Jackie Chan Adventures · Conversa

When the door to the antique shop was pushed open, the brass bell hanging from the frame didn't ring—Jackie Chan backed his shoulder into the door panel and squeezed in sideways, clutching a golden shield larger than a washbasin in his arms. He set the shield down on the counter first with a heavy thump, then leaned against the wall, taking a long sigh of relief while rubbing a wrist scraped by a booby trap. Behind the counter, Uncle was wearing his reading glasses, studying a yellowed herbal book. Without even looking up, he merely grunted through his nose, "What kind of unclean thing did you bring back this time?" Before his words could land, a flurry of hurried footsteps sounded from the ceiling above, followed by a little girl wearing a backpack clattering down the stairs from the back room. Her name was Jade. Having stepped off her plane less than an hour ago, she was filled with curiosity about this shop crammed with jars, pots, and old furniture. She ran over, stood on tiptoe to peer over the edge of the counter, stared at the shield for three seconds, and reached out a finger to poke the green talisman carved with a rooster emblem in the center. Before Jackie could yell "Don't touch that!", the shop door was kicked open from the outside. Three men in leather jackets stood at the entrance, holding bizarre metal rods with blue light crackling at the tips. The leader wore round sunglasses; his gaze bypassed Jackie and landed straight on the shield on the counter. The two henchmen behind him had already stepped inside. One knocked over a rack holding a blue-and-white porcelain vase by the door, sending the vase shattering into seven or eight pieces onto the wooden floor with a loud crash. Only then did Uncle slowly raise his head, push his reading glasses up his nose, look at the intruders, then at the shards on the floor, and turn to Jackie: "You pay for that." Jade, however, had already darted to the far end of the counter. Squatting in the shadows, her eyes sparkled bright as she watched the three men, an empty tea tin quietly slipped into her hands from who knows where. Jackie sighed, rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, and stepped forward, putting himself between them and the shield. Outside, dusk in Chinatown was no different from usual—the shouts of street vendors, the savory aroma of sizzling stir-fries, and a black sedan slowly pulling up around the corner. The car stopped about twenty meters away from the antique shop, its windows rolled up tight so no one could see who was sitting inside. But inside the antique shop, the leader had already raised his rod, glaring at Jackie. "Either step aside, or get put down."