Chapter 20: The Playboy’s Meltdown (Two-in-One, Please Keep Reading!)

Donnell was now facing a dilemma, and he had become accustomed to seeking advice from his two "dog-headed" advisors.

This time, his voice was particularly strained. "Tell me, when God says I am the Chosen One, yet provides equal support to another person—to my rival—what does that mean?"

Faced with this sudden question, Richard and Logan focused on entirely different aspects.

Richard paused and asked in disbelief, "Walt, do you still believe in that so-called God? Do you still believe you’re some kind of 'Chosen One'?" I thought you had finally returned to normal!

Logan, meanwhile, gave a dry cough and stared at Donnell with an expression of heartbreaking pity, as if revealing an ugly, cosmic truth. "I’m afraid it means you’ve been cheated on by your so-called God!"

"Che... cheated on?!"

Donnell felt as if he had been burned by the word. He bolted from his chair, eyes wide, as if he had just heard the most preposterous accusation in existence. *Shit, can you two be serious? We’re discussing the struggle for control of the underworld, not some third-rate, trashy romance novel.*

Donnell felt his hair standing on end, and every vein in his forehead throbbed violently, as if they might burst through his skin.

"Shut your damn mouth!" Donnell squeezed the words through his teeth, turning his head to look only at Richard.

Richard had also been on the verge of laughing at Logan’s comment, but upon reflection, he felt there was a kernel of truth in the crude remark. His response was direct and cold, like a bucket of ice water dumped over Donnell’s head: "I told you long ago, your 'Chosen One' status is definitely a lie."

Donnell still found the statement grating, but this time he didn't tell Richard to shut up. Instead, he asked, "Then you tell me, what is that God—that mysterious figure—gaining by going to such lengths and playing these... tricks?"

"He can conjure alcohol out of thin air and sell it to me at pre-Prohibition prices. At these prices, there is no way he’s doing this for money."

"You both say he’s lying to me, so what is his goal?"

Well, it had to be said: regardless of how much he suspected the man was a charlatan, the liquor Donnell received was genuine. Richard couldn't claim the man was a pure fraud.

Therefore, there could only be one truth.

A pitying look of worldly insight flickered in Richard’s eyes as he spoke slowly: "Don, have you ever raised pigs?"

"Raising pigs?" Donnell blinked, completely unable to follow this leap in logic, his expression blank.

"Yes, pigs," Richard nodded. "How do farmers raise them?"

"At first, they give them the best feed and the warmest sty. They coddle the pig, making it feel like the most precious thing in the barn. It lives carefree, just eating and sleeping, growing fat and happy, putting on weight rapidly..." He paused, his tone turning somber. "Then, when it’s fat and strong enough, one slash—gut it, and eat the meat."

Donnell froze, as if struck by a petrification spell.

Logan was also stunned by Richard’s brilliant deduction. After a moment, he suppressed a laugh and nodded like a bird pecking at grain. *Yes, yes, exactly, Donnell is the pig.*

Richard’s analysis was airtight. "If you think about it that way, the fact that he gives the Italians the same treatment... how normal is that? Have you ever seen a farmer who only raises one pig?"

Donnell glared at the two "dog-heads" who did nothing but tear him down. The muscles in his face twitched uncontrollably as he squeezed a roar from the depths of his chest: "You’re calling me a pig?!!"

...

"The Chosen One!"

"Han Solo" struck first, every syllable piercing Donnell's eardrums with an omniscient, penetrating power. "The ripples of the Dark Force whisper to me; I have sensed its disturbance deep within your soul."

He tilted his head slightly, locking his gaze onto Donnell. "Your prophecy regarding the Dark Force, your understanding of your identity as the Chosen One... have you faltered?"

On the very night Donnell had been so angered by Richard and Logan that he retreated to his speakeasy to drown his sorrows, "Han Solo" had suddenly appeared.

—Logan, of course, was not doing this just to toy with Donnell.

—He wanted to see how far he could push the madness within the current cultural context of America.

—Even if Donnell already found the situation absurd, he was only slightly wavering. Could he sustain the madness?

*[I’ll just have to wrong old Don by using him as a lab rat!]*

All of Donnell’s—the suspected-pig, lab-rat-Donnell’s—anxiety, suspicion, and anger evaporated in the face of the "Dark Force" that seemed to see all.

His throat went dry, and his lips parted, but only a hoarse voice emerged—a voice carrying a sense of grievance and accusation he hadn't even realized he felt: "Master, the Italians in the south of the city, that Al Capone—has he also received the support of the Dark Force?"

"Han Solo’s" figure remained motionless, his gaze seemingly absorbing all light and emotion.

"Al Capone?"

His voice returned to that strange, calm tone, even carrying a hint of casual laziness, as if discussing something insignificant. "The infiltration of the Dark Force into this world is like rain falling upon the earth; even the small pebbles on the ground will be moistened."

"Al Capone is merely a small pebble. He has received some insignificant help during a brief intersection with the Dark Force—some trivial dealings. That is all."

*Translation: I’m just messing around with her.*

However, Donnell didn't catch that at all.

The fact that he wasn't the only one favored by the Dark Force had been confirmed by the Master. Donnell’s brain buzzed as if struck by an invisible, heavy hammer. His voice distorted with extreme emotional impact: "Heh, didn't you say I was the Chosen One? The support I receive from the Dark Force is no different than that of a small pebble?"

"How is this 'Chosen One' status chosen at all?"

Faced with this accusation, which was practically pointing a finger at his nose, "Han Solo" showed no anger. Instead, he tilted his head upward slightly, as if "looking down" upon the flustered Donnell.

He raised a hand, his movements elegant and slow, his fingertips pointing remotely at Donnell’s heaving chest. The gesture carried an unquestionable, oracular solemnity.

"Do you know," "Han Solo’s" voice boomed like a temple bell, reverberating in Donnell’s chaotic mind, "how the Chosen One is forged?"

Donnell was stunned by this solemn turn. His rage and grievance were like a punctured balloon, instantly leaking away, leaving only confusion and a trace of curiosity: "Ho... how?"

"The Chosen One is like a peerless divine weapon meant to sever the shackles of fate."

"It is not born sharp. It is forged in fire, hammered on the anvil, and repeatedly ground against one hard whetstone after another!"

"Han Solo’s" finger traced a cold arc in the air, as if demonstrating a legendary blade sliding against an invisible stone. "That is the tempering of a thousand trials!"

"It is a tempering that will grind countless whetstones to dust!"

"Han Solo’s" voice turned low and magnetic, like the most seductive preacher in a cathedral. "This Al Capone you speak of? He is nothing more than a small whetstone—a whetstone that the Dark Force has cultivated for the Chosen One because one was needed that was hard enough!"

"Remember, no matter how many whetstones stand before you, they exist for only one purpose—to prove that you are the one and only Blade of the Chosen! They were all born for you!"

*Translation: Trust me, no matter how many girls I flirt with, you will always be my true love!*

Donnell still couldn't tell. His emotions were surging.

"But!"

"Han Solo’s" voice suddenly turned stern, as if burdened by disappointment.

"A true Chosen One, a king destined to rule the shadows—what is his most powerful weapon? The help of the Force? No!"

"Han Solo" pointed directly at Donnell’s heart. "It is his absolute faith in himself as the Chosen One! It is his unshakeable loyalty to his mission, even unto death!"

*Translation: Can you stop doubting everything all the time!*

A massive wave of shame washed over Donnell, instantly drowning his heart.

He dared not look into "Han Solo’s" eyes, his gaze dropping evasively. His voice grew dry. "I was wrong! I... I actually dared to doubt the guidance of the Dark Force!"

"Han Solo" sighed slightly, the sound distinct in the quiet room.

—That was his disdain for how easily he was playing this "scumbag" role!

—How do you PUA a core target after getting caught with someone else? First, a seemingly reasonable explanation, then a deeply affectionate confession, followed by some irresistible "bedtime drama"...

—Pah! There couldn't be any "bedtime drama," but he had a substitute.

"Han Solo" slowly took a step forward, his hand outstretched with fingers splayed, palm pressing downward.

A black ceramic wine jar appeared abruptly on the ground.

He spoke again, his voice possessing the deceptive, deep affection of a scumbag soothing his primary target: "The purest, most irreplaceable expectation of the Dark Force belongs only to the Chosen One, do you understand?"

"This is Force Alcohol—an essence of medicinal spirit refined by the Force!"

"It is a secret concoction made from the essence of heaven and earth, gathering nine rare treasures, prepared according to ancient secret methods!"

—It was not.

—This was a medicinal wine recipe Logan had pulled from the "Han Solo" knowledge base after tasting the benefits of the "soul-seducing wine."

—He had gone to an old-school Chinese pharmacy in Chinatown and bought out their entire stock of horny goat weed, deer antler velvet, cynomorium, and morinda root!

—The shopkeeper had such a pitiful look on his face; he didn't know what expression to make when dealing with this freak. First, he bought a bunch of "poisons," then a bunch of kidney-tonifying herbs. If not for the lack of news about large-scale disappearances of women in the papers, the shopkeeper would have thought this freak was planning to drug women and then... well, you know.

"Fused with the spiritual spring water of the Middle Kingdom, aged in thousand-year-old sandalwood barrels, and hidden deep within a polar ice cellar!"

—It was not.

—The base liquor was white spirit bought in Chinatown, brewed locally by Chinese immigrants in America. The jar was also a locally produced ceramic jar bought in Chinatown, then hidden in a spatial backpack.

"Nine Jedi Knights who were in deep meditation spent eighty-one days gathering the essence of the Force and capturing the fortune of heaven and earth, fermenting it for three hundred and sixty-five days and nights to produce this one jar!"

—It was not.

—"Han Solo" had only spent two nights preparing the herbs according to the recipe and soaking them in the liquor for one week.

—The soaking time was too short, and since it was his first time brewing, the effect was at most thirty percent of a "perfect" product, but it was more than enough to PUA a lab rat.

"This is a gift from the Dark Force only for the Chosen One. It will fill the Chosen One with faith and ensure eternal vigor!"

What could have been said in a few sentences in Chinese, "Han Solo" translated into English—poetic, flowery English—taking fifteen minutes to finish, until his mouth was about to cramp.

*This bird language is really not as useful as Chinese; it’s long-winded and doesn't even rhyme...* he muttered inwardly.

Donnell listened, completely bewildered, and didn't understand what this "Force Alcohol" was for.

But it didn't matter. It sounded impressive, and it was definitely good stuff!

Most importantly, did you hear that? This was a privilege only the Chosen One could have!

Donnell was on the verge of tears, filled with overwhelming remorse. "I am unworthy of the Master’s expectations!"

He lifted the wine jar from the ground with both hands, as if hoisting some invisible, supreme truth.

Even if the Master asked him to rip his heart out right now, it seemed like he wouldn't refuse.

"Han Solo" nodded slightly, his gaze drifting as if peering through time and space to see Donnell’s future loyalty!

In reality, he was just summarizing in his heart:

*[The patching effect seems pretty good. I reckon no matter how many "Dark Force" supporters pop up in the future, old Don won't waver.]*

*[You just have to be crazy!]*

*[When the previous madness hits a snag, don't be afraid. Just continue to be crazy, get even crazier, and everything will become rational.]*

...

Richard was surprised to find that after just one night, the previously depressed Donnell was once again beaming and full of drive.

He couldn't help but ask: "You got over it so quickly?"

Donnell glanced at him sideways with a look of mockery for the ignorant. "You don't understand. I was the one who was wrong. The actions of God have their own reasons; I should not have doubted."

Richard: "..."

*No, that's it?*

*It's only been one night and you've already forgiven his "cheating"?*

*What kind of cuckold behavior is this!*

"Did your 'God' promise to stop supporting the Italians?" Richard could only think of this possibility.

Donnell didn't care at all, even showing a hint of pity. "The Italians are actually quite pathetic. Supporting them is fine, I suppose."

Richard was completely baffled!

*So, your "God" continues to "cheat," and you've learned to turn a blind eye, and everyone is living happily ever after?*

Richard felt a chill!

Later, he whispered to Logan, "Could the 'God' Donnell speaks of be some peerless male siren who has him completely bewitched?"

Logan almost choked to death!

"Don't talk nonsense. I think Don’s sexual orientation is perfectly normal!"

And as later events proved, not only was it normal, it was almost *too* normal!

When news traveled to Richard that Donnell, in a state of high spirits, had taken several women from the bar for a night of debauchery, he was stunned.

"My God! Was Don possessed? He was never this much of a pervert before!"

Logan shrugged. "I guess this is just social retaliation after being PUA'd by a scumbag!"

Richard: "??"