Chapter 17 Chapter 16

Many people died in the church, and of course the local police were alarmed. Before the always late policemen and forensic officers turned the church upside down, I tried to search for more information on those professional killers to see if I could find out who wanted to buy my head, but I suddenly found a Things that startled me.Three of the killers had the same photo in their pockets, and that photo wasn't of me—it was the Iron Fist defector. Although the person in the photo is still tall, he is much stronger, with a rosy face and black hair, but his eyes have not changed at all, and they are piercing. There is no doubt that he is the Iron Fist North Korean defector who I fought side by side with for a short time.

In other words, these professional killers are not coming for me, but to take the life of this Iron Fist North Korean defector.No wonder Xiao Xi was a little surprised when he saw my expression. Before he pulled the trigger, he said that I was unlucky today, which was what he meant. Except for Xiaoxi and the two killers who look like Southeast Asians, the rest of the killers all look like typical Korean faces, with narrow eyes, wide cheeks, and narrow chin, including the camouflage expert who is very good at knives... Damn my shoulder is really hurting, the priest's bandaging technique is really bad enough.digress.Those Korean-looking killers all have a group of numbers tattooed on their bodies that are logically arranged. My intuition tells me that they are the establishment numbers and personal codes of a special force in the army, so they are not so much professional killers as they are dedicated to help The hawk dog of the country doing bad things.

Which country has the eagle dog?If you choose one from South Korea and North Korea, nine out of ten it will be the rotten country of North Korea.And Xiaoxi and other southeast Asian-faced killers may be local helpers recruited by the North Korean eagle dogs in the local area. Tsk tsk tsk, the employer who originally wanted the death of the Iron Fist North Korean defector needs at least so many professional killers to do it in order to succeed in the assessment task? "So he is so powerful?" I muttered to myself, it turned out that I had been acting affectionate. What on earth did the Iron Fist defector do so that he had to flee his country?Damn it, of course I don't know, I just know that it must be very serious, otherwise the employer wouldn't have deliberately killed him after he escaped from North Korea.

If those killers with the typical Korean faces are really the national eagle dogs I guess, then the Iron Fist defectors are likely to have been part of them in the past, because they don't have photos of the Iron Fist North Korean defectors in their pockets, It was the other three local killers, probably because those eagle dogs had already remembered his face. I burned those photos, always thinking that I could save that "friend" who had never met before, less trouble. Many North Korean defectors and church personnel were killed in this massacre, and of course there were a few professional killers. Fortunately, ordinary people were not hurt, and the relationship between the Catholic Church is very powerful. The matter has been suppressed for the time being, and I will talk about how it will develop in the future. Anyway, it is none of my business.

The priest kept sighing and asked me if I wanted to go to South Korea to start a new life, but I said nonsense.The priest said let's go as soon as possible, he looked at me as if he regarded me as a plague god.Hey hey hey, although I did perform a killing technique, but I did you a big favor, okay?what attitude. In this way, the church quickly sent away a few defectors who were lucky enough to survive.And me, the fake North Korean who got in there. When we entered South Korea, we followed the old method and voluntarily surrendered to the airport customs, saving a lot of unnecessary trouble.

The South Korean government originally systematically accepted refugees who escaped from North Korea, but because of this well-established and systematic system, the identity verification is particularly strict.Relevant South Korean officials asked me hundreds of questions in accordance with established procedures. On the one hand, they wanted to establish a file about me, and on the other hand, they wanted to identify whether I was a North Korean spy. It's rare to blame me.I've heard so many bloody stories from the defectors, I've easily pretended to be a native North Korean, and made up a lot of my childhood memories growing up in Pyongyang.They asked me to list the names and connections of my relatives in North Korea, and I pasted the defectors who died in churches, along with their cookie-cutter stories, into my nonsense genealogy.Oh, by the way, I forgot to mention that the knife wound on my shoulder was the result of being chased and chopped by North Korean soldiers while I was fleeing. It shows how lucky I was to survive.

I don't know if there is a way to get away with those repeated official interviews. Anyway, I have already figured out that as soon as I feel that those officials start to doubt me, I will find a way to escape.I know I have this ability, but my identity will be an unresolved issue from now on. I need to be more patient to trick me into a citizenship certificate that will save me from hiding. Anyway I was lucky to be accepted. The South Korean government arranged for me to take a series of courses on how to enter the free and democratic society of South Korea, as well as some simple job training, and also gave me basic monthly money to help me settle down in a short period of time, just like what I knew before it's the same.

So now I finally have the first one, I mean, the first one in my memory in this life, a real passport.In the passport, I have a strange name made up, Jin Hengtai.This damn strange name will only appear in this paragraph of narrative text, and it is fundamentally unimportant compared to the indelible tattoo on my chest. In order to celebrate that I was finally away from the sadness of losing my guitar, I went to the bar alone to listen to music and drink that night. It's still a subpar bar.The singer is a bitch who plays and sings some yawn-inducing crappy ballads, and if I ask him to accompany me, I'm afraid I'll kill him on stage by accident.Alas, I remembered that green guitar again, which made my nose a little sour.Luckily I'm in a place that's very close to alcohol right now.

"Give me a cup of Flame Tongue." I tapped my fingers on the table. I often tell people that I don't care what kind of person I used to be. Half of me is serious, and the other half is of course blunt. For the half who really don't care, I should say that since I have no impression of the previous self, losing "him" is of course painless.The hard-talking half, of course, is hard-talking, otherwise I wouldn't keep emphasizing that I don't care. Whether it's serious indifference or non-serious bluntness, after tonight I don't want to secretly think about what I might have lost, just as "If it's something really worth keeping, it's impossible lose".

For example, I can dive without losing.I know trigonometry, not lost.I can speak a bunch of logically different languages, and not only haven’t I lost it, heck, I’ve even learned to speak a local dialect of Cambodia, and I haven’t lost it.I'll shoot and not lose.These are very important, so important that even if I forget myself, I still have not lost it at all.That's great, I'm really top notch. I toast myself.The only celebration tonight is getting myself drunk. But I didn't succeed. When the fifth glass of wine was placed in front of me, he sat down next to me. "I have to admit, I didn't expect it to be here."

The short and fat old man walked over and looked at me familiarly. "You still found it."