Reborn in America, I am a legendary short seller on Wall Street.

Chapter 1 Rebirth 1891
"Mom, I'm doing fine... Things are going well here lately, I just found a good job..."

Chen Ping tried to keep his voice down, hiding the weariness that should have been there.

A second-hand Samsung Galaxy S3 lay in his palm, its gray-white plastic casing worn smooth at the edges, and a frosted screen protector still stuck to the screen.

"...Yes, I know. I won't skimp on food...I know that good nutrition is essential for good health."

The person on the other end of the phone seemed to be rambling on. Chen Ping switched hands and held the phone to his ear, but accidentally touched the wound on his forehead, causing his mouth to twitch in pain.

"...It's not that chaotic. Los Angeles is perfectly safe. Don't listen to the nonsense from domestic self-media..."

After a moment of silence, Chen Ping continued,
"...Don't pay attention to those debt collection agencies; they wouldn't dare cause trouble in China...Tell my uncle and cousin to wait a bit. Once I've saved enough money in the US, I'll pay them all back in one go..."

As he spoke, Chen Ping glanced at the water-stained ceiling and tapped his fingers lightly on his knee. Then the instructions came from the other end of the phone, and he finally whispered:

"Okay, I got it. I'll find a place with better signal to video call you next time. Bye!"

I tapped the red icon to end the call on WeChat, the screen went dark, and the room was quiet except for the sound of my own breathing.

I've been in the US for six years now.

Chen Ping stared at the irregular water stains on the roof, his thoughts drifting away.

When I first arrived in Los Angeles, the undocumented immigrant community was already very competitive, and salaries were only 75% of the previous year's.

After working for three months, Chen Ping finally couldn't stand it anymore and went to argue with his boss.

But the boss pointed to the Mexican man on the other side and said:
He only wants 75% of your salary; I didn't lay you off because I'm being considerate of you.

Before the good times arrived, hyperinflation came instead.

With soaring prices, even working three jobs doesn't save much money.

Once, outside a Los Angeles subway station, Chen Ping was punched in the face by a tall black man with eyes that looked a bit like Allen Iverson, who then robbed him of his wallet on the street.

The people around him cast indifferent glances.

Of course, the one who screwed him over the most was "his own people," that Chinese immigrant lawyer who kept saying "We Chinese are all one family."

He was dressed in a sharp suit, had a friendly smile, and could switch effortlessly between English, Cantonese, and Mandarin in a single sentence.

The lawyer patted him on the shoulder and said, "I've got the U-visa covered. Give me the money, and your status is secure!"

At that time, Chen Ping truly believed him and gritted his teeth to give him all the money he had brought with him, as well as the 70,000 dollars he had saved up there.

But what happened next was that the visa application never came to fruition, and the money was "legally" spent by the Chinese-American lawyer.

Three years ago, Chen Ping heard that a Chinese woman who had a similar experience to him had stabbed his immigration lawyer with a knife.

He had the same impulse.

In the six years he has been in the United States, he has eaten porridge from church alms and struggled to survive on construction sites, in dishwashers, and behind food trucks.

He knew how to get a meal for a dollar and which row to sit in on a bus late at night to avoid being harassed by drug addicts.

He could understand the girl's despair.

But he endured it anyway.

What stopped him wasn't the lack of a knife, but the fear that his parents back in China would never be able to reach him by phone again.

……

The early summer breeze in Los Angeles blew into the dilapidated rental house through the cracks in the wooden windows.

The wound on my forehead was still throbbing slightly.

This happened yesterday when I was working as a construction worker in Beverly Hills. I was accidentally hit by the metal casing of a chandelier.

This afternoon was supposed to be the time for Chen Ping to call his parents to let them know he was safe, but he was afraid that his parents would worry if they saw the wound on his forehead, so he deliberately avoided video calling, citing poor signal.

After hanging up the phone, Chen Ping did not feel any more relaxed.

Chen Ping rented a single room on the third floor of an old Mexican house, just across the street from Chinatown.

Right now, in the present moment, outside the window, in my ears...

Mexican immigrants protesting ICE and federal agents are facing off outside.

The sounds of sirens, car engines, protesters, and unidentified riot gunfire rose and fell.

Chen Ping had no intention of going out to take a look. Instead, he disgustedly drew the curtains shut, threw himself onto the bed, and stared blankly at the ceiling.

Just then, the shouts of the marchers and the cacophony of police sirens came from downstairs, and hurried footsteps suddenly echoed on the stairs outside the door...

The landlady screamed in heavily accented Mexican English, "The ICE is here..."

Maybe a second or two later, there was the sound of the iron gate slamming shut and a group of people breaking down the door.

Chen Ping practically sprang from the bed the instant his wound on his forehead ripped open, the pain turning his face pale.

At the same time, a jumble of footsteps suddenly echoed down the stairs.

We can't let them catch us!
This was Chen Ping's only thought.

Chen Ping pulled back the curtains and strode onto the wooden eaves outside the window.

At that moment, his room was being frantically pounded on, and the furious roar of federal agents echoed outside the door, "Open the door!" Chen Ping's heart pounded violently. He bent down and reached along the eaves towards the roof of the second floor.

A sharp pain shot through the wound on my forehead. I couldn't tell if it was from the violent movement I'd just made or from the rush of blood to my head from bending over.

Chen Ping felt dizzy and lightheaded.

Chen Ping slipped and fell from the eaves of the third floor.

In the split second of his fall, Chen Ping instinctively covered his head with his hands, but as he landed, his waist was pierced through by a broken parasol pole in the courtyard...

"Ugh—!"

A cry of pain escaped his throat, only to be abruptly cut off by the metallic taste of blood and the intense pain surging within.

Large drops of cold sweat fell, and blood instantly stained the grass beneath him...

Chen Ping could clearly hear his heart pounding violently, as it worked frantically to cope with the sudden drop in blood pressure caused by blood loss.

But the heartbeat caused a sudden, profuse flow of blood from the lumbar puncture site.

Subconsciously, Chen Ping said a sentence in Chinese.
"It hurts so much, Mom..."

Then he fainted.

When he woke up again, he was already in an ambulance.

Chen Ping moved his head slightly and first saw the various emergency equipment on the ambulance, but he could also feel that the thick steel umbrella pole on his waist was still inside his body.

For some reason, Chen Ping didn't feel much pain after waking up.

He felt that everything around him was extremely quiet, but he could also sense the ambulance stopping and starting, and the driver shouting curses...

Then, he smelled a faint scent of leaves in the car.

A blond nurse was very close to him, calling out loudly.

"Sir! Please stay alert... We'll get you to the hospital right away!"

Chen Ping's mind was blank; he stared blankly at the nurse in front of him, his thoughts wandering.
"I've been in America for six years, and this is the first time I've been this close to a white woman..."

The blonde nurse turned to the driver and shouted, "Jason, drive faster!"

"Damn it, these protesters have the road completely blocked!" the driver in the front seat cursed loudly.

“But he’s dying!” the nurse shouted.

After a long pause, the driver finally answered from the front of the car.

It was tinged with regret, yet also with a touch of relief.

"So what?"

This cold reply pierced Chen Ping's heart like a knife.

Chen Ping's mind was completely numb; he could even feel the pain in his lower back piercing through the thick numbness and beginning to pound against his brain again...

He was tired and wanted to sleep for a while.

One last look, Chen Ping glanced at the anxious nurse and thought she was quite pretty.

But what does this have to do with me?

Chen Ping closed his eyes...

……

……

"Larry, wake up!"

In a daze, Chen Ping felt a hand pat his chest, but strangely, he didn't feel any pain this time.

Chen Ping slowly opened his eyes, only to be surprised to find that the nurse from before was wearing an old-fashioned dress that could only be seen in Western movies, and was looking at him intently.

However, there was no anxiety on his face.

"Larry, get up! It's your first day at work, you don't want Mr. Potter to kick your ass, do you?"

As she spoke, the woman tossed Chen Ping a slightly faded old shirt and hurried out of the room. "Please hurry, Mr. Livingston. Breakfast is ready and waiting for you downstairs!"

Chen Ping groped his way up and was surprised to find that he had turned into a little white boy.

Looking around, the room, made of old wooden planks, was very simply furnished, and the furniture was in a retro style.

Just as he was wondering, the original owner's memories flooded into Chen Ping's brain like a tidal wave, causing a severe headache and a suffocating pain.

After a moment, the pain disappeared, and Chen Ping was surprised to find that he had been reborn into the body of a 14-year-old boy in Boston in 1891.

Recalling his tragic death in his previous life and the family he would never see again, Chen Ping felt a pang of sadness.

After a long pause, Chen Ping suddenly laughed and muttered to himself,
"Truly... one life, but a completely different worldview!"

"In this life, I am Larry Livingston."

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(End of this chapter)