America: Starting from collecting corpses, leveling up to godhood

8 PM, outside the community gate.

Chen Ming slammed on the brakes, and the massive Ford food truck came to a steady stop under the streetlights.

Michelle, dressed in an extremely provocative backless evening gown, had just stepped out the door and was looking for her car when she turned around and was bumped head-on into a huge "Son of Soul" spray paint.

She was immediately taken aback.

"Are you serious? We're going to a party for a private security tycoon on Malibu Beach, and you're picking me up in a beat-up taco truck?"

"Wrong, it's Chinese fried rice. Get in the car." Chen Ming pushed open the passenger door.

Michelle lifted her skirt and struggled to climb onto the platform. As soon as she fastened her seatbelt, she couldn't help but sniffle.

"My God, it smells so good." Michelle looked around the interior of the carriage.

"Is this some kind of extreme disguise...? Don't tell me you're using this disguise to cover up your corpse transportation business."

"It's not exactly a disguise." Chen Ming turned the car around and drove onto the Pacific Coast Highway.

"I just sold 180 servings of fried rice a couple of days ago. Because the meat used was offal, the smell might not have dissipated completely..."

Michelle paused for two seconds, then turned and stared intently at Chen Ming.

"You're really selling fried rice?!"

"Of course," Chen Ming said calmly.

"I set up a stall in different neighborhoods every day. The IRS is much harder to deal with than gang shooters. I need a lot of messy cash flow to cover up my income that's hard to explain..."

Michelle stared blankly, her mind blank for a while before she could come to her senses.

"You drive this car to transport corpses during the day, and then drive the same car to cook hot fried rice for people at night?!"

"My trunk has a physical partition, so there are no hygiene issues," Chen Ming corrected seriously.

"Besides, I'm a very good cook, and the workers always enjoy their meals. Today, someone even gave me a five-dollar tip..."

"Jesus..."

Michelle covered her face in pain, feeling her stomach churning.

"Chen, if you hadn't saved me, I would have written a feature article tonight... If this news got out, it would definitely be a legend in California for fifty years."

"That's an exaggeration. I have a health permit." Chen Ming glanced at her.

"Most fast food chain ice machines are dirtier than my truck bed. At least I know that spoiled food should be physically kept away from fresh ingredients, and I change my gloves frequently."

"If you'd tried it once, you wouldn't be laughing at me."

Michelle rolled her eyes dramatically.

Chen Ming held the steering wheel with one hand, looking at the luxury residential area that was faintly visible in the night ahead.

"So, what are the rules for this former Navy SEAL officer's party?"

"He ordered that no one could carry a gun," Michelle said, pointing to Chen Ming's waist.

"There might be metal detectors and body searches at the entrance. If we're caught, we won't even have a chance to speak."

"If that were the case, I would be a pacifist today."

Chen Ming's tone remained relaxed.

If no one else present had a gun, that would actually be a good thing for him—guns would only level the playing field between him and the others.

"arrive."

The food truck stopped in front of a brightly lit cliffside villa.

The villa was surrounded by Ferraris, McLarens and various sports cars, with Chen Ming's "Soul Child" sandwiched in the middle, like a wild duck with a skin disease mixed in with a flock of swans.

Several security personnel wearing tactical headsets immediately walked towards the food truck at the main entrance.

"Who are you?" The security captain glanced at Chen Ming, then at the food cart behind him, his eyes filled with vigilance.

He'd seen people drive modified cars, motorcycles, and even cars painted with Japanese anime girls... but a food truck was a first for him.

"I'm on the list. He's my personal assistant and bodyguard," Michelle said, handing over the invitation.

"My own car had some problems, so I'm riding in this."

After undergoing metal detection and a search, security finally allowed them to pass.

As the two passed through the front courtyard, a deafening bass blasted at them. By the pool behind the villa, hundreds of people were wildly dancing with plastic cups in hand. Chen Ming even saw someone pinning down a swimsuit-clad woman in a corner and immediately starting a game...

"This is the upper echelons of American social circles." Michelle took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter's tray and handed one to Chen Ming.

"Strip away this multi-million dollar cliffside mansion, and it's essentially no different from a college fraternity party—alcohol, marijuana, promiscuity, and a bunch of overgrown babies constantly trying to prove their testosterone levels are higher than everyone else's..."

Chen Ming took a sip of water, looked at the guys standing on the second-floor balcony throwing US dollars into the pool, and nodded in deep agreement.

"It's like a primate zoo."

As the two were about to make their way through the crowd to the main building to find Carter, a huge cheer suddenly erupted from the entertainment area ahead.

A large group of people were gathered around a heavy, solid wood table, playing one of the most traditional games at the party – arm wrestling.

"Bang!"

A burly white man with a mohawk and a Navy SEAL trident tattooed on his arm slammed his opponent's arm hard onto the table, the force causing the glasses on the table to overturn.

"Haha, next one, who else is going to throw money away?!"

The mohawk-haired man pounded his chest triumphantly, grabbed a handful of banknotes from the table, stuffed them into his pocket, and then squeezed out.

He reeked of alcohol and took very large strides, bumping into Michelle who was passing by. She stumbled, spilling the champagne in her hand directly onto her dress.

Chen Ming reacted quickly and caught her waist to prevent her from falling.

"Hey, keep an eye on Lu, buddy." Chen Ming frowned slightly.

The man with the mohawk stopped and looked down at Chen Ming.

"You little girl, you bumped into me yourself. What, you little Asian chick, you have a problem with that?"

Upon seeing this, the surrounding private security team members immediately swarmed around them—for mercenaries who live on the edge, finding women for fun and stirring up trouble are regular part of the party program.

Just as Michelle was about to bring up Carter's name, Chen Ming pulled her back and shielded her behind him.

"I have no opinion, I just think you should apologize."

"Ha, little chick wants to be a hero?" The mohawk-wearing man pointed to the solid wood table behind him, his face full of mockery.

"In this arena, if you want to reason with me, you'd better see how strong your fists are first... If you can beat me, I'll kneel down and apologize; if you lose, how about you strip naked and dance here for half an hour?"

"Chen, ignore him, Carter is waiting for us up there..." Michelle whispered.

"It's okay, I'll be done soon."

Chen Ming glanced back at the villa and saw a bald man staring down from the balcony. He walked straight to the solid wood table without even taking off his jacket.

The commotion around them grew even louder.