"Bang! Bang!"
While they were picking snacks, two gunshots suddenly rang out, sending a jolt through both of them.
"Sh*t! Evelyn, let's go!"
Zhao Dong's instincts kicked in fast. Gunshots always triggered him. His last life had been ended by one. He instantly dropped what he was holding, grabbed Lindsay's hand, and ducked for cover.
Bang!
More shots echoed through the store.
The crowd inside the supermarket finally reacted—screams, panic, chaos. People ran in every direction, crying and stumbling.
Three masked Black men with pistols were robbing the cash register. Behind the counter, the Chinese store owner—a man in his forties—burst out of the back with a semi-automatic rifle.
"Get the hell outta here, you bastards!"
He yelled as he fired two shots into the ceiling to scare them off.
"Yo, this Chinese dude really pulled the trigger?"
One of the masked guys shouted before lifting his pistol and firing directly at the store owner.
He wasn't playing around. Unlike the warning shots, his bullet found the man. The owner groaned, hit the ground, and didn't move.
"Damn... I just smoked somebody!" the shooter screamed, panicked.
"He ain't dead yet, man! Let's bounce!" another one yelled.
"Chill the f*ck out. This is a Chinese neighborhood. Cops won't get here quick. Let's grab more stuff—it's a free-for-all," the third one said calmly.
Then the guy who'd wanted to leave suddenly lit up when his eyes landed on Zhao Dong.
"Yo, no f*cking way. That's Zhao Dong! Yo, it's the big star, the Golden Tyrant himself! I need that autograph, bro!"
The other two quickly ran over.
"Man, screw an autograph. He's rich! Let's get that money."
The shooter grinned and stepped up, pointing the pistol at Zhao Dong.
"Yo, Zhao Dong, you heard me? I want your cash, not your signature. Oh damn... who's that behind you?"
His eyes widened when he spotted Lindsay.
"That your girl? Damn, she fine! Move out the way, let us see her."
Zhao Dong was drenched in sweat. They'd spotted him, all because of his height. No way to hide.
"I got money, a lot of it," he said, staying calm. He pulled out a wad—three to four grand easy. Probably more than what they grabbed from the register.
Old habits die hard—Zhao Dong still liked carrying cash instead of cards.
"Gimme that!"
The guy who wanted to leave snatched the cash fast, dropping a few bills before scrambling to pick them back up.
"We good now? Can we go?" Zhao Dong asked.
"Nah, you stay. We out," the calm one replied.
"I ain't leaving without her," the shooter said, voice twisted with obsession.
"Don't do that," the calm one warned.
"I said I want her! Ain't nobody gonna stop me!" The shooter's eyes were wild, and he even aimed the gun at his own boy.
"Hurry the hell up then," the calm one said, giving in.
Zhao Dong stepped up, his tone low and dangerous. "Y'all know who I am. If you touch her, prison won't stop me from finding you."
"Man, how the hell does a Chinese dude like you get a girl like that? I'm takin' her," the shooter barked.
He raised the pistol, pointed it at Zhao Dong's chest.
"Move it, ch*nk!" he yelled.
Zhao Dong stood tall, refusing to budge.
"You really think I won't shoot you, Chinese pig?!"
"Babe!"
Lindsay's voice cracked behind him.
"I'm good," Zhao Dong said calmly. Then he turned to the shooter. "One million dollars. For each of you. Let us walk out now. Cops will be here any second, and once they show up, y'all got no shot."
"Yo, Kaili, let's take the deal! We 'bout to be millionaires!" the one with the money shouted, not realizing he just exposed the shooter's name.
"F*ck you, Chinaman!"
But Kaili wasn't hearing it. Mad and paranoid, he snapped and pulled the trigger.
Bang!
Point-blank, the bullet hit Zhao Dong in the chest. He staggered back, slamming into Lindsay.
"Honey?!"
Lindsay's scream cut through the air.
Time seemed to stop. Zhao Dong flashed back to his last life, the moment he got dropped by a bullet from a cop. Same spot—right in the chest.
That time, it took out his lungs. But this time?
He had the system:
100% Death Immunity. 100% Injury Immunity. 99% Serious Injury Immunity. 90% Moderate. 80% Minor.
Would it kick in now?
His chest throbbed. His hand was soaked in blood. He could smell the iron.
But behind him was Lindsay.
He couldn't fall here.
Not again.
"AHHH!"
He roared, rage taking over. Staggering to his feet, he launched a vicious kick straight into Kaili's chest.
Bang!
Kaili fired again as he flew back, but the shot went wild. At just 5'11" and barely 150 pounds, he got sent flying—smashed through a shelf and didn't get back up.
Zhao Dong kicked out just in time—the second shot grazed his scalp and blasted into the ceiling. That was close.
"Damn it!"
The other two masked dudes raised their guns, aiming right at Zhao Dong.
"One hundred mil each!" Zhao Dong suddenly had an idea and yelled.
"One hundred million?!"
The two gunmen froze, eyes flashing with visions of stacked cash. Their focus wavered.
Zhao Dong didn't hesitate. He rushed forward, arms flying—snatched both pistols and shoved them up.
"Sh*t, he played us!"
The two men snapped out of it, but it was too late. Zhao Dong had their arms locked up—no way they were getting loose.
Bang!
Bang!
Zhao Dong's legs whipped out—two clean shots to the gut. They crumbled, limp on the floor, and their guns dropped right into his hands.
Bang!
But outta nowhere, the guy Zhao Dong had kicked earlier scrambled up and popped off a shot.
"Ugh!"
Zhao Dong staggered, a sharp pain in his thigh. Thankfully, the shot didn't hit anything major.
Instinct kicked in—he launched the gun in his right hand like a fastball. The dude flinched, and that gave Zhao Dong just enough time to flip the other pistol and unload.
Bang, bang, bang...
At just three meters out, the guy took the shots hard—stumbled, fell, blood leaking everywhere as his body twitched on the floor.
Clack-clack-clack...
The gun clicked empty. Zhao Dong stopped firing only when the chamber was dry.
"Zhao Dong?!"
Lindsay came running, panicked. She froze when she saw his chest soaked in blood.
"I'm good, don't trip."
Zhao Dong stayed alert, gun still raised as he approached the downed shooter.
"He dead?" Lindsay's voice shook.
"Pretty much."
Zhao Dong turned toward the other two. "Move and I'll finish it."
The two masked guys threw up their hands and dropped flat. They weren't trying anything.
Woo woo...
Sirens screamed outside. Backup had finally arrived.
Zhao Dong dropped the gun instantly—last thing he wanted was to get gunned down by jumpy cops. He pulled Lindsay down to sit beside him.
"Listen up! You're surrounded—"
The police were shouting now.
"Eve, call Ringo Wells. Get him to alert the Knicks front office."
Zhao Dong gave quick orders, then shouted out: "I'm Zhao Dong from the New York Knicks! I've been shot. The attackers are down. Knicks staff will be here any second. I need protection and a ride to the hospital!"
"Zhao Dong?! What's he doin' here?"
"Dude, it's a Chinese supermarket. Makes sense."
"So… what now?"
"What can we do? He's shot. If we mess this up, Dolan and the media'll roast us."
"F***in' Chinese, man, I hate—"
"You say that out loud and you're jobless tomorrow. Half the city rocks with him."
"Alright. We go in slow. If there's danger, we fire. But don't kill Zhao Dong. That's gonna be hell to explain."
The scene was only 40 meters from the entrance, but it took the cops three whole minutes to move in.
By now, Ringo Wells had picked up Lindsay's call—and he was losing it.
He hung up and immediately called Ernie Grunfeld.
"Pick up, dammit. If you don't, I swear I'll make Zhao Dong ask for a trade."
After several rings, Ernie finally answered.
"Wells? What's up—"
"Shut up and listen! Zhao Dong got shot at a supermarket!"
"WHAT?!"
Ernie damn near bit his tongue.
"Save the drama. Act fast! He needs backup before those trigger-happy cops do something stupid. You know how it is—the hostage always gets hit first."
"Oh sh*t, right! Where is he?!"
Ernie grabbed his keys and ran out while still on the phone.
Luckily, Zhao Dong wasn't taken out by the police. With his Knicks status, they rushed him to the hospital instead.
The Chinese store owner made it too—shot in the gut, but alive.
Zhao Dong was carried into the ambulance.
He was in pain, but stable. The bullet in his leg missed the artery, so the bleeding was light. The real issue was the one in his chest.
Still, he could breathe fine. That meant no lung hit. If it had punctured a lung, he'd already be drowning in blood—and he'd know it. He remembered that smell from his past life.
"No, I'm breathing fine."
Zhao Dong waved off the nurse as she tried to hook him up to oxygen in the back of the ambulance.
"That's a good sign."
The emergency doc let out a breath and started checking his wounds.
Lindsay was in the corner of the ambulance, holding Zhao Dong's head in her hands, tears streaming down her face.
"It's cool, Evelyn. Just a flesh wound. Bullet didn't go in deep. I'll be alright after some rest." Zhao Dong looked up and tried to calm her down.
"You sure you're okay?" Lindsay sobbed.
"The vitals are good. Zhao Dong's breathing normal, and no signs of internal bleeding—lungs are untouched."
The doc glanced over his chart and nodded.
After a full check, he even cracked a grin. "The bullet didn't pierce the lungs. It got stuck between the muscle and rib. This is wild. Normally, a point-blank pistol shot would go clean through, but his chest muscles are something else. The muscle slowed the bullet down enough for the rib to stop it. Dude's built like a tank."
"Whew…"
Lindsay finally exhaled and collapsed onto the seat, completely drained.
"Ribs broken?" Zhao Dong asked calmly.
The doc looked again and shook his head. "We'll need an X-ray to be sure. Doesn't look like it. There's no dent in the area. If there's a break, it's not dislocated. Should heal easy."
Wells was the first to pull up at the hospital, finding Lindsay pacing outside the OR. She looked more relaxed than expected—Zhao Dong was still conscious and in stable condition when he went in.
A couple cops nearby gave him the update. "Zhao Dong took two shots—right chest and left thigh. Bleeding was minimal, and he never blacked out. Looks like he'll be fine."
"Man, what the hell happened to those punks?!" Wells snapped.
"One got laid out on the spot. Other two? In cuffs," a cop replied.
"The Knicks don't just got a star—we got a treasure. I'm getting those thugs locked up for life, straight up!" Wells growled.
The officers just shrugged.
Ernie Grunfeld came rushing in next, looking like he'd just seen a ghost. His heart settled once he heard Zhao Dong was stable.
More Knicks brass showed up soon after. Even owner James Dolan pulled up.
So did New York-based reporters Sun Zhenping and Zhang Heli—both looking pale as ghosts.
Inside the ER OR, attending doc Macko was prepped and ready. Zhao Dong was laying there calm, chill as ever.
"I'm feelin' good, Doc. Don't knock me out. Just hit me with local," Zhao Dong grinned.
"No way, this ain't the Garden, it's my OR. I run this show. Let me see what I'm dealing with first—it's still a gunshot wound," Macko replied firmly.
Since Zhao Dong was stable, they had time to run X-rays beforehand. Dr. Macko already knew the score.
Neither bullet hit arteries. No internal bleeding. One rib got clipped but wasn't snapped—just a small chunk missing. All in all, easy fix. Bullet removal and stitch-up.
"Man… Zhao Dong, you got some freakish muscle density. That bullet stopped dead in your chest?"
As he prepped tools, Dr. Macko couldn't help but marvel.
"I could've pulled it out myself, save y'all the trouble. Does that mean I don't gotta pay for surgery?" Zhao Dong joked.
"Pfft!"
One of the nurses cracked up.
"Zhao Dong, come on. You can't do my job and cut my paycheck too!" Macko laughed. "But seriously, yeah—we just gotta pull it out."
The anesthesiologist numbed the area fast.
Dr. Macko grabbed the tweezers and, in under a minute, fished out the bullet. He cleaned up the burn tissue and bone fragments next.
"Insane. What's your workout routine, bro? Your strength training must be off the charts."
He glanced at the bullet. "Though honestly, I think that bullet was weak—probably underpowered. Otherwise, no way muscle alone stops it. But damn, even your ribs are solid. You sure your bones ain't made of alloy?"
Zhao Dong grinned. "You pulled out bone fragments earlier—go check. Might be vibranium. But yeah, I got lucky. Weak bullet."
"Haha! I've never had a patient shot twice crack jokes mid-op!" Macko chuckled.
He disinfected the wound and closed it up clean.
The leg shot was next—bullet had gone through muscle and lodged in the femur. Came out smooth, no major damage.
"The luck on you, bro… that shot was an inch from your femoral artery. One inch! You wouldn't have made it here if it hit."
Macko shook his head in disbelief.
"Man, if the Knicks make it through the first two rounds, you might just be back for the Eastern Conference Finals. Title hopes still alive," one nurse said.
"You're gonna see the Knicks lift that trophy," Zhao Dong said with a confident smirk.
Twenty minutes later, the wounds were treated, and Zhao Dong strolled out the OR like nothing happened.
"Damn! Doc, how you just let him walk out like that?! Where's the surgery?!" Ernie Grunfeld damn near lost it.
"Husband?" Lindsay gasped.
"Relax, it's done. We can head home and whip up some dinner after I give my statement," Zhao Dong said coolly.
He was feeling good—dodged a bullet, literally. Maybe this was a sign: the Golden Tyrant was about to rise again. Could a back-to-back championship be written in the stars?
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