I didn't get to smoke this cigarette, what a loss!

January 7, 2026, a secluded street in Los Angeles.

After confirming there were no issues with the video he just filmed, Wang Xiuyuan sent it to the group chat with a beaming smile. It immediately triggered a wave of cheers from the group members, with voice and text messages popping up like mushrooms after rain.

"Damn, Sweet Doughnut actually isn't dead yet."

"This guy is too resilient."

"A piece of trash who curses his own mother deserves to die."

"Hahaha, I bet he won't live until spring. Even though it's not cold in LA during winter, I'm still betting he dies before spring arrives."

After replying to a few messages, Wang Xiuyuan put his phone back in his pocket.

Wang Xiuyuan was just a tourist in Los Angeles. For the first fourteen years of his career, he had been a diligent and very talented real estate marketing dog.

He had worked for state-owned enterprises, central enterprises, and leading listed real estate firms, working his way up from a grassroots property consultant to a marketing director—a true "war dog" among the millions of real estate marketing dogs.

Because he was usually too busy with work, he hadn't properly traveled abroad in over a decade. He took this rare opportunity to step out of the country and see just how "miserable" the outside world was, hoping to add a bit of satisfaction to his own not-so-happy spiritual world.

It just so happened that the term "American Execution Line" was trending across the internet, and this guy Sweet Doughnut was incredibly famous. Many people were setting up betting pools on Sweet Doughnut's time of death. Wang Xiuyuan, who loved a good spectacle, flew directly to Los Angeles to witness the "grace" of this celebrity from the Run-ren community.

"Click, click, click, click, click, click."

"Damn it, this lighter of mine only lit a few cigarettes before it stopped working! How dare they sell such a piece of junk for two dollars? It's highway robbery!!!"

Wang Xiuyuan angrily smashed the lighter onto the ground. The plastic lighter exploded with a loud "bang."

You couldn't blame Wang Xiuyuan for having a bad temper; it was purely out of heartache. A lighter that cost the equivalent of fourteen RMB stopped working after just a few smokes—who could keep their cool after that?

He stuffed the Huanghelou cigarette back into its pack and started walking toward the city center while grumbling.

"Turn left in fifteen meters, go straight for three hundred meters through the park..."

Wang Xiuyuan skillfully used his phone for navigation. The screen clearly showed the interface of the Quede Navigation app.

This Quede Navigation app was truly hard to review. On one hand, it was functional enough to get by; on the other hand, it would occasionally navigate you onto some "god-forsaken" routes, leaving you stuck.

However, Wang Xiuyuan didn't have many choices, as Qiandu Navigation and Daoge Navigation were essentially the same—none were significantly better than the others. He just had to make do.

Just as he was taking a shortcut through a small grove, his gaze inadvertently caught an Asian man smoking not far away.

'Is this guy Chinese? Should I go up and ask for a light?'

Wang Xiuyuan was very hesitant. The map showed no convenience stores nearby, and heaven knew when he'd be able to have his next smoke.

He was a heavy tobacco enthusiast; not letting him smoke was more painful than a fisherman coming home empty-handed.

But considering the state of affairs in America, who knew if going over to borrow a light would be like delivering himself to be robbed? Being robbed would be fine, but if someone pulled out "the truth" and shot him or gave him a "one-dollar" slash, that would be disastrous.

"Bring the stuff over."

Just as Wang Xiuyuan was hesitating, the Asian man spoke. It was familiar Chinese.

The man was wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and a thin jacket. There were no signs of tattoos on his exposed skin, like his hands, neck, or face. He had ordinary short black hair and looked like he wouldn't be a problem.

"Holy crap, I'm so damn lucky. This guy is Chinese-American. I can finally have a smoke."

Wang Xiuyuan was ecstatic and jogged toward the Chinese man with quick, small steps.

He had been cautious enough to confirm the man was Chinese before approaching, but Wang Xiuyuan forgot the most important point: this was America!

"Brother, you're Chinese too? Can I get a light—holy crap!"

Wang Xiuyuan had just asked for a light when he saw several other Chinese men behind the one who had spoken. One of them was holding a package—a transparent sealed bag filled with white powder.

Based on the packaging, color, and form alone—even though Wang Xiuyuan had never seen it in person—he had at least seen it on TV. Even an idiot could guess what that bag of white powder was.

Furthermore, there were several black men standing opposite the Chinese men. Both sides were staring at him with extremely hostile gazes. Most critically, both sides were simultaneously and slowly reaching for their waists.

'Holy mother of...! This is a drug deal!'

'F*** my life! They're about to pull guns!'

At this moment, it felt like ten thousand "grass mud horses" were stampeding across the plains of Wang Xiuyuan's heart as his mind raced frantically.

Wang Xiuyuan didn't even know what brilliant plan his mind had come up with, but in that critical moment, his body's instinctive reaction was the most honest.

He actually instinctively shouted out loud!

"Don't, this is a mis... I regret this..."

"Bang bang bang bang bang bang bang..."

Before Wang Xiuyuan could even finish his sentence, the black men quickly pulled out their guns and opened fire on him the moment he shouted.

Over a dozen bullets hit Wang Xiuyuan's body. He didn't feel pain, only the sensation of many large hammers smashing into his torso. Then, his body fell backward uncontrollably.

Not only was Wang Xiuyuan shot, but the black men also opened fire on the Chinese men opposite them.

The Chinese men weren't pushovers either; their draw speed wasn't any slower than the black men's. The scene descended into total chaos.

"Bang bang bang bang bang bang."

As both sides emptied their magazines, the scene fell into a miraculous silence. However, several more people were now lying on the ground alongside Wang Xiuyuan.

Ten seconds later, the dazed Wang Xiuyuan's consciousness gradually returned.

He only felt unbearable stinging pains all over his torso. A large amount of warm liquid was gushing from his body, flowing over his skin and onto the ground.

'F***ing idiots on both sides. This America really isn't a place for normal people. It's one thing to openly trade weed on the streets...'

'But who the hell deals white powder in a park grove in broad daylight? Couldn't you two groups of idiots go somewhere further away?!'

'You just had to come here and ruin things for a pure and naive Chinese guy like me. I'm so damn wronged! I just wanted to borrow a light for a cigarette!'

'I asked you for a light, not for you to open fire on me!!!'

Wang Xiuyuan felt incredibly wronged. He just wanted to borrow a light for a smoke, and he only ran up because he realized the other party was Chinese. Otherwise, he would have left long ago.

In truth, those Chinese men and the black men also felt incredibly wronged. They were having a perfectly good transaction when someone suddenly rushed out from the side—who wouldn't be nervous?

What were these two groups doing?

They were trading a batch of white powder! And they were using US dollars in cash. Both sides were currently inspecting the goods and the money.

Even if they had dealt with each other before, so what? Weren't betrayals among acquaintances common? In any case, it was an outcome where all three parties felt especially wronged.

At the brink of death, Wang Xiuyuan's greatest wish wasn't to survive, nor was it to curse these two groups of idiots.

Instead, he couldn't stop lamenting, 'How great would it have been if I could've had a cigarette before I died? I've lost my life, and I didn't even get to take a puff. What a loss!'