America: Starting from collecting corpses, leveling up to godhood

"Stop, Jack."

Chen Ming interrupted his rambling.

"I don't plan to participate in any formal competitions that require urine tests, blood tests, or have cameras pointed at me."

Jack's ecstatic expression froze.

"Are you kidding me?" he said, waving his thick arms.

"Chen, you are the most talented monster I have ever seen in my life. Not only do you have super heavy punches, but you can also accurately predict your opponent's muscle contractions. You even took me down on your very first day of training..."

"Going to fight in underground boxing matches? That's the kind of scumbags and drug-addled thugs do!"

"I'm just a penniless nobody with nowhere else to turn," Chen Ming said without changing his expression.

"Don't talk nonsense!" Jack slapped the soft mat at the edge of the ring.

"Fighting in underground boxing matches can make money quickly, but there are no rules or referees in those places. You could get your knees shattered or even have your eyes gouged out... If a talent like you were to waste away in a basement in South Los Angeles, that would be a crime!"

Chen Ming sighed and delivered the prepared explanation.

"Listen, Jack, my family is an extremely conservative Chinese family." Chen Ming looked directly at Jack.

"They scrimped and saved to send me to medical school in California so that I would wear a white coat and wield a scalpel in the future, instead of getting beaten up in the octagon to earn appearance fees. If I make an appearance in a regular league or make the news, I'm finished."

"..."

Jack was stunned.

He scratched his messy hair, seemingly trying to understand this traditional Eastern family concept.

That's obviously nonsense.

There is only one real reason—Chen Ming's various physical attributes are steadily improving with the addition of points, and barring any unforeseen circumstances, he will soon break through the physiological limits of normal humans.

If he were to compete in a top-tier event like the UFC, facing rigorous pre-fight medical examinations, his bone density, muscle strength, and neurological response indicators, far exceeding those of ordinary people, would absolutely drive anti-doping experts crazy.

At that time, he will not be greeted with a gold belt, but with a secret laboratory of the Pentagon or some biotechnology company.

The US government and businesses don't take this lightly; they really know how to capture a real, live sample when they have such extraordinary specimens...

Even the dead are cut in the same way.

"In short, it has to be an underground betting operation. The more discreet and the faster they pay in cash, the better," Chen Ming said, patting Jack on the shoulder.

"Can you arrange that? If not, I'll go to East Los Angeles and ask some gangs."

"Damn it..."

Jack rubbed his face in frustration, and seeing Chen Ming's resolute attitude, he finally gave in.

"Okay, okay, you win, but I'll be upfront about this: that kind of place is dangerous, and even I can't guarantee my own safety." Jack lowered his voice and whispered in Chen Ming's ear.

"On the outskirts of downtown Los Angeles, there's an abandoned meatpacking plant basement where every weekend night there's a Blood Cage tournament run by the Cripples and Russians."

Jack made a throat-slitting gesture.

"It's a no-holds-barred class, only life or death, and surrender. As a newbie, your entry fee is low, but the odds on the sidelines are extremely high... Shall we go?"

"I'll go tonight," Chen Ming said without hesitation.

"What percentage will you take as the middleman?"

Jack held up one finger.

"We're all in this together, 10% is enough."

"I'll be in charge of negotiating appearance fees with those gangster vampires, and I'll be handing you water and towels backstage."

"Deal. Lead the way."

……

8 p.m., on the edge of the Compton area in South Los Angeles.

Jack's pickup truck bumped along the road and finally turned into a dark alley where even the streetlights had been shot down.

Outside the abandoned meat processing plant, various modified low-rider cars and motorcycles were parked. The air was filled with the pungent smell of marijuana, the sour stench of cheap beer, and the smoky aroma of barbecue from a street corner taco stand. Deafening West Coast hip-hop music emanated from the tin-roofed buildings.

"Lock the car doors and don't leave valuables in the car. People here can break car windows and steal things in less than ten seconds."

Jack pulled out the car keys and casually pulled a folding knife from the glove compartment and put it in his pocket.

"In this neighborhood, don't stare into anyone's eyes for more than three seconds."

Chen Ming opened the car door and followed Jack toward the rusty factory gate.

Four black thugs in oversized hoodies stood at the door, one of whom was leaning against the wall rolling leaves.

"Jack? What brings you here, you old man?" The black man with the curly-leafed shirt looked up and exhaled a puff of smoke, his gaze passing over Jack and landing on Chen Ming.

"Why did you bring a delicate-skinned Asian college student here? We don't host fraternity parties here."

"Shut up, bone." Jack pulled two crumpled hundred-dollar bills from his pocket and handed them over.

"This is the registration fee; my men are going into cages tonight."

The black man called "Bones" whistled loudly, then grabbed the banknotes and looked at Chen Ming as if he were a dead man.

"Asian kid...you're not so lucky." He stepped aside to make way.

"Tonight's champion is 'Bulldozer' Johnny. That guy just finished taking drugs and is looking for a way to vent... You can still turn around and go back to do your homework."

Chen Ming didn't even glance at him, turning his head to look at Jack.

How much cash will I get if I win my first match?

"There's a thousand dollars appearance fee if we win," Jack explained in a low voice as he walked.

"If you can knock out your opponent within three minutes, you can earn an extra two thousand. If you lose, you get nothing and have to pay for your own medical expenses."

"It's not even enough to fill a tooth gap... Can I place a bet?"

Chen Ming went straight into the basement.

"I can take your place," Jack leaned closer.

"But the rule is you can only bet on yourself to win. If you get caught fixing a match here, the Russians will just stuff you into an industrial meat grinder in the kitchen and turn you into dog food..."

"Of course I'll bet on myself."

Chen Ming threw the black bag he had been carrying into Jack's arms.

Jack unzipped his jacket and took a look, then gasped in shock.

It was filled with bundled old banknotes, and judging by the thickness, it must have contained at least seven or eight thousand US dollars.

He zipped up the jacket as if he'd been electrocuted, then glanced warily to the left and right.

"Dude, betting so much on your first appearance isn't a good idea. It's too conspicuous and the bookmakers will easily target you."

Chen Ming turned his head and asked in return.

"So how much are you prepared to bet on me? Tell the truth, or we shouldn't work together anymore."

Jack's expression instantly turned awkward.

He coughed twice and awkwardly looked away.

"All my bank savings, the online loan I just took out on my phone, plus the few hundred dollars I have here... To be honest, I'm even thinking of pawning my car."

"I have to support my family, bro."

Chen Ming stared at him for two seconds, his lips twitching.

These kinds of people are the most cunning. They pretend to be righteous and only bring him along, then secretly go all in from the outside, taking advantage of the information gap...