America: Starting from collecting corpses, leveling up to godhood

Chapter 103 The Competition Begins

A few days later, on the edge of the desert.

Chen Ming arrived at Old Joe's shooting range four hours ahead of schedule.

The dilapidated camp, which was originally covered in yellow sand, has now been completely transformed.

Although there were no pretty white tablecloths and champagne towers, the crash barriers made of old tires, the makeshift viewing platform made of rusty shipping containers, and the wild archway with a huge buffalo skull hanging at the entrance completely brought out the wildness of the western desert.

A bonfire was burning in a discarded gasoline drum that had been cut in half, and several Mexican women were even grilling tacos on a cart nearby.

"How's this setup?" Old Joe, wearing a tattered cowboy hat, walked over carrying a plate of freshly grilled Texas smoked beef brisket.

"As you said, it'll be all wasteland and old-school Western style. I even got those buffalo skulls from an Indian reservation for two hundred dollars —"

"Well done." Chen Ming bumped fists with Old Qiao.

"If we were to organize a red carpet event and high-end drinks, we wouldn't have enough funds, and it would just look like a shoddy knock-off club. But for these young masters who are used to eating at Michelin-starred restaurants and spending their days in sterile gyms, this authentic, down-to-earth feel is quite interesting."

"You understand the masochistic mentality of these rich people all too well." Old Joe took a big bite of his roast meat.

Mike from the Iron Horse Gang strode over at this moment, with a walkie-talkie on his waist. The Iron Horse Gang's second-in-command, who used to be domineering, was now doing a pretty good job as a contractor.

"The highway is all cleared." Mike spat out the toothpick in his mouth and pointed to the desert in the distance.

"Yesterday, that old madman forced my men to pick up every single piece of gravel on the track while holding a shotgun—tow trucks, fire extinguishers, and medics were all on standby near the finish line."

"Thank you for your hard work. After tonight, your Iron Horse Gang will have enough money for drinks for the next six months." Chen Ming nodded.

"Where's the helicopter?"

"Showing off over there." Mike gestured with his chin toward the open space behind the shooting range.

A black helicopter bearing the logo of a local Los Angeles news station was parked on a dust mat. Chad, dressed in an extremely flashy racing suit, was shouting at several cameramen wearing name tags around the helicopter, directing them to adjust the angle of the high-definition night vision gimbal.

"This kid managed to lure their TV station's best nighttime aerial photography team here just to get this done today," Old Joe grinned.

Just then, the window of the largest RV in the middle of the shooting range was suddenly pushed open, and Sofia leaned out halfway, waving a thick stack of admission disclaimers in her hand.

"Chen, stop chatting outside!" Sophia's eyes lit up, like a dragon that had fallen into a gold mine.

"A huge amount of money has flowed into the fund pool again—are you sure no one will lose everything and call the police tonight?"

"Don't worry about taking your money. Make them sign a waiver of liability before they enter. That's protected by law in California," Chen Mingchong waved his hand at her.

The sun finally sank completely below the horizon, and the temperature in the desert began to drop sharply.

From the distant intercontinental highway, a low, raucous roar could be faintly heard, like some approaching pack of beasts, causing even the gravel on the ground to tremble slightly.

When the big fish arrived, Old Joe and Mike exchanged a glance and immediately shouted into the walkie-talkie.

"Everyone to your positions! Turn on all the spotlights!"

"Clap clap clap clap!"

A dozen industrial-grade searchlights instantly lit up, illuminating the entire rugged camp as bright as day.

The first dark red Ferrari tore through the night, roaring as it charged through the barbed wire gate.

Following closely behind, Porsche GT3s, Aston Martins, McLarens—one after another, supercars rarely seen even in the city—drove into this lawless land of swirling yellow sand.

Chen Ming patted the dust off his clothes, his gaze sweeping over the rows of dazzling luxury cars, finally settling on a pure white Pagani Huayra.

The car door opened upwards, and Brad, dressed in a white haute couture casual suit, stepped out, covering his nose with a handkerchief with a look of disgust, clearly extremely dissatisfied with the dust in the air.

The leeks have all arrived tonight.

"boom"

Following closely behind was a convoy that made its entrance with a heavy metal roar.

Elena jumped out of the Dodge Hellcat, dressed in a red and black racing suit with the zipper casually half-open, revealing a hint of alluring white skin.

She was followed by more than a dozen supercars bearing her club's logo, making quite a spectacle.

"I brought the toy you wanted." Elena strode over and tossed the Hellcat key precisely to Chen Ming.

"This is my lifeline. If you scratch the chassis in the sand later, you'll have to make it up to me."

"If we win, I'll cover the scratches." Chen Ming caught the keys steadily.

No sooner had he finished speaking than a black Land Rover screeched to a halt beside them.

The car door opened, and Michelle struggled to drag a heavy Perricone military waterproof equipment case from the back seat.

She wasn't wearing a dress today, but instead a multi-pocket tactical vest and cargo pants. Her blonde hair was neatly pinned up at the back of her head, making her look like she was going to the Middle East to do war reporting.

"Hey, Chen, come over here and give me a hand!" Michelle gasped, pointing to the black box on the ground.

"This telephoto and night vision lens set is as heavy as a lump of pig iron—I need to get it onto that helicopter right away to secure a good shooting position!"

Elena paused, her gaze sweeping over Michelle's provocative overalls.

"Is this the big reporter you mentioned who's best at stirring up trouble? I remember her quite well from our last meeting, but it's a pity I didn't get to meet her." Elena extended her right hand.

"I'm Elena—looking at you all bundled up, I thought National Geographic was coming to the desert to film wildlife courtship."

Michelle shook hands with her, but as a media professional who had dealt with politicians for many years, she sensed a subtle air of territorial tension in the other woman's words.

"Michelle White — after all, to film how the wildest rich kids in all of Los Angeles drive their multi-million dollar toys into the sandpit, the equipment has to be professional."

Michelle also looked Elena up and down in her racing suit.

"Your convoy is cool, but hopefully you won't just be background figures for Chen in my helicopter footage later."

"Whether you become a background figure or not doesn't depend on the photographer," Elena retorted without backing down.

Neither of the two women let go of each other's hands, their gazes seemingly sparking at each other in mid-air.

Seeing that the conversation was heading towards a melodramatic soap opera, Chen Ming interrupted the pointless argument with a blank expression.

"Chad is waiting for you over there at the helicopter. He's got too much energy to sit in the co-pilot's seat right now, so you can ask him for help." Chen Ming shoved the handle of the equipment case into Michelle's hand, then turned to look at Elena.

"Go warm up, and line up all the cars from your club."

"Chen, you really are an insensitive jerk." Michelle rolled her eyes, dragged her suitcase toward the helicopter, and didn't forget to turn back and shout at Chen Ming before leaving.

"Remember to drive it nicely, don't make me stay up all night for nothing!"

Elena nudged Chen Ming with her elbow as she watched Michelle's retreating figure.

"She's the scapegoat you found to protect yourself from the Washington congresswoman? You have good taste, but her temper is a bit too fiery."

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