The Decaying Dream of America: I Assemble Corpses and Confront Madness

Lin Zheng sat in the driver's seat of Smith's sports car, a deep roar coming from the engine below the steering wheel.

The sports car's sleek lines gleamed luxuriously under the evening lights, standing out starkly against the backdrop of cars parked in the apartment's underground parking garage.

Smith sat casually in the passenger seat, chewing gum and humming an unknown rock tune, completely unconcerned about whether his newly serviced car would get scratched.

Smith is a typical rich kid, receiving $20,000 a month in allowance from his family, and his daily routine consists of chasing girls and throwing parties.

His designer shirts were never buttoned up, and the steel watch on his wrist could catch a faint glimmer even in the dim light.

His life was another world, a carefree world made up of money and women.

Sam, tall and strong, occupied almost the entire back seat, his arm muscles clearly visible even under his loose T-shirt.

Sam's mother raised him alone, and to ease the burden on his family, Sam went to work as a dockworker after graduating from high school.

It was a world of manual labor, a world of blood, sweat, and struggle. He had to move all kinds of goods every day and earn a meager income by physical strength.

It's truly a miracle that Lin Zheng, a person of Asian descent and from Dongxia, could hang out with a wealthy white American student and a black student from a single-parent family.

What truly brought the three of them together as friends was the previous school shooting.

Lin Zheng parked the car, and the three of them prepared to get out.

The sound of the engine shutting off rang out, but the engine was still warm.

"Lin Sang." A cold voice came from behind the pillar.

The voice carried suppressed resentment and a barely perceptible tremor.

Lin Zheng wondered who it was, but it turned out to be that little punk Yamaguchi Yuji.

Lin Zheng got out of the car, his hand holding the keys hovering in mid-air. He turned his head and squinted, scanning the source of the sound.

Yuji Yamaguchi emerged from the shadows. His nose had clearly been treated, with a piece of medical tape on it, but the swelling was still shocking.

His gaze was like a venomous snake, tightly coiling around Lin Zheng, the hatred in his eyes almost solidifying into a tangible form.

"Speak, what is it now? Haven't you learned your lesson yet?" Lin Zheng said disdainfully, rubbing his hands together.

A sudden, malicious gust of wind came from behind, followed by a dull pain as I was kicked hard in the lower back.

That kick, imbued with the attacker's full strength and cowardly smugness, was enough to cause an ordinary person to lose their balance and fall to the ground in an instant.

However, Lin Zheng only swayed slightly, his center of gravity shifted slightly backward, and his right leg scraped a short trail on the ground, making a screeching sound.

Lin Zheng dusted off the footprints on the back of his clothes and laughed.

The concrete surface of the parking lot was filled with a mixture of damp, musty smells from the ground and car exhaust fumes, and these smells became particularly pronounced under the stimulation of adrenaline.

Lin Zheng's hat was still on his head, the brim pulled low, almost covering most of his face, but it couldn't hide his eyes that had suddenly become sharp.

A hint of surprise flashed in the eyes of the tall, thin Japanese man, who was about 1.8 meters tall. He hadn't expected his sneak attack to fail. His face was slightly contorted from the force he had used, and his eyes showed the panic of being startled.

Lin Zheng braced his body with his left leg, and his right foot slammed into the ground, rubbing half a circle. His body turned to the side at an incredible speed, and he was like a drawn bow, his power bursting from his waist. His right arm, accompanied by a whistling wind, lashed out at the attacker's cheek.

That wasn't standard boxing; it was playful skill honed from childhood with peers.

Lin Zheng's movements were extremely economical, without any unnecessary gestures, and his speed was so fast that it was impossible to react. He carried a direct and fierce brute force.

"Snapped!"

A loud, muffled thud echoed through the empty underground parking lot, carrying a ruthless force.

The slender Japanese man's head was violently impacted, and his body instantly lost control due to inertia, causing him to fall violently to the side.

His cheeks swelled instantly, his teeth shattered with a crackling sound from the immense impact, and his mouth was filled with the metallic taste of blood. His eyes rolled back, and he lost consciousness before even fully hitting the ground. After convulsing a few times, he lay motionless on the cold, wet concrete, a painful growl escaping his throat.

Seeing that the situation was not good, Yuji Yamaguchi's eyes were filled with fear.

He hadn't expected Lin Zheng to be so swift, and he certainly hadn't expected his friend to be knocked down so quickly, losing all ability to resist.

His body instinctively recoiled, his eyes flashing with fear of Lin Zheng.

Lin Zheng gave him no chance to catch his breath. The moment his slender Japanese friend fell to the ground, his left leg had already taken two steps forward, and his body followed suit as if it were a shadow.

He raised his right foot and kicked Yamaguchi Yuji in the abdomen with precision and ruthlessness.

"Bang!"

Another dull thud.

Yuji Yamaguchi let out a short, muffled groan, his body arched like a shrimp, his eyes wide open, and his breath was instantly taken away.

His cheeks flushed instantly, as if he were suffocating. He staggered back a few steps until his back slammed heavily against a pillar, barely managing to steady himself before collapsing like a lump of mud.

Lin Zheng stepped forward, grabbed Yamaguchi Yuji by the collar, and pulled him up from the ground. He restrained Yamaguchi Yuji with his left hand, clenched his right fist, and with a fierce killing intent, punched Yamaguchi Yuji in the nose again. The force of the punch caused the already injured bridge of the nose to crack again with a crisp sound.

Yuji Yamaguchi's nose started bleeding again like a stream, dripping down his chin and staining his shirt a dark red.

From the moment Lin Zheng got out of the car to the moment he knocked both men down, the entire process happened in the blink of an eye, so fast that even Smith and Sam, who were standing nearby, didn't have time to fully react. The two of them had only just gotten out of the car when Lin Zheng grabbed Yamaguchi Yuji, pinned him against the wall, and started beating him mercilessly.

"Oh my God!" Smith's eyes widened. He had never seen Lin Zheng so fierce before. This completely overturned his usual impression of Lin Zheng as a "well-mannered Chinese student".

Sam, whose body was nearly two meters tall, squeezed out of the car. He looked at his thin Japanese friend groaning on the ground, and then at Yamaguchi Yuji, who was pinned against the wall by Lin Zheng and did not resist like a dead dog. A puzzled expression appeared on his face.

"Aren't they your friends, Lin?" Sam asked hesitantly. His voice held a simple, questioning quality, clearly still reeling from the shock he had just experienced.

Smith curled his lip: "Dude, can't you see? They're definitely here for revenge."

Lin Zheng did not answer. He just stared at Yamaguchi Yuji's terrified and distorted face, without a trace of pity in his eyes.

His fist rose again, but did not fall; it remained poised to strike.

"Yamaguchi-kun, your friend is as skinny as a stick. He's so tall for nothing. Calling him here is really bad for him. If you wanted to beat someone up, why didn't you just come here?"

He needed to make these two people understand that provoking him would come at a price, and that price was far more than the punch he received last night.

Smith and Sam understood Lin Zheng's meaning. They exchanged a glance, a knowing look flashing in their eyes.

Then, they walked forward in perfect unison.

Sam first walked over to the tall, thin Japanese man and gently kicked him with his large foot. Confirming that the man was only unconscious and not dead, he bent down, grabbed him by the collar, and half-dragged, half-lifted him up before walking towards Lin Zheng.

Smith walked over to Lin Zheng and Yamaguchi Yuji. He didn't say anything, but took Yamaguchi Yuji from Lin Zheng, slapped him twice, and then threw him to the ground.

Then, Smith glanced at Sam, who threw the other Japanese man to the ground as well. The two Japanese youths were now like two powerless dead fish, slumped on the concrete floor.

"Looks like they need some education." Smith's tone was as casual as if he were discussing the weather, and he rolled up his sleeves, revealing skin on his arms that didn't have much muscle definition. Sam snorted, his large fists clenching so tightly they cracked.

Then, a series of muffled punches and kicks began to echo in the parking lot.

"You two are really unlucky. The quality of girls these days isn't very good, but you're still trying to pester me to make money off me. I'm annoyed by this."

Although Smith wasn't as physically imposing as Sam, his attacks were anything but hesitant; every punch he threw was driven by a venting of frustration.

"That damn new foreman! He's not only picking on me at work, but he's also deducting from every piece of my wages. After you guys beat him up, we'll find a chance to put that old bastard in a sack and beat him up sooner or later."

Sam's punches caused the Japanese youths on the ground to convulse with each blow. He used the most primal violence to unleash his dissatisfaction with the lives of the lower classes and his anger at being oppressed on these two unfortunate Japanese youths.

The groans of the Japanese youths gradually weakened, and their bodies slowly stopped convulsing. Their cheeks were swollen, and blood, saliva, and other bodily fluids mingled together, making their once handsome faces appear grotesque and terrifying.

Smith and Sam stopped, panting, with a satisfied look on their faces.

They didn't kill them, but they certainly inflicted severe physical pain on the two Japanese men, and it's likely that they won't dare to leave their apartments easily for some time.

Just as they were about to leave, a familiar figure slowly turned a corner and appeared in the underground parking lot.

That's Bob Ray, the redneck moderator.

He was wearing a blue work uniform stained with oil, carrying a heavy toolbox, and humming a country song out of tune.

When he saw Smith, Sam, and Lin Zheng, as well as the Japanese youth lying on the ground like two puddles of mud, his expression froze slightly for a moment before returning to his tired, honest smile.

He walked over slowly, his bloodshot eyes sweeping over the person on the ground before looking at Lin Zheng, as if asking what had happened.

Smith shrugged and gave a brief, relaxed account of what had just happened, including how Yamaguchi Yuji and his men ambushed him, how Lin Zheng easily dealt with them alone, and how the two of them then joined in to "finish him off." He spoke with a tone that was half smug and half helpless.

Bob Ray listened but did not speak immediately.

He walked over to one of the Japanese men and gently nudged him with his heavy work boots. The man let out a weak groan but still couldn't get up.

"Two beatings aren't enough," Bob Ray said, dropping a bombshell. "At least one more beating is needed."

Lin Zheng's eyebrows twitched slightly as he looked at Bob Ray, waiting for him to continue.

Smith and Sam stopped their playful banter and looked curiously at the usually quiet redneck.

"A beating is enough to knock them down, to let them know what pain feels like," Bob Ray said slowly. His gaze swept over Lin Zheng's face, then turned to the two Japanese youths on the ground. "Two beatings are the proper punishment, to make them remember these two lessons."

"But beating them down and punishing them won't necessarily make them completely afraid. Once these people get involved with certain people, they'll start acting like bullies again."

He paused, lit a cigarette, took a deep drag, exhaled a ring of white smoke, and then continued, "But beating them three times is what we should do to make them repent, to make them fear you and run away. That's the proper way."

Repentance? Lin Zheng pondered the word.

In his homeland, the word carries a strong moral and religious connotation, often associated with inner introspection and redemption. But here, in Bob Ray's words, repentance is given its most direct and primal meaning.

"Confession is not about making them confess to a priest."

Bob Ray seemed to read Lin Zheng's thoughts, and he spoke again, sharing his wisdom from the bottom of society.

"Repentance instills absolute fear in them, such fear that when they see you they think of hell, all the suffering they have endured, and they regret ever provoking you."

Bob Ray took his flat flask from his waist, took a swig, and the pungent smell of alcohol instantly filled the air.

He wiped his mouth and recalled his childhood: "When I was little, there were a few thugs in my hometown."

His gaze deepened, returning to his childhood memories mingled with tobacco and alcohol. "They bullied people, stole things, and turned the whole town upside down because of their numbers. My father had a bad temper and couldn't take it anymore, so he got some friends to beat those bastards up."

"Guess what?" Bob Ray looked at Lin Zheng, a hint of mockery in his eyes. "Those kids, a few days later, gathered a bunch of others and came looking for revenge on my father. They thought they could subdue him with a beating. They were wrong."

"My father, my uncle, and some old buddies from town gave them another good beating." He paused, his tone turning somewhat cold. "This time they beat them even harder, until they saw bones and blood. They chased him from one end of town to the other, beating him all the way."

"Those guys quieted down for a while after that," Bob Ray shook his head, a sarcastic smile on his face. "But they were still not convinced, they just became more secretive, sneaking around doing dirty tricks, spreading rumors behind our backs, trying to embarrass us."

"So my father said, it seems that the second beating only taught them a lesson, not made them completely submit. Lessons are something you forget over time. What's truly useful is instilling fear in them from the bottom of their bones."

"My father led a group of men to guard the door of those boys' house every day."

Bob Ray lowered his voice and chuckled softly.

"As soon as my father saw them leave the house, whether it was to go to a store, to school, or even just after they came out of church, he would beat them up. It wasn't serious injury, but every time he would beat them until their faces were swollen and their legs ached, making them lose face completely."

"Wherever they ran, we chased them. Wherever they went to complain, we followed and beat them up." His eyes gleamed. "Sometimes, we didn't even need to beat them up. As soon as they looked up and saw my father's face, they would be terrified and wet themselves."

"Until one day, they saw my father from the other side of town, turned and ran, hiding in the confessional at the church, not daring to come out for days." Bob Ray flicked his cigarette ash, threw the butt on the ground, and crushed it out with his foot.

"So, repent. In this world, repentance is not asking God for forgiveness, but a soul-deep fear of you. A fear so great that they wish they could disappear into the ground at the mere sight of you, or even run to church not to pray, but to seek temporary refuge."

After Bob Ray finished speaking, his deep gaze returned to Lin Zheng, carrying a profound sense of encouragement.

Smith and Sam stood by, dumbfounded. They had grown up in relatively civilized cities and had seen fights before, but this kind of "educational philosophy" that took violence to such an extreme was something they had never heard of before.

As Lin Zheng listened to Bob Ray's words, he looked at the old scar on Bob's face, which appeared particularly grotesque in the dim light.

Something within him is quietly changing.

He once thought that one or two times would be enough to make people remember the pain and the lesson. But he never imagined that true deterrence would be far more profound.

He looked down at his fist, which was stained with a little blood.

Repentance. Lin Zheng repeated the word. In this world, what does repentance mean?

He has always tried to maintain a sense of order around him, remaining in the state of mind he had in his hometown—neither causing trouble nor being afraid of trouble.

But now he realizes that to some people, not causing trouble is seen as weakness and yielding, while not being afraid of trouble represents, in their eyes, limited retaliation and resistance.

Pain alone cannot deter these people, nor can it teach them a lesson. Because in this country, if you don't ride roughshod over some people, they will ride roughshod over you.

Therefore, he needs a more profound and humiliating "ritual".