Chapter 207 Gold Medal Lecturer

Chapter 207 Top Instructor (4k)

The penetrating shout of "It's almost time for dinner!" echoed in the open space, and the homeless people behind him stared at the Asian man as if he were a fool.

Fatty Ding paid no attention to the stares around him. He skillfully brought his phone camera close to the steaming bowl of mutton soup and the slightly charred flatbread, giving the food a three-second close-up.

Then, he turned his head and put on a friendly smile.

"Thank you, sir! Allah bless you!"

Fatty Ding nodded repeatedly to Imam Hassan, who was handing out the bread, in broken English. Normally, he would just say "God bless you."

But since this is a mosque, you have to speak to people in a way that suits them, and if you say "God bless you," you'll probably be dragged out on the spot.

Then, he turned to Alex through the dining car window and threw out the same enthusiastic remark:

'

May God protect you, brother!

After delivering this standard begging declaration, Fatty Ding immediately shoved his face back into front of his phone screen.

He raised an eyebrow at the camera, with a smug look on his face: "Brothers, see that? Authentic halal mutton soup, served with freshly baked flatbread."

"We don't need to pay a penny for this meal; the Empress Dowager paid for it all back then!"

Inside the food cart, Alex's large iron ladle, which had just scooped up another spoonful of hot soup, suddenly stopped in mid-air.

The scalding hot mutton soup dripped back into the pot along the edge of the spoon, making a "drip-drip" sound.

Did the Empress Dowager pay?

The moment this highly recognizable Chinese internet meme about fan culture was uttered, Alex's DNA was instantly stirred.

As a blogger who spends years surfing Chinese video websites and specializes in making videos about the underprivileged in Seattle, he knew exactly who the guy holding the bowl was, even if he didn't know.

A top-tier electronic pet in the American beggar community, and one of the most popular in the Runren Circle.

Alex's face instantly turned ugly.

Seattle is so big, with hundreds or even thousands of beggars. How come this internet celebrity, who would risk his life for traffic, ended up begging at my newly opened stall?

Alex instinctively shrank his neck, trying to hide his face in the shadow of the tin window.

He's a staunchly anonymous blogger who exposes the plight of the underprivileged every day, and has offended countless middlemen and intermediaries.

If my face is recorded in this guy's video and sent back to China, I'm afraid I'll be in trouble.

Alex gripped the long-handled iron spoon tightly, gritting his teeth as he considered whether he should just yell at him in Chinese to stop recording, or simply smash that broken phone with the spoon.

But in those few seconds that Alex hesitated, Fatty Ding did not linger at the window.

This man had extremely high emotional intelligence and the ability to read people. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that the homeless people in the long line behind him were getting restless, and that the black security guard standing next to the line like an iron tower was staring at him coldly. He immediately picked up the bowl of mutton soup and very tactfully left the line.

Fatty Ding carried his food and walked towards the edge of the open space while continuing to chatter incessantly into his phone camera.

"Brothers, this meal was really tough to come by today."

He sighed at the camera and began his usual video rant.

"You wouldn't believe it, I originally found a perfect grove of trees in the neighborhood."

"That place was sheltered and secluded, so I even set up a luxurious private room with a tent."

As he walked, he gestured in the air with the hand holding the bowl.

"And now, that place has been taken over by some old white man who just appeared out of nowhere!"

Instructor Ding curled his lip, his tone full of disdain.

"That guy's got some mental issues. He wasn't sleeping in the middle of the night, he was near my tent, muttering all sorts of gibberish."

He leaned closer to the camera and lowered his voice to imitate it.

"What the heck is this? Ugh, I have no idea what it means. It's just a bunch of English words I've never even heard of before."

"I thought to myself, if you're a professor, why are you sleeping on the streets? It's really bad luck. In the end, I had no choice but to make a strategic retreat overnight and give him the land."

Lyon, who was sitting on a plastic stool at the edge of the open space, had his hands in his pockets and was watching this absurd street farce.

When the words "incomprehensible English words," "old white man," and "professor" drifted into his ears, Leon's eyes, hidden in the shadow of his hat, narrowed instantly.

The target, which I hadn't even noticed for half an hour, suddenly popped out of the mouth of a beggar internet celebrity in such a dramatic way.

At the same time, Lyon's gaze passed over the throng of people and landed on Alex in the dining car window.

He keenly noticed Alex's unnatural hunchback movement and the comical way the other tried to cover his face with the shadow of the metal sheet.

At this moment, Fatty Ding, carrying the hard-won "Empress Dowager Set Meal," squeezed out of the open space outside the mosque with great satisfaction.

As he walked, he kept making faces at his phone camera, completely absorbed in his own world of online traffic, and strolled toward a dilapidated alleyway at the street corner.

Inside the dining car, Alex watched as the plague-like figure completely disappeared into the crowd before letting out a long sigh of relief.

He wiped the cold sweat from his forehead, picked up the large iron ladle, and continued to serve soup to the next drug addict with a dazed look in his eyes.

Lyon stood up from the stool. He dusted off his trousers, pulled his black baseball cap down even further, and walked straight to the side of the food cart.

He bent his fingers and tapped them twice on the sheet metal.

Alex turned around, saw it was Leon, and immediately came closer.

"Do you know that person?" Leon asked in a low voice in Chinese.

"I would recognize you even if you turned to ashes. I would recognize you even if you were turned to ash."

Alex gritted his teeth and lowered his voice.

"That thing was a real character; it later became a top influencer in the American beggar community. It would be here every day, filming videos and sending them back to China. A purely electronic pet."

Alex glanced out the window to make sure the guy hadn't come back before continuing his complaint: "I'm a proper rant blogger, I mainly just talk about my experiences and get back into the swing of things, I never show my face."

"If this face is recorded and sent back to China today, and it happens to be me later, those middlemen who run connections and those crazy people online will devour me alive through the internet."

Lyon nodded, his gaze fixed on the street corner where Fatty Ding had disappeared.

"I'll handle it and make him delete that video."

Alex paused for a moment, then nodded with a sigh of relief.

"Alright, go ahead. Go easy on me, don't get any blood around here. My stall just opened, Hassan's still watching over there."

Alex gave a word of advice, then turned back to deal with the group of hungry ghosts outside.

Leon didn't reply. He turned around, put his hands back in the pockets of his jacket, and strode off in the direction where Fatty Ding had left.

At the edge of a narrow alley on the edge of the tenth block, several black garbage bags emitting a sour smell were piled up against the wall.

Lecturer Ding was squatting next to a relatively clean, discarded tire, carefully placing the bowl of piping hot mutton soup on it.

He rubbed his hands, which were numb from the cold, and eagerly picked up the unleavened flatbread, preparing to tear off a piece and soak it in the soup.

"Brothers, this pancake is really authentic!"

He muttered something to himself as usual, even though he wasn't recording a video.

Just as he was about to enjoy his meal, the light at the alley entrance was suddenly blocked by a tall shadow.

Instructor Ding paused in his chewing and looked up.

A man who was nearly 1.9 meters tall stood silently in front of him.

He wore a gray waterproof windbreaker, a black baseball cap pulled low, and a black medical mask that covered most of his face, leaving only his eyes visible as he looked at himself.

Even more deadly was that Instructor Ding's sharp eyes, honed through years of hard work at the bottom, immediately spotted the outline of a bulletproof vest peeking out from under the man's loose windbreaker, as well as the muscular tension in his hands-in-pockets posture, suggesting he could draw a gun at any moment.

This is definitely not a homeless person trying to steal food.

In this dark alley, this outfit, combined with the oppressive feeling of approaching silently, makes him look exactly like a street killer or a thug from an American TV series!

Instructor Ding's survival radar instantly sounded the highest level of alarm.

"Holy crap!"

He slammed the pancake back into the bowl with a "thud," sprang up from the ground like a spring, and instantly plastered his face with an extremely fawning smile.

"Dude! Bro!"

Lecturer Ding bowed and scraped, rubbing his hands together awkwardly in front of him, and even his broken English became fluent.

"Brother, what are your orders? Is this place off-limits? I'll leave right now, right now!"

"If you haven't eaten yet, this bowl of mutton soup is untouched. If you don't mind, please take it and drink it while it's hot!"

Lyon looked at the electronic pet in front of him, whose expression changed faster than turning the pages of a book and whose survival instinct was off the charts, and couldn't help but twitch the corner of his mouth under his mask.

He'd seen gangsters stubbornly refusing to talk back even with a gun pointed at them, and drug dealers so terrified they wet their pants—but this kind of swift, kneeling farewell before even uttering a word—that was something else entirely.

That is indeed rare.

"I won't drink your soup."

Leon deliberately lowered his voice, "Take out your phone."

When asked to give up his phone, Instructor Ding seemed a little reluctant, but he didn't hesitate at all.

In this neighborhood, if you lose your phone, you can rummage through the trash or steal one from another homeless person. But if you lose your life, you lose everything.

He quickly pulled the smartphone from the pocket of the ill-fitting windbreaker and handed it over with both hands.

"Brother, the password is six zeros. I don't have any bank cards linked to it, and I don't have any money, just a few beggar groups—"

"Unlock it. Delete the video you just took over the food truck, and empty the recycle bin in front of me."

O

Lyon didn't answer the phone; he just tapped it with his chin.

Lecturer Ding was stunned for half a second before instantly realizing what was happening.

It wasn't a robbery after all; I had accidentally filmed someone I shouldn't have while recording a video!

He's either a fugitive with a criminal record or a ruthless gangster who doesn't want to reveal his identity; he's probably an acquaintance of the guy in front of him.

"Understood! I understand perfectly, brother! I'm very tight-lipped, and my eyesight isn't great either!"

Lecturer Ding felt as if he had been granted a pardon, and frantically tapped his thumb on the screen.

"Look carefully, this recording you just made is now deleted!"

He held the screen up to Lyon, his skillful operation almost painful to watch.

"Recently deleted all photos, wiped clean! Cloud backup? I haven't even been online, absolutely nothing! Completely clean, cleaner than my face!"

"You're smart to know what's good for you."

Lyon watched as Instructor Ding performed his routine with practiced ease, his tone softening slightly as he nodded in satisfaction. However, he had no intention of leaving just yet.

The video has been deleted, Alex's privacy is protected, now it's time to get down to business.

"You just said in the video—"

Lyon took a half-step closer, his height advantage forcing Instructor Ding to look up. "Your territory in a grove has been taken over by an old white man."

Lecturer Ding's heart skipped a beat.

How come this guy could hear all the boasting he was making in the video?

Was he staring at me from the crowd just now?

"Ah—yes, yes, yes."

Instructor Ding swallowed hard and quickly explained, "Brother, if that place is yours, just say so! I'll definitely avoid it from now on! I really didn't know it was—"

"Shut up. Answer my question."

Leon rudely interrupted his nonsense, "What does that old man look like?"

Instructor Ding blinked, his face full of astonishment. Why would this gang leader, who didn't care about protection money, come and ask a crazy old man?

But he didn't dare ask any more questions and immediately started racking his brains to recall.

"That old man—he looks pretty miserable, even more miserable than me, probably in his fifties."

Lecturer Ding gestured to indicate the name, "Wearing a tattered suit whose color was unrecognizable, and a tie that was torn to shreds. He was wearing glasses, the left lens of which was completely shattered and wrapped with transparent tape."

"The worst part is his mouth; he keeps muttering to himself."

As Instructor Ding spoke, he tried his best to imitate the old man's expression.

"I really couldn't understand the words he was muttering; they were all technical terms. I thought to myself, 'Is this guy obsessed with science fiction?'"

"You can't understand what he's muttering?" Leon continued to press.

"I really don't understand, buddy!"

Fatty Ding complained with a bitter face, "Although my English isn't good, I can still understand ordinary swearing. But the words that this old man is spouting are like gibberish."

"If I had to pinpoint it, it sounds like someone who's a doctor or a biological researcher, and I think they used some related words."

As Instructor Ding spoke, he tapped his temple with his finger.

"Hey bro, do you think that old man's brain got damaged from taking drugs?"

"I couldn't stand his mental pollution anymore, and I was also afraid that he would go crazy in the middle of the night and stab me with a knife, so I packed my bags and ran away overnight, strategically shifting my location here."

"Where exactly is that grove of trees? Is he still there?" Leon's tone remained calm, but his eyes had become focused.

"Yes! It's definitely here!"

Instructor Ding nodded repeatedly. "The old man seems to have some difficulty walking. He lives behind the chemical plant in the sixth block, in the birch forest near the sewage ditch. That blue tent at the very back is his."

At this point, Instructor Ding's slyness resurfaced. He glanced tentatively at Leon and whispered, "Dude—no, big brother."

"Just a heads-up, if you're going to collect debts or cause trouble, that old man is useless."

"You won't find a single coin on him, he doesn't even know to go to the relief station for food, he just eats hard bread from the trash can when he's hungry. Going there is a complete waste of your time—"

"Watch your mouth."

Lyon gave him a cold glance. "Let's pretend today's events never happened. Drink that mutton soup while it's hot; it'll go bad when it gets cold."

After saying that, Leon turned around, put his hands in his pockets, and strode out of the narrow alleyway, quickly blending into the chaotic crowd of homeless people on the main street.

Lecturer Ding leaned against the wall, watching Leon's disappearing figure, and let out a long sigh.

He touched his wildly beating chest to make sure all his body parts were still intact, then quickly squatted down and picked up the bowl of mutton soup that was no longer very hot from the tire.

"Damn, that scared the hell out of me. The begging environment in Seattle is getting worse and worse; even mentally ill people are protected by the mafia."

Instructor Ding muttered to himself, tore off a large piece of pancake and stuffed it into his mouth, chewing indistinctly, "This is really a killer job. I'd better hurry up and shoot more videos, make more money and then I won't do this anymore."

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