Chapter 11: The Car Window Was Smashed Again

"BOOM!!!!"

A pillar of blood mist, over a dozen meters high, instantly surged into the sky. The massive blast pulverized all the equipment and personnel in the vicinity.

"Hiss!!!!"

Yang Jie, who was shopping inside the supermarket, couldn't help but rub his hands together, his face full of satisfaction. That deadbeat had been mooching off him constantly, and he had been sick of him for a long time.

Sophia smiled and asked, "Did something good happen?"

Yang Jie handed her his phone. Upon seeing the screen, Sophia felt a chill run down her spine, and she looked at Yang Jie with a complex expression.

"It’s truly tragic to be your enemy! You’re obviously strong enough to overpower anyone, yet you always resort to booby traps. Others use grenades for fun, but you—you always go for anti-tank mines! Is this what you Chinese mean by 'keeping a low profile'?"

Yang Jie laughed out loud and whispered, "On the battlefield, those who are too heroic usually end up dying miserable deaths. Look at this guy, Smith. Wasn't he always so arrogant? Now look at him—in pieces here, in pieces there, bits of him everywhere!"

Sophia shook her head. To be honest, she truly admired Yang Jie. The more devious and cunning he acted, the more secure she felt.

As it was the largest supermarket in the area, the group had been wandering around for a long time, each pushing a cart and loading it with canned goods they liked. These were just samples; once they decided, they would hand the list to the supermarket manager to place a bulk wholesale order.

One had to admit, the variety of canned goods in the United States was truly staggering. Luncheon meat was just the basic staple; there was an endless array of canned fruits, beans, and fish. After all, the Americans loved their canned food.

Little did they know, China was actually a major exporter of canned goods. Yet, if a Chinese person had any other choice, they would never eat canned food, as they perceived it as non-fresh.

Truth be told, canned food here was very cheap. Items like green beans, black beans, green beans, carrots, and corn were usually around one or two dollars. Slightly better options, like beef stew with potatoes, were about 2.5 dollars. Larger cans were generally around four to five dollars. There were more expensive ones, but those were mostly tuna and the like, which Yang Jie didn't care for.

Yang Jie also purchased various expensive "doomsday" cans. These were significantly pricier—usually ten to twenty times the cost of standard cans. However, they possessed a god-like attribute: a shelf life of over 25 years. There were even "doomsday" canned cakes and "doomsday" canned milk powder.

Yang Jie thought about the milk powder specifically, considering he might have children in the future. He figured he should stock up on maternal and infant supplies now; even if the kids grew up, what about the grandkids? Better to hoard more.

Of course, Yang Jie didn't forget the most classic American canned meal: spaghetti and meatballs. It was a childhood memory for many Americans—the kind of food parents would heat up when they weren't home. It was basically the American equivalent of China's Eight-Treasure Porridge.

Yang Jie’s family rarely ate "white people food." They kept three private chefs on staff year-round: Yang Jie preferred Zhejiang cuisine, Li Siyao loved Sichuan food, and Zhao Baitong was a die-hard fan of Cantonese dishes. Fortunately, there had been many "two-faced" opportunists fleeing here in recent years, so it was easy to find help by throwing a bit of money around.

They spent the entire day gathering dozens of shopping carts full of samples. When they reported the quantities, the supermarket manager was quite startled. They didn't have that much stock on hand and would have to order from other warehouses. After promising delivery in three days and being ruthlessly bargained down by Yang Jie, the group finally left, satisfied.

When they reached the parking lot, Yang Jie’s face dropped instantly. He stared at his empty car window, his temples throbbing. He hadn't even had the chance to install bulletproof glass on this new car yet, and it had already fallen victim to thieves.

"Fuck you! Li Siyao, look at the fine job your Houston police are doing! It used to be just smashing windows at night; now they’re doing it in broad daylight, too. Those damn bastards!"

Li Siyao shook her head speechlessly. It was the "Beacon of Humanity," after all; what was a smashed window or two? You just had to suck it up.

"Don't be so surprised. How long has it been since you’ve been out in public?"

Yang Jie paused. He rarely went out anymore; he was usually at the factory or hunting in the wilderness. Otherwise, he was in the Middle East or Africa negotiating business. Supermarket? What was that? He just made a phone call and things were delivered to him. In the U.S., you rarely saw a billionaire shopping for themselves. If they did, they went to high-end supermarkets where security was far better than here.

"Fuck! They stole my custom phone!"

Opening the car door, Sharapova looked at the empty seat and pulled a long face, her porcelain-doll features turning into those of a pitiful little girl.

Yang Jie raised an eyebrow. "You don't mean those weird phones of yours, do you?"

"Fuck you! You stole my phone? I'll send you to meet God!!!"

Sharapova, filled with indignation, gritted her teeth, took out her own phone, edited a command, and sent it.

Far away in a filthy rental apartment, a high-on-drugs junkie was examining the new phone he had just scored, his face full of astonishment. The phone wasn't even turned on, so how could a call be coming through? But he quickly cast the thought aside; he was so high he could barely distinguish reality from the virtual world, so he instinctively answered the call.

Only three seconds of profanity regarding his family members echoed from the receiver.

"BOOM!"

With a loud bang, the phone exploded like a grenade. Before the junkie could even react, his skull was pierced as if it were tofu. Red and white matter sprayed onto the ceiling, and his body slumped onto the sofa, dead as a doornail.

Back at the parking lot, the group was left speechless.

Yang Jie asked in shock, "You finished him off?"

Sharapova nodded. "It's an iPhone. The backdoors are as porous as a sieve. I sent a command to override the thermal control system, causing the battery to overheat in seconds. I had placed high explosives inside the battery."

Yang Jie’s eyes lit up. "That’s a great piece of kit. Make a few more when you have time!"

Sharapova’s eyes widened. "Are you sure? Didn't you say China has strict regulations? Can you even bring this stuff in?"

A large hand covered Sharapova’s head and ruffled her blonde hair.

"I have my ways. Just keep making them!"

At that moment, Yang Jie’s phone rang, and he picked it up immediately.

"Hello, Datou, what is it?"

Datou: "Brother Jie, there’s a party here today. Are you coming?"

Yang Jie’s mouth twitched. "No, I’m busy lately. I might be heading back to China in a while."

Datou: "Don't say that, Brother Jie! Among everyone I know, you’re the most low-key yet the most badass. Besides, a few friends just brought over several crates of the cigarettes you wanted from back home!"