Joey was stung in his sore spot by Old John's remark, instantly turning from embarrassment to anger. However, despite his anger, he hadn't lost his rationality. Just because he couldn't afford to provoke Old John didn't mean he couldn't afford to provoke Jin Muchen, whom he found equally displeasing.
"Hey! Yellow-skinned boy, what are you looking at? Do you dare to challenge me? Or perhaps you desire to taste my grandfather's ripe bananas?"
A burst of laughter erupted from the group of burly men behind Joey, all provocatively eyeing Jin Muchen.
Jin Muchen coldly smiled, "You just ate feces, didn't brush your teeth afterward? Is that your hobby? Besides beating women, do you also enjoy consuming feces?"
Having spent two years in America, Jin Muchen had undoubtedly experienced the subtle and overt rules. Among them, the most intolerable was racial discrimination. While most white people would somewhat conceal it, the guy in front of him blatantly displayed his disdain. Jin Muchen, not known for his patience, couldn't tolerate such behavior.
Moreover, he wasn't the same person he used to be. Since the incident a few days ago, especially after discovering his increased strength, he had resumed the Eight Extremes Fist taught by his grandfather. He had initially thought he might be rusty from lack of practice, but to his surprise, he quickly regained proficiency. His body seemed exceptionally attuned to the martial art, embodying the saying "strong body, strong mind." Movements that were once challenging or incomplete now flowed naturally and effortlessly. He could distinctly feel his martial skills advancing rapidly.
Furthermore, it seemed that the change wasn't limited to his physique; even his personality had been affected.
He had become more confident and aggressive than before. In the past, encountering such situations might have made him angry, but being in a foreign land, he might have endured it. But now, with strength on his side, why should he fear such ruffians?
Jin Muchen didn't seek trouble, but that didn't mean he feared it. He wasn't afraid of such guys before, and now, even less so. As long as they didn't have guns, he was confident he could defeat them with just his fists.
Veins bulged on Joey's forehead, and the scene fell silent.
In this place, few dared to confront Joey like this. Many stood with their bottles, ready to watch the spectacle.
"You...!"
"Bang!"
A gunshot interrupted Joey's words. The Red Pony Bar fell silent, everyone turning to see the kindly chef, now standing behind the counter, holding a still-smoking Remington.
"Alright, you scoundrels, either sit down and behave, or get out," said Thoreau, her words brief but potent. What made it more impactful was the smoking gun in her hand, which seemed to intimidate the rough characters here.
Even Joey, who had been brimming with confidence, glanced at her, ultimately only able to spit on the ground before the bar quickly returned to its previous order.
However, Joey's group didn't slink away. Instead, they sat not far from Jin Muchen's group, casting sinister glances their way. It seemed they were waiting for them to leave the bar after finishing their drinks, intending to give them trouble outside.
"Buddy, wait, we'll cover for you. Slip out through the back door," Paul said, realizing something was amiss after a discussion with John. Now that Jin Muchen was their friend, they couldn't let him suffer.
With Old John still around and Thoreau in charge, Joey's gang dared not act recklessly. However, their intentions were clear.
Having known each other for only a day, these coworkers were willing to stand up for him, leaving Jin Muchen with a slight sense of gratitude.
"Thank you, guys. You don't have to do this. I'm not afraid of that scoundrel," Jin Muchen said.
"Mu Chen, you're a good lad. We know you're not afraid of Joey, but listen to me, those guys are capable of anything. They're notorious for their audacity and lack of conscience. Don't be too stubborn this time. Trust our plan, we'll cover for you," John advised. While he could maintain order in the bar, he couldn't escort Jin Muchen home once they left.
Jin Muchen smiled faintly, neither agreeing nor disagreeing.
Everyone here understood what the two meant by "the old rules." Soon, an area was cleared, and a small round table was brought out. Jin Muchen and Joey took their seats opposite each other.
Joey, dressed in hippie attire with a leather vest, had arms as hairy and thick as emperor crab pincers, especially his forearms, which were as stout as Jin Muchen's thighs.
In contrast, Jin Muchen was slender, though still muscular, with arms that were two sizes smaller than Joey's.
"Hehe, kid, come on, I'm going to snap your arm. Then, you, the yellow-skinned monkey, don't cry running to your mommy," Joey jeered, his vulgar words prompting laughter from his companions behind him.
Even the onlookers chuckled. Judging by their physique, they didn't favor Jin Muchen. He stood at six feet two inches tall, which wasn't short even among Americans, but his slender frame made him seem fragile, especially compared to Joey's robustness. Joey's arms appeared thicker than Jin Muchen's thighs, dampening the confidence of those who believed in Jin Muchen.
Only Paul and his group still had some confidence in Jin Muchen. They had seen him work hard during the day, knowing he wasn't ordinary; despite his slim figure, his strength and endurance were exceptional.
But arm wrestling wasn't about strength or endurance; it was about explosive power. Joey's arm was almost as thick as Jin Muchen's thigh. Their confidence in Jin Muchen wavered.
Jin Muchen smiled faintly as he approached the table, but instead of immediately sitting down, he turned around and searched the room. Finally, he found two steak knives on a dining table.
These were not your typical stainless steel knives with rounded tips seen on TV. These were the most primitive, rugged steak knives.