America: Starting from collecting corpses, leveling up to godhood

A young black man dressed in exaggerated hip-hop attire and wearing a thick gold chain around his neck squeezed out from the crowd.

He stared intently at Chen Ming for a long time, then got so excited that he almost spilled the champagne in his hand on the Ferrari next to him.

"Guys, this is that Asian freak from the underground car race!"

The surroundings fell silent for a moment.

"What kind of pervert?" someone asked, frowning.

"That Asian guy who took off from the Los Angeles River, hugging the 45-degree concrete wall, overtaking Elena's Hellcats and winning the championship!"

"He's the 'pilot'!"

"What?"

The crowd erupted in chaos.

In California's highly developed car enthusiast community, this urban legend spreads faster than Hollywood actresses' gossip. In addition, the video of Chen Ming overtaking someone was filmed and went viral, making him a hot topic of discussion in the community recently.

Countless gazes converged on Chen Ming.

Brad's arrogant expression froze.

He looked at Elena and found that the proud female driver was watching the show with her arms crossed, showing no intention of refuting the black guy.

"Don't think I'll be scared..." Brad continued to argue, but his confidence was clearly waning, and he even seemed a little exasperated.

"Let's go to the desert, my territory..."

"I can beat you even if I drive with one hand."

Chen Ming downed the champagne in one gulp, then shoved the empty glass into the hand of Brad's bodyguard, who caught it instinctively, looking bewildered...

He ignored Brad's ashen face, glanced around at the surrounding rich kids with their eyes full of fervor, and raised his voice.

"The Wilderness Club will host its first competition next weekend on the edge of the desert."

"Absolutely private, no questions asked, no rules... If you want to prove that those millions in your garage weren't wasted, bring your cash and guts and give it a try."

"Come on, if you want to beat me!"

After saying that, Chen Ming tilted his head towards Elena.

"The air here is too stuffy, let's go out and get a hot dog."

"Haha, I'd be happy to oblige, Mr. 'Pilot,' you've really given me a big surprise... Count me in for the competition too."

Elena suppressed a laugh and took Chen Ming's arm.

"Since that Russian died, Los Angeles hasn't had a decent race in ages..."

The two walked through the crowd that automatically parted without any hindrance, leaving Brad standing there facing countless onlookers, unsure whether to go or stay. In the end, he could only kick the railing of the exhibition stand next to him hard.

"Fuck!"

Brad's impotent rage and curses were forgotten.

After taking only a few steps, Chen Ming stopped again.

"Weren't you going out for hot dogs?" Elena asked, looking at him with a puzzled expression.

"Actually, there's no rush... Since my title of 'pilot' is so useful, leaving now would be an insult to capitalism."

Chen Ming straightened the collar of his motorcycle jacket, a smile playing on his lips.

"Wait for me a moment, I'm going to get some likes."

For the next two hours, Chen Ming transformed into Los Angeles' most hardworking salesman.

He would approach any young face at the auto show and strike up a conversation, his identity as a "pilot" serving as his best calling card.

When the usually arrogant rich kids heard that Chen Ming was going to personally organize a gathering, and that the location would be in the Mojave Desert where there are no speed limits, their eyes lit up like coyotes.

Even more outrageous than these wealthy young men were the women present.

California girls have a natural, fervent admiration for extreme sports and mysterious, handsome men—Chen Ming doesn't even need to do much marketing; just standing in a prominent spot, showing off his cool jawline, and slightly opening his shirt to reveal his muscles, will attract a group of socialites and internet celebrities in tight dresses and sky-high heels who will flock to him…

"Desert racers, that sounds really wild, handsome. If my car breaks down on the road, will you take responsibility for towing me back to the city?"

"This is my phone number. Remember to send me a VIP invitation code separately~"

"I really enjoy motorsports, but I'd love to experience the sport more in a race car..."

……

When Chen Ming finally squeezed out of the crowd, his pockets were already stuffed full.

"Not bad?" Elena leaned against the glass of the exhibition hall door, looking at him with a half-smile.

"Not bad." Chen Ming casually pulled something out of his pocket.

"Seven slips of paper with phone numbers written on them, three business cards, and... and two hotel room keys."

"So you're still popular."

Elena hummed twice, pushed open the door, and walked towards the street.

Los Angeles is always full of Mexican vendors pushing stainless steel carts, and the two soon arrived at a stall.

"Two bacon-wrapped hot dogs, extra grilled onions and jalapeno peppers..." Elena ordered fluently in Spanish, then handed the woman ten dollars in cash.

She took the hot dog, handed one to Chen Ming, and then her gaze fell on his angular face.

"Honestly, your efficiency in attracting customers is even more exaggerated than that of a Hollywood casting director."

Elena took a bite of the hot dog

"With your looks and driving skills, you could easily try being a car model or getting an endorsement deal with a car brand. Signing a contract worth hundreds of thousands or even millions of dollars wouldn't be a problem. Why do you insist on going through all that trouble to organize illegal races in the desert?"

"Making quick money by showing your face in public is too risky," Chen Ming said, shaking his head as he chewed on a hot bacon dog.

"What risks are there, like being mobbed by fans?"

"I'm afraid of being targeted by even more troublesome people." Chen Ming said in a serious tone, his face full of solemnity.

"Just imagine, what if I really become famous and catch the eye of one of those powerful, middle-aged female congresswomen in Washington?"

Elena almost choked on a hot dog.

"ha?"

"She'll just use her connections to send a few agents in sunglasses to put me on a private jet and forcibly transport me to the Caribbean or some weird island without a map to help them with their physical rehabilitation..." Chen Ming sighed, spreading his hands.

"In that godforsaken place, I didn't even have a cell phone signal to call the police."

"Pfft—cough cough cough!"

Elena burst out laughing, almost throwing the wasabi sauce in her hand.

"Jesus..." Elena clutched her stomach, laughing through her tears.

"Your reason is brilliant, I don't even know how to refute you. I have an aunt who happens to be the kind of female senator you're talking about. Just two days ago, she brought a second-tier male celebrity in his early twenties home for dinner."

"So it's always good to be prepared, but politicians have no bottom line."

Chen Ming swallowed the last bite of his hot dog and casually tossed the two hotel room keys from his pocket into a roadside trash can.

The initial publicity campaign is complete; now it's time to talk to the Iron Horse Gang about the specific arrangements.