Reborn in 1878: America's Number One Bandit

Chapter 100: First, clean up some of the trash.
Chinatown, the main hall of the Green Hills Association.

In the luxurious penthouse room, the money bag that Mai Ling had recently tossed to Callahan was still untouched, lying in front of Aoyama.

Sixty silver dollars, not a penny less, are back.

However, the leather of the purse was stained with a large patch of blackened blood and emitted a faint smell of rust.

Lawson's gaze pierced through the enormous round window, overlooking the territory below that was beginning to stir.

He sneered inwardly.

Before he came, he couldn't control what the rules of Chinatown were.

Whether Boss Long acts like a dog or He Wei acts like a prostitute, it has nothing to do with him.

Now, he has arrived.

From that time on, he set the rules for this land.

Callahan thought that with the "dragon head" changed, he, the local bully, could still swagger in and pump water as before.

He was wrong.

Chinatown was his gold mine, his canned sardines.

He can feed people, or he can whip people.

But no one is allowed to reach out and take even a single penny from the outside.

Who dares to reach out...

He would chop off whose claws.

The Irish assassin tasked with "cutting off the hand" has long since disappeared into some cheap pigeon coop in the Irish mountains.

He was like a drop of water merging into a dirty ocean, waiting for the next call.

The perfect "disposable" weapon.

Lawson snapped out of his thoughts; the noise downstairs was growing increasingly jarring.

He knew what it was.

The second stumbling block to the rules came to us of its own accord.

Downstairs from the main building of the Aoyama Association.

The streets were completely blocked.

But this time, it wasn't just onlookers; it was a chain smoker.

A dark mass of people, at least three or four hundred.

If ordinary Chinese people in Chinatown are like sardines, then this group is the batch that's starting to rot, stink, and ooze pus in the can.

Most of them were once strong laborers, farmers who dreamed of making a fortune.

Now, they are "ghosts".

They were all emaciated, skin and bones.

His cheeks were sunken, his cheekbones were high, and his eye sockets were like black holes.

His skin was a waxy yellow, dull from years of lack of sunlight, mixed with smoke and grime.

They hunched over, necks hunched, like a group of spineless zombies.

Their bodies had long been hollowed out by the steroids.

But at this moment, this group of walking corpses unleashed an astonishing "courage"—

A kind of madness born from the deepest part of the body, a desire that feels like a thousand ants gnawing at the bone and a thousand needles pricking it.

All the opium dens were sealed off overnight by the Green Mountain Society.

Their spiritual nourishment has been cut off.

"Open the door!"

A skinny, chain-smoking man frantically pounded on the main hall door with his bony, yellow-fingered hands.

"Open the door! Let us in!"

"We want to smoke opium!"

"On what grounds does the Qingshan Society have to shut down our opium den!"

"Give us back our black milk!"

Hundreds of hoarse, broken voices came together, creating a huge wave of sound.

They are usually timid and cowardly, and they don't even dare to raise their heads when they see people from the gang.

But when hundreds of like-minded people gathered, and when the deep-seated addiction began to take hold, their courage was emboldened.

The main hall doors opened.

Mai Ling walked out with an icy expression.

Behind her stood four silent, towering men in black.

She gently covered her mouth and nose with a silk handkerchief, as if inhaling even a single breath of the air exhaled by these ghosts would be considered pollution.

"What's all the noise about? Do you all have a death wish?"

“Mak Ling, it’s Mak Ling!”

Someone in the group of chain smokers recognized her: "You're Boss Long's woman! Now you're with the new boss?"

"Mai Ling! Tell that Qingshan! What right does he have to shut down the opium den!"

One of the ringleaders, with his neck stiffened, shouted, "Doesn't he know the rules of Chinatown? Opium dens can't be closed!"

Mai Ling scoffed, "You bunch of creatures who aren't even human, how dare you talk about rules?"

"I'm telling you the new rules today." Her voice suddenly rose: "All opium dens, effective today, are permanently closed! From now on, there will be no more opium dens in Chinatown!"

"what?"

"Permanent shutdown?"

"Then what should we do!"

The crowd erupted in chaos; not having opium was worse than death for them.

"You can't do this!" the leader of the opium addicts cried out. "Where's the opium? Heweitang has so much stock! Where did all the opium go?"

"Yes!" another man shouted, "We don't even need to run an opium den! Just sell us the opium at a low price! We'll smoke it ourselves!"

"Yes! Sell it to us! Sell it to us!"

Mai Ling's sarcasm deepened: "Those things have all been sold to Mr. Barkley, the deputy mayor of San Francisco. Not a single ounce is left."

“If you really want to smoke,” she said, dabbing her red lips with a silk handkerchief, “you can go to City Hall and buy some from Deputy Mayor Barkley.”

"..."

In an instant, all the shouts were stuck in his throat.

Barkley? The deputy mayor? These trash who don't even dare leave Chinatown, going to City Hall to find a white high-ranking official?
The leader of the chain smokers was flushed, not from anger, but from the madness caused by despair and addiction.

“You fucking tricked us!” he roared hysterically.

"I don't care! I don't care who you sold it to! I beg you to bring that opium back!!"

"Yes! Take it back!"

"We're not leaving today until we get it back!"

"We'll die here!"

Hundreds of opium addicts were infected by this frenzy and surged forward aggressively.

Their withered and distorted faces looked incredibly ferocious at that moment.

They seem to genuinely believe that by virtue of their numbers, they can force this new "leader" to compromise.

Mai Ling was forced back half a step by this imposing aura, and her pretty face fell completely.

"Do you know where you are?" she shouted angrily. "How dare you cause trouble here?"

"So what if we cause trouble!"

"You motherfucker, Mak Ling! You bitch!"

"If you don't give us a way out, we'll fight you to the death!"

"We have hundreds of men! Do you dare touch us?"

The "ghost" of nicotine addiction has completely overwhelmed him.

They roared and shoved, as if they were about to break through the black-clad men's obstruction and rush into the main hall at any moment.

at this time.

A calm, unhurried voice came from above everyone's heads.

"Oh?"

"Then tell me, what are the rules in Chinatown?"

All the noise stopped in that instant.

The smokers stiffly and slowly raised their heads.

Qingshan emerged and looked down at them from his high vantage point.

He was slowly and methodically wiping a short knife.

"Master Qing..."

The leader of the chain smokers, who had been so aggressive just moments before, instantly deflated upon seeing Aoyama in person.

His teeth chattered, but the torment of his nicotine addiction forced him to speak.

"Master Qing, you have to follow the rules... the opium den... the opium den has to be open..."

"Reopen the opium den?" Aoyama walked up to him and looked at him calmly.

“Yes…yes! Restart!” The Smoker thought he had softened and quickly nodded.

"Ah……"

Aoyama suddenly laughed.

He patted the face of the lead smoker, a face rougher than tree bark.

"I hadn't noticed that at all."

"You bunch of monsters who aren't even human, yet you have so much backbone."

"You're going to cause trouble if I don't open an opium den, right?"

He looked around at the trembling mice.

The chain smoker, feeling uneasy under his gaze, still stubbornly growled in a low voice, his voice a mixture of bravado and fear:

“We have hundreds of men! All we want is a cigarette, what can you do to us?” The mockery on Qingshan’s face intensified.

"well said."

"Snapped."

"Snapped."

He clapped his hands crisply twice.

"Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!"

Heavy footsteps echoed from all directions simultaneously!

The alleys on both sides of the main hall, the second floor of the shops opposite, and even behind the smokers!
Groups of silent men dressed in identical black outfits, their faces expressionless, surged out of the shadows and instantly surrounded the rabble.

They had neither knives nor axes in their hands.

There were only short sticks, about a meter long and as thick as a wrist, soaked in oil.

The pupils of these heavy smokers instantly contracted to their maximum size.

"What are you going to do?"

Their answer was the first whistling sound of the wind.

"boom!"

The ringleader still had that phrase, "What can you do to us?" on his lips.

A short stick slammed down on the top of his head.

The chain smoker knelt down and collapsed to the ground.

Passed out.

"Kill...kill someone!"

"Run!"

The group of ghosts, who had just been so aggressive, instantly collapsed.

They screamed and cried, trying to escape.

But where can they run to?
"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"

The men in black moved with precision, efficiency, and extreme ruthlessness.

They didn't even shout.

The only sounds were the short stick cutting through the air and the sound of a person falling to the ground.

As soon as a smoker turned around, he was struck in the spine with a stick, and he collapsed to the ground convulsing like a shrimp.

Another chain smoker knelt down and begged for mercy: "Spare me..."

Before he could finish speaking, the short stick smashed his jaw.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

How could these emaciated smokers possibly be a match for these assassins?
They were beaten so badly they ran away in terror, crying and screaming, their excrement and urine flowing freely.

Some tried to run, but after only two steps, they were struck by a stick and fell to the ground screaming.

Some knelt down and kowtowed, but the short stick continued to strike the back of his head without stopping.

Lawson stood on the steps of the main hall, watching indifferently.

He had originally planned to "clean up" Chinatown.

This "sardine can" is crammed with far too much garbage.

This group of scum who have given up on themselves and become complete slaves to "glucosamine" are the worst of the worst.

They have no labor value.

It has no value in combat.

They don't even have reproductive value.

They will only consume food, spread disease, and lower the bar for his future new world.

What Lawson needs are "laborers" and "warriors".

Instead of this "thing" that's not even as good as a "ghost".

These scumbags have come forward today, so let's start cleaning them up.

"Pfft..."

Just a few minutes.

The last smoker who tried to crawl was knocked unconscious with a blow.

The streets quieted down.

The hundreds of menacing opium addicts all collapsed to the ground.

No one was standing.

The entire street was filled with twisted, convulsing bodies.

at this time.

"Gulu...Gulu..."

The heavy wheels of a car rolled over the stone pavement, the sound coming from the street corner.

Dozens of heavy, enormous four-wheeled wagons, resembling those used for transporting ore, slowly drove in a line.

Lawson waved his hand dismissively.

The assassins, armed with short sticks, immediately began their second task.

They tossed the opium addicts into the high carriages like they were carrying tattered sacks, one in each hand, without even looking at them.

"Bang! Bang! Bang!"

They crammed people into the carriages like farmers stuffing straw into a warehouse.

A car crammed with twenty, thirty...

It was packed to the brim, with people piled on top of each other, like a real "sardine can".

Those smokers whose limbs had been broken and who were still groaning were about to scream when they were pinned down by another smoker thrown up and fell silent instantly.

A moment of effort.

These hundreds of opium addicts were all loaded onto the carriage.

"drive!"

The coachmen raised their whips.

Dozens of horse-drawn carriages, carrying this batch of Chinatown garbage, sailed in a grand procession toward the dock.

"Brother Qing, these bastards, do you really want to..."

Mak Ling made a throat-slitting gesture and then pointed towards the bay.

"Take them all to reclaim land from the sea?"

Although she was ruthless, filling the sea with hundreds of people at once was still beyond her imagination.

Qingshan glanced at Mai Ling.

A faint smile curved his lips.

“Mak Ling, I’m not that ruthless.”

Mai Ling was taken aback.

Aoyama slowly wiped his fingers with a clean silk handkerchief: "After all, these are hundreds of human lives, at least for now."

"Using it to feed crabs is such a waste."

Mai Ling was completely bewildered: "What is that?"

“I found them a good place to go.”

Qingshan threw the silk handkerchief into the brazier beside him and watched it be instantly engulfed by the flames.

"A good place for them to quit smoking."

Those hundreds of opium addicts would be shipped to Northern California and sent to the newly established settlement deep within his vast territory.

It is surrounded by mountains on all sides, with only one road in and out.

There, there is no opium, only axes, saws, and endless primeval forests.

Lawson will give them a simple new rule: work and you'll get food. Don't work and you'll starve.

As for whether they can overcome their deep-seated drug addiction through intense physical labor and willpower in that isolated land...

Lawson was also very curious.

Consider it a cruel experiment on humanity.

If they can successfully quit and start anew, then Lawson will have hundreds more cheap laborers to cultivate his land.

That can be considered a good deed on his part.

If they can't quit, they'll die in that camp...

That was their fate.

……

The disappearance of a few hundred pieces of trash did not cause much of a ripple in this crowded "sardine can".

Even in those dark and damp pigeon coops in Chinatown, a few families secretly breathed a sigh of relief.

That burden who spent his days stealing money, selling furniture, and even considering selling his daughter for a "black milk" is finally gone.

But for Lawson, this was just a drop in the ocean.

Clearing out a few hundred ghosts wouldn't make any difference to this tiny place crammed with over 40,000 people.

The air was still murky.

The streets are still crowded.

To make things a bit more relaxed here, we need to reduce the number of people by at least 20,000.

Lawson did not intend to use the same harsh and bloody methods on these compatriots again.

Those hundreds of smokers are "trash," they are "cancer cells," and they must be removed.

The vast majority of the remaining people are resources, labor, and the population foundation of the future empire of Lawson.

He needs them to go to Northern California voluntarily, or believe they are voluntarily.

It's time to hang the Chinese Youth Association's sign in Chinatown.

(End of this chapter)