Scared of bein’ gullible? Nope, don't see it. If I found out someone’d fed me a crock of fèihuà ‘bout somethin’ important, you can bet they’d be the ones quakin’ in their boots, feelin’ the fear, not me. ‘Sides, I ain’t exactly paid to be the brains of the outfit, but that don’t mean I ain’t got the smarts neither. Most people think I’m shăguā, a big dumb brute who don’t care about much except where my next job, meal and screw is comin’ from, and that’s fine by me. Means they’re underestimatin’ what I’m capable of. And in my line o’work, that can mean the difference between comin’ out of a firefight alive or deader’n dead. So I guess I’m more a distrustin’ type, keepin’ an eye out for people tryin’ to get the drop on me. Safer that way. I don’t think you can ever be too skeptical about somethin’.
Take for instance that Saffron pōfù. Now if I’d been the captain, I sure as hell wouldn’t have been out like a light from kissin’ them pretty pert lips of hers. There’s a reason I don’t kiss ‘em on the mouth. Sure, it might’ve been fun to see what she’d had to offer in other ways, if you get my drift. Better’n a lousy rain-stick I’d bet. But still, I’d rather be skeptical and still be breathin’, and have all my coin the next day than not.