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

Chapter 285 Manslaughter
While Larry was engaged in a heated debate with Fisher at Yale University, the night was gradually deepening in Boston's Chinatown.

After a long day at the steamed milk tea shop, Huang Meitang cleaned up the shop and finished everything perfectly before quietly leaving the shop and hurrying home.

These days, his diligence and hard work have won the appreciation of Senator Kennedy. The senator has praised him more than once for being clever and reliable, and even hinted that when he comes to New York to expand the milk tea business, he will give him priority to manage it. Being appreciated by his boss warms Huang Meitang's heart, and he works with extra energy. Today, when he went home, he was in a good mood and walked with light steps, and he unconsciously hummed a little tune.

As he passed Elder Ye's restaurant, he suddenly heard a chaotic commotion of English coming from inside, mixed with the crisp sound of porcelain shattering.

Huang Meitang sensed something was wrong and quickly turned and walked into the restaurant.

Upon entering, I saw three red-haired, drunken Irishmen sitting around a table, gnawing on bones and cursing.

"You damned yellow-skinned devils, you steal our jobs and still dare to beg for money!"

One of the guys, who reeked of alcohol, yelled the loudest, his spittle almost landing on the waiter's face. After cursing, he grabbed a large bottle of whiskey from the table and took a big gulp.

Huang Meitang frowned, but then he noticed a familiar face next to the troublemaker—Robert. He was an old acquaintance from his days working at the docks, and Robert was now also working at the milk tea shop.

"Hey Robert, what's going on?"

Upon seeing Huang Meitang, a flicker of panic crossed Robert's face. He quickly tugged at the drunkard's sleeve and turned to Huang Meitang, saying, "Huang, he's drunk! It's alright, I'll take him away right away."

Robert didn't want to cause trouble. This Chinese man was already a favorite of Mr. Kennedy. The senator had entrusted him with almost all the daily operations of the milk tea shop and the business development of the barbecue restaurant, which showed his trust in this Chinese man.

But the drunken Irishman shook off Robert's hand, staggered towards Huang Meitang, and squinted his cloudy blue eyes, "Another...another yellow-skinned pig...you uncivilized squinty-eyed bunch..."

He staggered a few steps, almost touching Huang Meitang's forehead, and a smell mixed with whiskey and sweat hit him.

“Sir, you should apologize to the Chinese. We have never wronged anyone, nor will we allow others to slander us at will.” Huang Meitang’s voice was low, but his heels seemed to be nailed to the ground, unmoving.

The drunkard grinned and suddenly reached behind the man's head to grab him, "...Let me pull out your pig's tail and make you accept your fate..."

But he got nothing in return—Huang Meitang had already cut off her braid.

Huang Meitang wouldn't allow him to be so presumptuous. He took a half step forward with his left foot, focused his energy in his dantian, and suddenly leaned his right shoulder against the drunkard's chest.

The drunkard, who was already unsteady on his feet, was hit hard by this shoulder strike, and he flew backward and fell into the chair.

He let out a painful groan, clutching his chest, glaring at Huang Meitang, his face flushed. "You son of a bitch! You damned Chinese, how dare you lay a hand on me!"

Huang Meitang ignored him and turned to Robert, saying, "Mr. Robert, he's drunk and confused. I don't want to lower myself to his level. Please take him home."

Robert was also stunned. Although he had been drinking, he was still fairly lucid. He hadn't even seen how Huang Meitang made his move, and his companion had already collapsed. It was truly bizarre.

Robert hurriedly stood up, called to his companion, and while dragging him along, repeatedly replied, "Yes, yes, he's drunk, nothing else..."

The restaurant owner and staff breathed a sigh of relief when Huang Meitang calmed things down with a few words. The old chef, who had rushed out of the kitchen, clutching his wok tightly, had been determined to fight the white thugs to the death, but now that things had calmed down, a hint of relief appeared on his face. The Irish drunkard continued to curse, but he was too weak to stand up and just slumped in his chair.

"A few men, help me carry him out! I'll go to the street corner and hire a carriage," Robert shouted toward the counter.

The shopkeeper and waiter hesitated to step forward, but the old chef put down the pot and cautiously walked over, trying to help the drunkard.

Unexpectedly, the Irishman, who had been slumped over, suddenly sprang to his feet. He grabbed the old cook by the base of his braid with his right hand, and with his left, he grabbed an empty bottle from the table and smashed it against the back of the old cook's head, roaring as he did so.
"Go to hell, you Chinaman! I've got your tail between my legs!"

Huang Meitang had just intended to help the drunk man out and end the matter quickly, so he had already taken two steps closer. But this sudden attack caught him off guard.

In a flash, as the bottle was about to hit him, Huang Meitang hurriedly stretched out his right arm to block it.

The bottle slammed heavily onto his wrist, and a sharp pain shot through him.

Huang Meitang gritted his teeth and endured the pain, quickly taking a step forward, grabbing the other man's wrist, and forcefully slamming his knee into the man's elbow joint. Immediately, the bottle flew out of his hand, and the drunkard was shoved back into the chair.

Frustrated by repeated setbacks, the Irishman's face contorted with pain and rage. He suddenly stood up again and lunged at Huang Meitang without regard for anything else.

Huang Meitang dodged to the side and gave him a push. The Irish drunkard couldn't stop himself and fell forward, his temple hitting the brass corner of the hardwood chair.

After the dull thud, the Irish drunkard collapsed to the ground, motionless.

Robert was startled and quickly bent down to check. He saw that his companion was bleeding from his forehead, his body twitched a few times, and he breathed his last breath through his mouth and nose before falling silent again.

“Murder! You killed him! You son of a bitch!” Robert panicked, squatting down again to check Zui’s breathing and prying open his eyelids to look at him.

His pupils were dilated—he was truly beyond saving!

Huang Meitang was also stunned, watching the Irishman collapse to the ground, motionless.

I never imagined that a casual push would result in someone's death.

If you kill a white person in the US, they're almost certainly going to be hanged, right?

Thinking of this, a chill ran from the soles of his feet to the top of his head. Huang Meitang's mind went blank. All the hope and joy he had felt for the future just an hour ago were instantly drained away. All that remained before him was a desolate and terrifying reality, tinged with blood.

The restaurant was deathly silent, both inside and out. Even the onlookers peering out the door were speechless with astonishment. They watched in disbelief as everything unfolded before their eyes, some even covering their mouths, the air thick with an eerie stillness.

Suddenly, a bystander who had been watching the commotion realized what was happening. He turned and rushed out of the alley, shouting at the patrolling police on the street, "Murder! A Chinese man has killed an Irishman!"

Immediately afterwards, the piercing sound of police sirens rang out in Ping An Lane, Chinatown.

(End of this chapter)