American Adventure: My Uncle is Don Quixote

Afterward, some would catch up on sleep while others would grab a meal together before heading to the clubs for a night of fun. Such was a typical day of mountain runs for the international students.

That’s why Li Wei had hauled Sebastian out of bed at 4 AM. They met up at 5 AM and drove to Flushing together. After picking up their walkie-talkies, they would line up and head out.

They needed walkie-talkies because there was no cell service in the mountains. The lead car had to scout ahead and report road conditions in real-time. A run-in with one of North America’s wild deer, for instance, could total a Lamborghini in an instant.

"Man, ever seen the New York sun at 4 AM?" Li Wei chuckled. "I sent you the schedule. It’s your own fault for not reading it."

Sebastian irritably scratched his hair. ’Who the fuck reads a schedule for this?’

His movements were a bit unsteady; he’d clearly gotten high in a Soho District penthouse last night. His current state was somewhere between hungover and forcing himself to be awake.

"Seriously, what were you thinking?" Li Wei gestured to the Bugatti Veyron Sebastian had driven over. "A Bugatti on a mountain run? The repair bill alone could buy you a Porsche, you know?"

"It’s about making a statement," Sebastian said, taking two huge gulps of the cold air as if he were chugging an iced Americano. He let out a shiver, seeming to sober up a bit. "I checked the route. The roads we’re using are decent. Besides, didn’t you tell me to bring a nice car?"

"Let’s go." Li Wei rolled up his window. "Watch out for the New York State Police speed traps. You don’t want your 16-cylinder car towed for reckless driving."

"Fuck the police," Sebastian muttered, annoyed. He lit a cigarette as he walked back to his Bugatti. "Fine, fine. Lead the way. Where to? Flushing?"

"Yeah, to Flushing," Li Wei said, watching the skyline begin to lighten. "Who knows, you might actually meet some real rich kids this time."

"Doubtful. Just because their dads have money doesn’t mean they do."

"That’s a surprisingly good point."

"Duh. Aren’t we all?"

...

At five-thirty in the morning, the streets of Flushing, New York, were cold enough to make you shake like a leaf.

This was New York’s most famous Chinese neighborhood. Wang Qiang’s family of three used to live here. You didn’t even need to know English to get by, and you could even use Alipay and WeChat Pay.

In the open-air parking lot of a large Chinese supermarket, the roar of engines had already shattered the morning calm.

Gao Ping’s Lamborghini Urus—which he’d only managed to get after a three-day lecture from his dad—already had a custom paint job. Alongside the Lambo, there were several Porsche 911 GT3s, two McLaren 540Cs, a Mercedes G550, and a few "baby" Lambos with ear-splitting exhausts.

A dozen or so young men and women decked out in Balenciaga, Chrome Hearts, and other high-end streetwear were gathered together, smoking and drinking coffee. Since most of the guys subscribed to the philosophy of "invite more girls to liven things up," there were actually more women present than cars.

These girls were also either international students or Chinese-American. Their parents were mostly elite, middle-class, first-generation immigrants, but unlike students like Chen Haisheng and Lin Daohang, they had westernized at a much faster rate.

Most were dressed in skimpy, trendy outfits that seemed too thin for the early morning chill, their faces done in exquisite, full makeup.

They stood around in small groups, ostensibly engrossed in their phones or chatting amongst themselves. They put on a cool, nonchalant air, as if they were completely unimpressed by the surrounding luxury cars. In reality, their gazes were constantly flicking over to the car owners and, more importantly, to the empty passenger seats.

Even though they were only passengers, not owners, they knew the price of every car down to the dollar. The brand-new Lamborghini Urus was currently their top pick. Unfortunately for them, Gao Ping had been on his best behavior and brought his girlfriend, Emily—the only white girl in attendance.

"Ping," a guy said, walking over to Gao Ping after finishing his cigarette. "Is that superstar you mentioned really gonna show?"

"I think so," Gao Ping said, sounding a little unsure. "He did promise me, after all."

"Damn, Ping," another guy said excitedly, "he’s a huge superstar now. I can’t believe you actually know him."

"Well, I wouldn’t say we’re friends," Gao Ping admitted, his face turning a little red. "I didn’t recognize him back then. I just thought he was an international student like the rest of us, so I sent him a friend request. I never thought he’d actually accept."

Just then, the sounds of two distinctly different engines echoed from the end of the street.

A Rolls-Royce Cullinan Black Badge, all black but with a subtle, deep green shimmer under the light, arrived with a deep-throated rumble.

Following it was a savage, scalp-tingling roar as a Bugatti Veyron slowly pulled out from behind the Cullinan.

The two cars entered the parking lot, one after the other. The rich kids, moments before deep in their boisterous conversations, fell instantly silent, their eyes glued to the new arrivals.

"Holy shit!"

"Badass!"

This group of kids, heirs to fortunes worth hundreds of millions, couldn’t help but whip out their phones and start frantically taking pictures of the automotive duo.

Li Wei pushed open his door and stepped out. He nodded at Gao Ping in greeting.

The girls who had been spectating exchanged glances, a new wariness visible in their eyes.

Even something as simple as whose car you rode in was another battlefield in their silent competition.