America: Starting from collecting corpses, leveling up to godhood

The tattooed manager walked in carrying several thin envelopes, his fleshy face beaming like a blooming chrysanthemum.

"Well done, guys! Our lunch sales broke records today. Here's your share of tips and your half-day pay..."

Chen Ming took the envelope, squeezed it, and then frowned.

Upon opening it, there were only sixty cuts inside.

"What about the price we agreed on?" Chen Ming slapped several crumpled twenty-dollar bills on the stainless steel table.

"Why is it less than half full?"

"Listen to me, kid." The manager's smile vanished, replaced by impatience.

"We were talking about a 16-hour shift price before, and you didn't work that long today, plus you spilled almost half a bottle of Life Essence... that's high-end stuff! Plus the two high-end vegan meals you had last night, so deducting a few dollars for ingredients is reasonable, right?"

"The staff meal was supposed to be included yesterday, and it was made from scraps." Chen Ming's eyes turned cold.

"Do you want it or not? If you don't, give me my money back. The door is over there!" The manager pointed to the back door.

"There are tons of Mexicans and illegal immigrants lining up outside wanting to come in and work!"

Chen Ming clenched his fist, about to lash out, when Heck quickly grabbed his arm and smiled apologetically at the manager.

"He's new and doesn't know the rules. Thank you, boss. We'll prepare dinner right away..."

The manager snorted and turned to leave the kitchen.

"Why are you dragging me along?" Chen Ming looked at the sixty knives in his hand, getting angrier the more he thought about it.

Although he wasn't short of money, he was really unhappy about being played and having his wages deducted.

"That amount of money doesn't even cover California's minimum wage."

"Come on, brother, swallowing our pride is our survival rule."

Heck sighed, expertly pulled out a cigarette, and took a deep drag.

"Do you know how many undocumented people like us there are in Los Angeles without social security codes? At least tens of thousands. We're lucky to even have this job."

"So you just let him deduct money as he pleases?"

"What else are you going to do? Call the labor department? If he makes an anonymous tip to ICE, we'll be on a bus back to Tijuana or San Salvador tomorrow night, or worse..."

Heck helplessly spread his hands.

Another Mexican kitchen helper, who was chopping vegetables, smiled wryly.

"Yeah, this place is pretty good. At least I can chop vegetables indoors, which is better than picking California black grapes in the Central Valley in 40-degree heat. They only pay forty dollars a day there, and you get bitten by the farmers' dogs... If I don't work here, my wife and daughter will have to go work as prostitutes."

"And try to think more positively, bro." Heck patted Chen Ming on the shoulder and grinned.

"Although we are exploited and suppressed, at least we feed white-collar workers and female internet celebrities chemical feed and beef tallow every day... Seeing them eat so happily makes me feel much more at ease."

Chen Ming was amused by this Ah Q mentality and put the sixty dollars into his pocket.

"Okay... to keep California's elites enjoying authentic technology, this little bit of hardship is nothing."

"That's right!" Heck stubbed out his cigarette and then carried a box of slightly sprouted potatoes onto the cutting board.

"Come on, there are still hundreds of suckers waiting for our organic handmade mashed potatoes tonight... Remember to add plenty of thickener, they like a creamy texture."

Chen Ming nodded, then turned and walked to the sink, immediately taking out his phone to send a message to Michelle.

Chen Ming: "The owner of this store just withheld several tens of dollars from my salary for no reason... As revenge, the action plan is being moved up. You are to prepare to receive all the tax receipts and purchase records in their safe."

Michelle: "You got the password?!"

Chen Ming: "No, but I have a universal key in a physical sense."

Michelle: "Wait a minute, didn't you say it was an electronic safe with a vandal alarm? How did you open it without a password? Did you hire a hacker to break in?"

Chen Ming: "Michelle, no matter how sophisticated the electronic security lock is, in the end, it's still a person who enters the password."

Michelle: "...What exactly do you want?"

Chen Ming: "I happen to be very good at the traditional method of getting people to speak up."

Putting away his phone, Chen Ming carried a large bowl of chopped onions to Heck's side.

"Our manager had so much money deducted today, he'll probably be going to a high-end nightclub in West Hollywood tonight to open some champagne, right?" Chen Ming casually remarked.

"That miser?" Heck scoffed, pouring half a bucket of synthetic butter into the pot.

"Every day after get off work, he would go to a nearby diving bar to drink three dollars a glass of Blue Ribbon beer, then brag to the strippers who had just finished get off work, and stay out until 2 a.m. before driving his beat-up car with peeling paint back to his apartment."

"That really captures the authentic Los Angeles nightlife," Chen Ming nodded.

"That's right, the point is that he always drives drunk after drinking, but the LAPD never checks that run-down back alley." Heck scoffed.

"If you're thinking of sucking up to get your wages back, you can definitely find him there tonight, but I advise you to save your breath; he only gives the bartender a twenty-five-cent coin as a tip..."

"That's true, then I think I'd better not talk to him." Chen Ming smiled slightly.

2:30 a.m., in the back alley of Sunset Boulevard.

Chen Ming leaned against the shadows of the bar's back door, pulled a black Batman mask from his pocket, and put on gloves.

Not long after, the back door of the bar was violently pushed open.

The tattooed manager, belching loudly, staggered out, clutching his car keys, muttering curses in Spanish as he addressed the bartender's mother who had ignored him earlier.

He walked up to the broken car and just as he inserted the key into the lock...

A hand silently reached out from behind and covered his mouth tightly, while the other hand precisely gripped his carotid artery.

"Good evening, boss," Chen Ming said in a low voice.

The tattooed manager shuddered, letting out a growling sound as he desperately swung his thick arm backward with his elbow.

Chen Ming sneered and dodged to the side, then his knee precisely struck between the manager's thighs.

"ah--"

With a cracking sound and a scream, the tattooed manager's legs went weak, and he was dragged and pulled by Chen Ming into the blind spot behind the trash can like a broken sack.

This is a stinking puddle that even homeless people wouldn't sleep in; the ground is littered with discarded needles and bottles, and there are absolutely no security cameras.

As soon as Chen Ming let go, the manager roared, panting heavily.

"Damn it... Do you know who I am? I'm connected to the gang leaders in the area..."

Without saying a word, Chen Ming raised his hand and kicked him several times below his right ribs.

As an outstanding medical student who deals with corpses year-round, Chen Ming is very familiar with human anatomy—this not only cleverly avoids the spleen and liver, but also perfectly stimulates the sensitive nerve plexus.

"Ahhh—"

The manager instantly curled up like a shrimp, tears and snot streaming down his face from the pain, but he couldn't utter a single sound.

"Damn it, I'm calling the police. I'll definitely send you to jail..."

"Give me a break. The LAPD is too busy dealing with bombings to expect them to come rescue you from the back alleys of Sunset Boulevard."