America: Starting from collecting corpses, leveling up to godhood

"I did it, that's all..."

Mike got serious too.

"But what makes you think those rich kids driving multi-million dollar sports cars would be willing to come to this godforsaken place to eat sand?"

"I have the best sensationalist journalist in all of Los Angeles to help me, and I have connections. If I want, next week the underground forums will be full of invitation codes for the most prestigious, dangerous and secretive racetracks in Los Angeles... These rich people race for the thrill."

Mike fell silent.

As a seasoned veteran of the underground racing scene, he knew exactly how effective this kind of marketing was at appealing to rich kids with an adrenaline rush.

That's the greenbacks flowing into my pockets.

How are the betting commission and admission fees split?

Mike asked the most crucial question.

"This can be discussed slowly... I prefer a 50/50 split."

"You're taking 50% by yourself? You've got too big an appetite, you Asian!" The thug next to him with the baseball bat couldn't help but yell.

"Shut up, you have no right to speak!"

Mike glared at his underling, then turned to Chen Ming, extending his calloused hand.

"I need to go back and discuss it with our boss, but cooperating once shouldn't be a problem... We can get the perimeter cordon, tow trucks, and emergency medical services all in place within two weeks. But if you can't get those rich sheep to come..."

"If I can't do it, I'll compensate you for all your costs," Chen Ming said decisively, grasping his hand.

"Okay... I'll contact you in a few days to discuss this further."

The pickup trucks of the Iron Horse Gang roared away, kicking up a cloud of yellow dust.

Old Joe approached, clutching the useless shotgun, his face scrunched up like a dried-up walnut.

"Chen...you're absolutely insane. Dancing with wolves will get you chewed up to the bone. The Iron Horse Gang isn't exactly a law-abiding neighbor."

"No problem." Chen Ming opened the food truck door and got into the driver's seat.

"As long as there's a steady supply of meat, even the fiercest wolf will become the most loyal watchdog..."

"Besides, I'm at least a lion."

……

A few days later, the modified car show.

This time, Chen Ming didn't drive a food truck; instead, he took an Uber to the venue.

Today he wore an extremely understated black motorcycle jacket, perfectly concealing his muscle definition, making him look like a young, handsome model.

As soon as he arrived at the door, Elena was already waiting for him.

She was wearing a tight red and black patchwork leather outfit, and her hot figure attracted several car bloggers with long lenses to keep pressing the shutter.

"I thought you were going to come and cause trouble in your fried rice truck... That would definitely attract more attention than a Lamborghini or a Ferrari."

Elena handed Chen Ming a VIP pass, joking with a smile.

"I'm on vacation today and don't want to scare them," Chen Ming said, handing over the pass.

"Where's Chad?"

"His dad canceled his trust fund credit card... He's currently in solitary confinement at home because he can't pay speeding tickets and bills for vandalizing municipal facilities."

When Chad was mentioned, Elena burst into laughter.

The two walked into the venue side by side.

The exhibition hall was filled with deafening electronic music, and the air was thick with the smell of expensive car wax and hormones.

Porsches, McLarens, Ferraris... almost all the rich kids in Los Angeles gather here to show off their toys.

"So you didn't just come here today to hang out with me, did you?" Elena took two glasses of champagne from the waiter's tray, handed one to Chen Ming, and stared at him with interest.

"To be honest, if you were standing next to a car dressed like that, a rich heiress would slip you a note with her phone number within ten minutes."

"Of course not." Chen Ming took the wine glass and gently clinked it against his.

"I'm here to send you, and this fat sheep here... oh no, I mean, to my friend, an invitation."

"What invitation?"

Chen Ming leaned close to Elena's ear and lowered his voice.

"Want to try outrunning Death in the real desert?"

Elena was taken aback at first, then her eyes lit up instantly, like a cheetah that had smelled blood.

"You built an underground racetrack?"

"Yes...right in the desert."

"Good heavens, Elena, is this your reason for refusing to join my team?"

A harsh and arrogant male voice suddenly interrupted their conversation.

A young white man in a pure white bespoke suit with slicked-back hair walked over, followed by two burly bodyguards. He looked like the dim-witted son of some senator.

"I thought you turned down my invitation, but it turns out you came to see someone..."

The white man looked Chen Ming up and down, making no attempt to hide the disdain in his eyes.

"Where did you find this male car model?"

"Shut your mouth, Brad," Elena rolled her eyes impatiently.

"I've said it before, I'm only interested in people who are more technically skilled than me."

"Good technique, him?" Brad laughed, pointing at Chen Ming.

Chen Ming took a sip of champagne with a blank expression.

Classic stereotypes, classic California brat behavior, classic arrogant remarks.

He didn't even have the desire to be angry—in his eyes, Brad in front of him wasn't a person at all, but a walking, large cash check.

"Chen, ignore him." Elena tried to pull Chen Ming away.

"He's just a rookie who only knows how to use his family's money to set lap times on the track."

"It's nothing." Chen Ming stood still, instead looking at Brad with great interest.

He was originally planning how to lure these pampered sheep to the desert... but now it seems the best free GG card has been delivered to his doorstep.

"Since you're so confident in your skills, there just happens to be an unrestricted black race in the Mojave Desert next week." Chen Ming swirled his wine glass, his tone full of mockery.

"No police, no speed limit, not even a smooth asphalt road... I'm afraid that a young master like you who is used to driving supercars won't be able to finish the trip in one go, and we'll have to call your dad's helicopter for rescue."

"What did you say?!"

Brad bristled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, taking a sudden step forward, causing the two black-clad bodyguards behind him to immediately press forward with their hands on their waists.

"Put away your act, Brad." Elena stood in front of him and sneered.

"What else can you do besides call bodyguards and lawyers? This place isn't for you to mess around in."

"I don't even need a lawyer to deal with some penniless wretch who just appeared out of nowhere..." Brad pointed at Chen Ming's nose, gritting his teeth.

"Trying to provoke me into eating sand in the desert... Do you think I'm afraid of you?"

"Want to bet 100,000 in cash?" Chen Ming started raising the stakes again to create hype.

"If you win, you take the money; if you lose, you admit your driving skills are only good enough to drive bumper cars at Disneyland..."

"100,000 in cash bets on a desert black race?"

The commotion in the exhibition hall quickly attracted a group of wealthy young men and car reviewers holding wine glasses, and the crowd rapidly gathered around, whispering among themselves.

"Who's this Asian kid? He's got such a big mouth!"

"He looks like a runway model... He must be crazy. Brad's Pagani was tuned and modified by a retired F1 mechanic at great expense."

"One hundred thousand dollars... Can this poor kid come up with that kind of money?"

Hearing the surrounding chatter, Brad raised his chin high again, about to continue his sarcastic remarks.

"The lavish crab gift...it's him?!"