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On March 15, 1987, the night was as dark as ink.

Along the coast of Changle, Fujian, waves crash against the rocks, producing a deep, rumbling sound.

Suning huddled in the hold of a rusty cargo ship, the damp air thick with the smells of fish and sweat.

He counted the money left in his pocket...

Three thousand US dollars was almost all of his family's savings plus a high-interest loan.

This is the new identity the system assigned to Suning this time: a fool who borrowed money at high interest rates and is about to go to America to "strike it rich".

If possible, Suning would never have come here; China in 1987 was truly a land of opportunity.

And as expected, Suning's spatial world was once again blocked.

"Don't make a sound! The customs ship has passed." A burly man with a fierce face shouted in a low voice.

He was the smuggler for this "journey," and was known as "Brother Xiong."

The cabin was packed with people; Suning roughly estimated there were over two hundred.

There were young people in their early twenties like him, middle-aged men in their forties, and even a few teenagers who looked to be under eighteen.

Everyone was pale, their eyes gleaming with a mixture of fear and anticipation.

“Once you get to Mexico, someone will meet you.” Brother Xiong lit a cigarette for himself, the smoke swirling in the enclosed cabin. “Then you’ll go through the ‘tunnel’ into the United States. The jobs are all arranged: construction workers, farm workers, restaurant workers, food and lodging included.”

Su Ning swallowed hard.

He recalled his father's words of advice before this body left home: "Ning! Work hard over there, and send money back when you earn it. Your younger brother and sister are waiting to go to school."

The boat suddenly rocked violently, and several people who were not seated properly bumped into each other.

Some people started vomiting, and the sour smell immediately filled the cabin.

Su Ning gripped the iron pipe beside him tightly, feeling his stomach churning.

"You can't even handle it at the very beginning?" A young man wearing glasses next to me said with a wry smile. "There are still more than twenty days to go."

Su Ning looked at him: "Are you from Fujian too?"

"Guangdong, Lin Xiu." The young man pushed up his glasses. "Graduated from medical school, can't find a job."

Suning nodded.

According to his memory, after graduating from high school, he worked at the town's supply and marketing cooperative for two years, but his meager salary was not enough to cover his family's expenses.

When he heard that someone was organizing a trip to the United States to work, he borrowed money from loan sharks without hesitation.

On the third day, food began to become scarce.

Each person receives only a small piece of bread as hard as a rock and half a bottle of water per day.

The sanitary conditions in the cabin deteriorated rapidly, with excrement piled up in the corners and flies buzzing around.

On the fifth day, a middle-aged man began to have a high fever and was shivering all over.

After examining her, Lin Xiu's expression turned serious: "It might be malaria, and she will need medication."

Brother Xiong just glanced at him coldly: "If you can't make it, throw you into the sea. Don't infect others."

That night, the man's groans gradually weakened and eventually fell silent.

Su Ning watched as several crew members wrapped the body in sacks and threw it into the sea through a small door on the side of the deck.

With a thud, life was extinguished.

"You and I might be next," Lin Xiu said softly, her eyes behind her glasses bloodshot.

"So what! I chose this path myself, so I have to persevere no matter how hard or tiring it is."

"Aren't you afraid?"

Is being afraid helpful?

"..."

On the fifteenth day, a sudden storm struck the ship.

Huge waves crashed against the hull, and water began to enter the lower deck.

The icy seawater washed over my ankles and rose rapidly.

"Everyone up on deck!" the crew shouted.

In the chaos, Suning was pushed and shoved as he climbed the narrow ladder.

In the midst of the raging wind and rain, he saw dozens of people crammed on the deck, some swept away by giant waves, their screams instantly swallowed by the wind.

"Get buckets to drain the water! Otherwise, we'll all die!" Brother Xiong shouted, waving his pistol.

Suning grabbed a plastic bucket and joined the chain of people draining the water.

Rain and waves lashed his face, and salty seawater filled his throat.

Fortunately, my physical abilities far exceed those of humans, otherwise I might have really perished at sea.

For six whole hours, they battled death until the storm passed.

When the sun reappeared, there were seventeen fewer people on board.

On the twenty-eighth day, the outline of the land finally appeared on the horizon.

The haggard migrants huddled on the deck, and some began to cry.

“That’s the Yucatan Peninsula in Mexico,” a veteran who called himself Old Ma excitedly explained.

Brother Xiong gathered everyone together: "We'll disembark tonight, and someone will take you to a safe house. Remember, if you get caught, say you're here for tourism and that you lost your passport."

After nightfall, small boats took them ashore in batches.

Suning's group consisted of twelve people, led by a Mexican guide, who traversed dense bushes to reach an abandoned farm warehouse.

“Wait here for three days,” the guide said in broken Chinese, “and then a truck will take you to the border.”

The warehouse was filled with hay, at least cleaner than the ship's hold.

Suning slumped in the corner, finally having a chance to get a good look at his fellow travelers.

Besides Lin Xiu and Lao Ma, there was a thin young man named Ahua, a middle-aged woman who was always silent, and several men who looked like migrant workers.

"Old Ma, what are you planning to do when you get to America?" Lin Xiu asked Old Ma.

“My cousin owns a Chinese restaurant in New York and says he needs a kitchen helper,” Old Ma said, touching the scar on his face. “What about you?”

"I'm studying medicine, and I hope to find a job in a hospital," Lin Xiu said.

Then everyone looked at Suning.

“The smuggler said… he arranged for me to wash dishes at a Chinese restaurant in Los Angeles,” Su Ning replied in a low voice.

Old Ma scoffed, "Washing dishes? You'd have to work for ten years to pay off your smuggling fees."

Suning felt a pang of anxiety.

He borrowed $50,000 from loan sharks. According to the smuggler, the loan included work, room and board, and a monthly salary of $1,500, of which $1,200 was used to pay off the debt.

“Don’t worry,” Lin Xiu patted his shoulder, “There will be plenty of opportunities in America. Let’s get established first.”

Late on the third night, two dilapidated trucks drove into the farm.

The guide directed them to climb into the carriage, which had already been covered with a waterproof tarpaulin.

"Lie down and don't make a sound," the guide warned. "There are checkpoints along the way."

The truck had been bumping along all night.

Through the gaps in the tarpaulin, Suning could see the desolate Mexican desert and the occasional flash of police car lights.

Everyone held their breath whenever a vehicle approached.

At dawn, the truck stopped.

The guide lifted the tarpaulin: "Get out of the car quickly!"

They arrived at a wasteland overgrown with shrubs.

In the distance, a tall barbed wire fence gleamed coldly in the morning light.

“That’s the U.S. border.” A stranger approached, holding a walkie-talkie. “I’m your guide, just call me Jack.”

Jack is of Chinese descent and speaks fluent Mandarin and English.

He distributed a bottle of water and a pack of biscuits to each of them.

“We’ll rest until dark, then we’ll cross the border,” Jack said. “There’ll be a car waiting for you there, taking you straight to Los Angeles.”

Suning noticed that Jack had a pistol tucked into his waistband, and his accomplices were also fully armed.

This is not just a simple human smuggling guide; it's more like a professional criminal gang.

As night fell, Jack led them toward the border.

A hole had already been cut in the barbed wire fence, big enough for one person to bend over and pass through.

“Remember, if you get caught, apply for legal asylum,” Jack warned. “Never say that someone arranged for you to enter the country.”

Just as the first group of people were about to cross, a blinding light suddenly shone in the distance.

"Border Patrol!" someone shouted.

"Scatter and run!" Jack drew his pistol. "Assemble according to the backup plan!"

Suning followed Lao Ma and Lin Xiu into the bushes.

Gunshots and barking came from behind.

He ran desperately, thorns tearing at his clothes and skin, but he dared not stop.

After running for an unknown amount of time, the three finally shook off their pursuers and collapsed on a dry riverbed, panting heavily.

"Where are the others?" Su Ning asked breathlessly. Old Ma shook his head: "They got separated. We'll have to figure out how to cross the border ourselves."

Lin Xiu looked at the starry sky: "Going northwest should allow us to bypass the checkpoint."

For the next three days, the three of them stayed at night and ate wild fruits and stream water to survive.

On the fourth night, they finally found an unguarded section of the border and successfully crossed into the United States.

"Welcome to America," Old Ma said with a wry smile, his feet already blistered and bleeding.

They walked along the highway for several hours before finally coming across a gas station.

Old Ma borrowed a phone from the shop assistant in broken English and contacted his cousin in Los Angeles.

“He said he would send someone to pick us up,” Old Ma said after hanging up the phone, “but they won’t arrive until tomorrow.”

That night, they camped out in the woods behind the gas station.

Since transmigrating, Su Ning slept relatively soundly for the first time, dreaming of the rice paddies of her hometown and the expectant faces of her parents.

The next day at noon, a van stopped at the gas station.

A short, stout Chinese man got out of the car and called out in Hokkien, "Who was introduced by Old Ma?"

And so, Suning embarked on the final leg of his journey to Los Angeles.

The van drove for six hours, and the scenery outside the window changed from desert to suburbs, and finally to a bustling city.

"We've arrived," the driver said, stopping in front of a dilapidated apartment building. "Old Ma's cousin is waiting for you here."

A middle-aged man with an oily face came up to greet them, introducing himself as Boss Chen.

He looked Su Ning up and down: "You're the new dishwasher?"

Suning nodded.

"Meals and accommodation included, monthly salary of 1,500, 1,200 to pay off debts, and 300 for pocket money." Boss Chen spoke quickly, "Twelve hours a day, no days off. Work for three years, pay off your debts, and I'll get you a green card."

Suning wanted to protest that this was unfair, but seeing Mr. Chen's cold eyes and remembering his status as an illegal immigrant, he could only nod again.

“Very good,” Mr. Chen said with a satisfied smile. “We’ll start work tonight. The restaurant is called ‘Golden Gate Hotel’ and it’s in Chinatown.”

That evening, Suning stood in the greasy kitchen of the "Golden Gate Hotel," facing a mountain of dirty dishes, and began his first job in the United States.

The scalding dishwater burned his hands red, and the kitchen fumes made him cough incessantly.

But what bothered him most was that the head chef would kick his butt from time to time and scold him for being too slow.

The restaurant closed at 2 a.m.

Suning was taken to a basement room with six bunk beds, where five people were already sleeping.

“This is your bed,” Boss Chen said, pointing to a lower bunk. “Work starts at nine in the morning, don’t be late.”

Suning collapsed onto the musty-smelling mattress, his whole body aching.

Through the small window in the basement, he saw the moon over Los Angeles, just as round as the one back home, yet it seemed so indifferent.

At this moment, Suning truly realized that his American dream began with a lie filled with deception, danger, and exploitation.

What's even more terrifying is that this is just the beginning of a nightmare.

……

At midnight in Los Angeles' Chinatown, the damp air was filled with the sour smell of fried food grease mixed with sewer odors.

Su Ning lay on the creaking iron bed, the muscles in her buttocks still throbbing slightly...

It wasn't the soreness from labor, but the dull pain from being kicked by Chef Wang's leather shoes with metal stilettos.

The dim light bulbs in the basement swayed overhead, casting a spiderweb-like pattern of shadows.

"New guy, hurry up!"

The shouts of Fatty Wang from three hours ago were still vibrating in my ears, and his small eyes, embedded in the crevices of flesh, were flashing with sadistic pleasure.

Even more humiliating was that when Su Ning stumbled and bumped into the sink, the burst of laughter from the entire kitchen poured over him like boiling water.

The bed frame suddenly trembled as the person on the upper bunk turned over.

Su Ning stared at the blisters on his wrist and suddenly remembered the morning he left home, when his mother secretly slipped a bottle of tea oil into his luggage.

“I heard that winters are cold in America,” the mother said, her rough fingers stroking the glass bottle. “Applying this can improve blood circulation.”

He sat up abruptly.

The metal bunk bed emitted a piercing groan, but the roommates, snoring loudly, remained unresponsive.

Moonlight seeped in through the gaps in the iron bars of the skylight, drawing a pale prison-like line on the ground.

As Su Ning tiptoed to the door, she noticed her fingers were trembling uncontrollably...

It wasn't fear, but rather a long-dormant ferocity awakening in my veins.

The back alley was darker than I had imagined.

The rotting vegetable leaves made a sticky sound underfoot, and somewhere came the shrieking of wild cats fighting.

As Su Ning moved along the damp brick wall, his pupils gradually adjusted to the darkness. He noticed the neon sign of the convenience store at the alley entrance casting a blood-red reflection in the puddles.

"How long will it take?" he asked himself, rubbing his stiff fingers.

But the answer came faster than expected...

Suddenly, a bulky figure appeared around the corner, humming a nonsensical tune.

Fatty Wang carried a half-empty bottle of whiskey in his left hand and a greasy paper bag in his right. He had to lean against the wall to catch his breath every two steps.

Suning's breath hitched.

He retreated into the shadows behind the trash can, watching the drunken head chef stop in the middle of the alley, unbuckle his belt, and urinate against the wall.

The wine bottle was casually placed on the fire hydrant, reflecting a cold amber light.

It's now.

As Fatty Wang fastened his belt, Suning pounced out like a leopard cat hunting its prey.

The thick garbage bag he'd swiped from the restaurant was slung over the fat head with a "whoosh," and as it closed, he heard a gasp of surprise escape from the other's nostrils.

"Who?!" The muffled roar turned into a comical whimper through the plastic bag.

Fatty Wang's waving arm knocked over a wine bottle, the sound of shattering glass like the signal for the start of some kind of ritual.

The first punch landed on the fat on the opponent's side, feeling like hitting a greasy sac.

Suning's movements were very precise, and dealing with a fat man was a piece of cake for him.

Fatty Wang stumbled and bumped into a telephone pole, the plastic bag emitting a strong smell of vomit mixed with alcohol.

"You like kicking people, huh?" Su Ning slammed his knee into the other man's buttocks.

Fatty Wang let out a pig-like scream, which reminded him of the lip he had bitten when he was kicked earlier that day.

Lights came on at the end of the alley, but anger had already taken over his body.

The next three minutes were like a stretched film reel.

He specifically targeted the fleshy parts, and when he finally kicked the two plump buttocks right in the middle, he could even hear a sound like leather cracking.

Fatty Wang lay sprawled on the ground, covered in swill, like a stranded whale. The plastic bag rose and fell with his sobs, and the condensed water droplets looked like some kind of strange dew in the moonlight.

A siren sounded in the distance.

Suning took two steps back, suddenly gripped by a cool, refreshing sensation...

The only problem was that there was blood on the knuckle of his right hand when he hit someone; it was probably from when Fatty Wang's nose was broken.

But when he saw the head chef trembling as he reached for his phone in his back pocket, his fear transformed into a new kind of anger.

"If you dare call the police, I'll kill you." He growled in the Fujian dialect, the profanities in which were ten times sharper than those in English.

As he snatched the phone and threw it down the drain, he noticed something sticking out of the back pocket of Fatty Wang's overalls...

It was a bundle of banknotes tied with rubber bands, and the outermost image of Franklin's face was stained yellow with oil.

Suning hesitated for 0.5 seconds.

But as his fingers touched the banknotes, he suddenly heard his father's voice from his memory: "I'd rather starve than steal."

Most of us are just trying to make a living abroad, so a little lesson for me is enough.

Then he suddenly pulled his hand away and poured the remaining third of the whiskey onto Fatty Wang's crotch.

"I'll come back to wash the dishes tomorrow," he said finally, pointing to the writhing mass of fat. "If you kick me again—"

He ground his toe over Fatty Wang's fingers, which were bracing themselves on the ground, and listened with satisfaction to the cracking sound of the knuckles. "I'll let you use this hand to cook."

On his way back, he took a longer route.

As he turned right at the seventh intersection, the neon sign displaying the three Chinese characters for "massage" suddenly made him burst out laughing...

It turns out that the United States also has this ambiguous pink halo.

For a moment he wanted to run away, but he skillfully controlled the impulse: running would attract attention, and what undocumented immigrants need least is attention.

The snoring continued in the basement.

When Suning slid into bed, she noticed that the tea oil bottle under the mattress had become slightly warm from her body heat.

He applied some to the burns on his wrist and suddenly realized that this was the first time since leaving home that the pain was no longer accompanied by humiliation.

Outside the window, the moon over Chinatown disappeared into the clouds.

A drunkard was singing "When Will You Return?" off-key in the distance...

...(End of chapter)