America: Starting from collecting corpses, leveling up to godhood

"But Chen, what exactly are you planning to build in that cactus field? Besides burying corpses and shooting ranges, I can't think of any other value that place has..."

"I've recently met a lot of rich kids with excess energy. They all drive supercars worth millions, but they can only be chased around the city by patrol officers like ducks." Chen Ming looked out the window at the hazy Los Angeles skyline.

"You want to build a racetrack there?"

Old Joe paused for a moment.

"That would cost a fortune; just paving asphalt could bankrupt you."

"...Who said I was going to build a proper racetrack?" Chen Ming corrected.

"I'm going to build an illegal zone... to be precise, a wilderness club. There are no speed limits, no police, no noise complaints from the EPA... I'll be responsible for recruiting people and organizing races to earn some ticket revenue. You'll be responsible for being a security guard at the entrance and selling your mountain of expired bullets. They definitely won't mind firing a few shots after they're stuck in traffic."

"It sounds like the set of Mad Max." Old Joe pondered for a moment.

"But this industry is not easy to run. These private underground races are all about having a strong following. Those Lamborghini punks have very high standards. If you don't have a big name, they won't drive two hours to the desert to eat dust."

"I have my own way of solving this. You just need to get the land and building permits sorted out."

Chen Ming hung up the phone after speaking.

The following afternoon, Chen Ming drove the food truck, bumping along the way, to the Coyote Canyon shooting range.

Everywhere were rusty barbed wire fences and tumbleweeds rolling in the wind, while Old Joe, wearing a faded flannel plaid shirt, squatted under the wooden shed smoking a cheap Marlboro.

"You really like this car." Old Joe exhaled a smoke ring and slapped a crumpled land transfer contract onto the hood.

"Here's the land title and contract. I've also asked someone I know to get the building permit. I'll just slip in a few hundred dollars as a kickback... But are you sure you don't regret it? This godforsaken place isn't even a coyote would want to poop here."

"As long as the land is big enough, it's fine." Chen Ming casually flipped through the contract, picked up a pen, and prepared to sign.

"Soon this place will become an entertainment hub for those rich young men in Los Angeles."

"Who exactly do you know?" Old Joe looked him over suspiciously.

"You weren't secretly smuggling flour for the mob, were you? I'm warning you, the DEA's noses are incredibly sharp..."

Before the words were even finished, a cloud of yellow sand rose from the far end of the highway.

Three pickup trucks roared up the dirt slope and came to an abrupt stop outside the simple wooden fence of the shooting range, with shrill country heavy metal music blaring from the rolled-down windows.

Six or seven burly men wearing leather vests and covered in tattoos jumped down. The leader, a white man, was chewing on a pipe and had a Colt M1911 gleaming at his waist.

Old Joe's face turned pale instantly, and his hand instinctively reached for his shotgun.

"Damn it..."

He gritted his teeth and cursed under his breath.

"It's the Iron Horse Gang. Those guys are like persistent ghosts."

"You borrowed money from loan sharks?" Chen Ming asked, holding his pen without even lifting his eyelids.

"It wasn't me, it was my damn ex-wife!" Old Joe was sweating profusely.

"She owes this biker gang a huge sum of money because of her current husband, and somehow these bastards found out my shooting range is here..."

The burly man at the head of the group strode up to the two men and forcefully patted the hood of Chen Ming's food truck.

"Joe, I heard you recently struck it rich?" The burly man grinned, revealing a mouthful of yellow teeth.

"Your ex-wife owes us money. Since you two had a past together, why don't you settle the debt for her?"

"Get out of my private space!"

Old Joe raised his shotgun and cocked it with a click.

"I can use the Fortress Act at any time to riddle you with bullets!"

"With your crappy gun?" the burly man laughed, and his accomplices behind him also reached for their weapons at their waists.

Chen Ming sighed, folded the signed contract, and stuffed it into his pocket.

Dealing with the guys in front of him was a piece of cake, but disposing of the corpses was too much trouble.

"Old Joe, according to the contract, half of this land is mine now, right?"

"Chen, what time is it and you're still concerned about this!"

Chen Ming turned his head and looked at Mike, who was a head taller than him.

"You guys are blocking my construction entrance... Besides, if you damage my car, you probably can't afford to pay for it."

"Can't afford to pay?" The burly man shouted back at his companions as if he had heard the biggest joke in the world.

"Hey guys, this Asian kid said I can't afford to pay for his beat-up fried rice truck!"

Several burly men burst into laughter, and one of them casually pulled a baseball bat from the back of the pickup truck.

"Kid, this isn't the city center..." Mike's smile vanished, and he spat out a mouthful of tobacco-smelling saliva.

"Here, the law is the pistol on my hip."

Old Joe's fingers were trembling as he held the gun.

"Don't push me. The police may be slow to arrive, but they'll still take care of people who die... Also, you'd better not anger my friend. He's not someone you can handle."

"Is that so?" The burly man stepped forward, his chest almost touching Old Joe's gun barrel, his eyes filled with contempt.

"Who are you trying to scare, Joe? Are the bullets in your shotgun damp?" The burly man reached out and opened the barrel, looking at Chen Ming with a mocking expression.

"You just said I can't afford to pay for this car? What, is this car loaded with gold or a nuclear bomb?"

"This is my livelihood." Chen Ming put the contract in his pocket and walked slowly to the side of the food cart.

"Old Joe, put the gun away. Since they're collecting debts, let's play by the rules."

"Rules? I am the rule here." The burly man sneered, and his accomplices behind him began to use steel pipes to smash the barbed wire fence by the roadside.

Chen Ming pointed to the overgrown road in the distance, which was full of gravel and deep pits.

"From here to the abandoned water tower two miles away, we'll circle around and come back. I'll drive this food truck, and you can pick any pickup truck you want. If you win, I'll pay off Old Joe's debt on the spot. If I win, the debt is cleared, and neither of you are allowed to set foot on this land again. How about that?"

"You want to compete with me in off-roading with this truck whose center of gravity is higher than a basketball hoop?" The burly man laughed until tears almost streamed down his face.

"Kid, did you ruin your brain from cooking fried rice, or did you smoke too much marijuana?"

"Chen, are you crazy?!" Old Joe was also sweating profusely with anxiety.

"It's alright, Old Joe, just go get your timer. That's all." Chen Ming ignored him and just looked at the burly man.

"Dare you take it? If you don't, then take your dirty handprint from when you slapped my car roof and get the hell out of here with your beat-up car..."

"Catch it! Why aren't you catching it?" The burly man moved the revolver at his waist back a little, then flipped over and jumped onto the pickup truck.

"Dim, get this kid on a stretcher. I'm worried the stainless steel pot lid might slice his head off if the car tips over..."

Three minutes later, two vehicles of vastly different sizes stopped side by side on the makeshift starting line.

On one side are menacing and aggressive modified pickup trucks, and on the other side are Ford food trucks.