America: Starting from collecting corpses, leveling up to godhood

"Fifty cents?!"

Sofia's hand holding the cigarette was trembling.

"Are you crazy? You're giving them money!"

"This is called traffic generation; anyway, my goal isn't to make money."

Chen Ming remained unfazed, continuing to bombard the crowd with his megaphone.

"Delicious fried rice with meat and vegetables for only fifty cents! Don't miss out!"

The long line in front of the Tacos instantly became agitated.

For starving laborers, taste and sentimentality are meaningless in the face of absolute price advantage...

"Really only fifty cents?!"

A young worker, covered in sweat, was the first to rush over, his eyes full of suspicion.

"You can eat it."

Chen Ming tossed the wok with his left hand and swung the spatula with his right, precisely placing a large bowl of fried rice into the lunchbox, and casually shoved an iced cola into the other person's arms.

"Here you go, next one!"

This scene was like a starting gun.

"Me too!"

"Give me two!"

"Don't push, damn it, don't push!"

You're bumping my butt!

The workers, who had been observing, rushed forward like madmen, surrounding Chen Ming's food cart so tightly that they couldn't move. Countless hands clutching change eagerly reached into the window.

"Beautiful lady, I'd like two servings!"

A large, oil-covered hand shoved directly into Sofia's face, clutching a crumpled one-dollar bill.

"Get out of my way, I'm not a cashier!"

Sofia leaned back in disgust, trying to protect her clothes that she had finally managed to clean.

But the pack of hungry wolves didn't care at all—in their eyes, the woman sitting in the passenger seat of the food truck was the one collecting money.

"Stop talking nonsense and grab it now, we're going to be late!"

"Me too! This is fifty cents!"

"then!"

wow-

Warm coins rained down on her thighs, followed by more banknotes—some even tossed directly into her lap.

"Fxxk, don't throw things at me!!"

Sofia broke down and screamed, but it was all in vain.

"Take the money, or they really will climb in and sit on your lap to eat."

"Fuck you, Chen...you have to pay me my salary!"

Looking at the crowd that was about to burst through the window, Sofia gritted her teeth, stubbed out her cigarette, and grabbed an empty cardboard box next to her.

"Shut up and line up. Also, I don't give change, so have your coins ready!"

……

After working for almost an hour, the large iron pot, half a meter in diameter, was finally empty. Sofia slumped in the passenger seat, utterly dejected, as if she had burned away everything.

She had dreamed since she was a child that one day money would fall on her without her having to lift a finger—but it shouldn't be loose change and coins!

Across the street, several taco owners whose business had been robbed were glaring at each other, one of the burly Mexican men even grabbing a wrench, ready to teach the unruly Asians across the street a lesson about "territoriality."

But the next second, they witnessed a scene they would never forget.

A huge fat man, whose thighs were thicker than his head, reached out to steal a Coke. When Chen Ming noticed him, the latter didn't even put down the spatula, but just picked him up with his hand.

"Bang!"

The mountain of flesh traced a perfect parabola through the air before crashing heavily onto a trash can three meters away.

Chen Ming's right hand was still stirring the food with the spatula, and he didn't even lose his rhythm.

"..."

The burly Mexican man silently put the wrench back into the car.

The owner of the taco shop next door, who had a mustache, didn't believe in superstitions and asked someone to buy him a serving to try.

Then silence turned into despair.

"Fifty cents...this thing only costs fifty cents..."

He threw the lunchbox on the ground, as if he had lost his parents.

"This delicious fried rice only costs fifty cents... How can we even make a living here? Let's all go begging!"

After selling out the last serving of fried rice, and to vent her anger at Chen Ming's charity work, Sophia, a professional accountant, quickly counted the money...

Then she broke down too.

"Three hundred and twenty US dollars? That's impossible!"

"You sold the fried rice for fifty cents, and even with the tips from those poor bastards, it shouldn't be...where did you get three hundred dollars?!"

"Who told you I only sell food?"

Without turning his head, Chen Ming pointed to the empty beverage cabinet next to him.

"Selling fried rice for fifty cents would indeed result in a loss, but this is what really makes money."

"Cola is made by mixing raw cola and beer is also nearing its expiration date. The cost of these drinks is not much, but once they are sold, it's a different story... Workers feel that they have gotten a good deal on food, so they are extra generous when buying drinks. This is called psychological accounting compensation."

"You'll be in charge of the accounts. The fried rice will be priced according to the list price, and I'll pay you a salary."

Sofia stared at Chen Ming, her mouth agape as if she could swallow a whole hot dog.

"I get it all... You did it on purpose! You made the food so salty and spicy just so they'd buy your watered-down cola and near-expiry beer?!"

"They'll squeeze every last drop of profit from even the poorest of the poor... Chen, you really should go to Wall Street. Those vampires would definitely bring Jesus down and then offer him up."

Chen Ming did not answer, but smiled and took off his apron.

……

It was already past midnight when I got back to the apartment.

Sofia was so tired that she didn't even bother to remove her makeup; she kicked off her shoes and went back to her room to rest.

Chen Ming, however, was like a tireless machine. He immediately placed an order for several barrels of high-concentration industrial acid and a specific catalyst, and filled in an abandoned warehouse that no one lived in as the delivery address.

Late at night a few days later.

Wearing a gas mask and heavy rubber gloves, Chen Ming dragged two partially decomposed corpses out of the maintenance hole.

The two muscular bodies were quickly stripped naked, and their clothes were stuffed into bags and burned.

Next came the "cosmetic" surgery.

Chen Ming dragged the two corpses into a dry, shallow pit in a low-lying area, and made them lie face down with the back of their heads facing the ceiling.

"Gulp, gulp."

High concentrations of acid were poured from a plastic bucket onto the corpse's head and hands.

Chen Ming stood two meters away, watching their faces and fingerprints gradually dissolve and decay under the influence of the chemical agents.

These chemical raw materials, costing several hundred US dollars, cannot completely turn a person into water like in the movies; the bone marrow and deep tissues of the corpse still retain complete DNA information.

But that's enough.

Justice has a price tag.

The Los Angeles Police Department bureaucrats are not wealthy enough to conduct expensive full DNA sequencing on every unidentified rotting body found in the sewers.

For bodies that lack facial features, fingerprints, or even have teeth that are corroded and incomplete, the coroner usually just fills out a "John Doe (Anonymous)" form and throws it into the cemetery, and that's it.

No one would waste taxpayers' money on two unfortunate souls who died in a ditch, and no detective would be willing to apply for funding for a cold case that was destined to remain unsolved.