingly ordinary guy—unbelievable.
Ian took another sip of tea, stared playfully at the black agent, and said, "So, how does it feel now?"
"Sir, that's racial discrimination!" the white CIA agent said sternly.
"Oh, please. When your buddy called me a 'yellow-skinned monkey,' you didn't say a thing about racism." Ian sneered.
The white CIA agent frowned. "Sir, I apologize for Tom's behavior. But you've injured one of our agents, so we have the right to arrest you as well. Please stand up slowly, hands behind your head. And don't make any sudden moves!"
"What if I say no?" Ian replied calmly.
"You'll die! The whole restaurant is surrounded by CIA agents. You're young—there's a good life ahead of you. Don't throw it away!" The white agent acted confident, but inside he was uneasy. Something about this young Asian man felt dangerous; persuasion seemed safest.
Ian grinned. "I've always heard the CIA is tough, but never got to see for myself. Today, let's see who's tougher—me or you guys!"
"Ian, don't be reckless! This has nothing to do with you—just do what they say!" Faye urged.
"What, Faye, you don't trust me at all?" Ian teased.
Faye rolled her eyes. "This isn't Yanhuang. Listen to me, or they really will kill you!"
"How about we make a bet?" Ian suggested.
Faye was speechless, but somehow replied, "What do you want to bet?"
"I bet I can get you out of this mess today. If I win, you have to call me Brother Yan from now on."
"And if you lose?" Faye shot back.
"You can name any condition you want!" Ian replied confidently.
"Deal!" Faye agreed without hesitation.
As soon as she said it, Ian's teacup suddenly shot forward. With a flash, the white CIA agent collapsed to the floor, out cold without even a groan.
At the same instant, Ian sprang up, grabbed the chair behind him, and smashed it down on the black CIA agent's head.
Crack!
The chair shattered, and the black agent staggered, then collapsed to the ground.
Just then, four armed CIA agents burst through the restaurant entrance.
At the same time, two more CIA agents rushed out from the kitchen.
Crash! Crash!
Both glass windows shattered as two more agents leaped inside.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
A barrage of gunshots erupted, followed by screams and the thuds of bodies hitting the floor.
At some point, the pistol that had been on the table was now in Ian's hand, and the gunfire was coming from him.
When the gunfire stopped—
Cynthia Murong was completely petrified, while Faye Shangguan stared in disbelief. All eight CIA agents who charged in were now down.
"Alright, stop staring! Time to go!"
Ian holstered the gun and turned to Faye. "Let's go."
Faye snapped out of it, swallowed hard, and stared at Ian. "Who...who are you, really?"
"Take a guess," Ian winked at her.
Faye glared at him but didn't press further—now wasn't the time for questions. She grabbed the still-stunned Cynthia and hurried outside. Even though she never meant to drag her best friend into this, things had gone too far; at this point, the CIA wouldn't let Cynthia off the hook either.