American comic book: Absolute Spider-Man

Junoon is on 24th Street, near Fifth Avenue.

The restaurant has a small storefront, but the interior is dimly lit and warm. Traditional Indian fabrics hang on the walls, and the tables are spaced just right, neither too quiet nor too crowded.

Peter gave his name, and the waiter led them to seats by the window.

Gwen opened the menu, looked at two pages, and then looked up.

Have you ever eaten Indian food?

"No," Peter said, "but I checked a lot of reviews online, and they said this restaurant was good, so I thought I'd come and try it with you."

Peter ordered for her: Tandoori chicken nuggets, butter curry chicken, garlic naan, roasted mushrooms, spinach chaat, lamb Rogan Josh, and a saffron rice pudding.

Gwen used her fork to pick up a piece of curry chicken and put it in her mouth.

Her expression changed subtly—first her eyes widened slightly, then her eyebrows relaxed.

"How is it?" Peter asked.

Gwen didn't answer immediately. She chewed twice, put down her fork, dipped her naan in the sauce at the bottom of the plate, and took another bite.

"It's very sweet," she said, "but not the sweetness of sugar. It's the sweetness of tomatoes. Very soft, very thick, like—"

She paused for a moment: "Like being wrapped in a layer of velvet."

"And it's not spicy," Gwen said, a hint of surprise in her voice. "Isn't Indian food supposed to be very spicy?"

"Not all Indian food is spicy," Peter said. "For foreign food to sell well in our country, it has to be made to our tastes."

"Try a bite too."

Peter obediently forked a piece of chicken and put it in his mouth, then tasted it carefully; it was indeed quite delicious.

The subsequent dishes were served one after another, and the two of them thought they were quite good and suited their tastes.

"I heard the chef is an Indian American, and the localization of these dishes is quite good." Gwen scooped up a spoonful of pudding and put it in her mouth.

Peter scooped up the curry sauce from the bottom of the plate and poured it over the saffron rice, then mixed it well. Each grain of rice was coated in the golden sauce. He glanced at it, then put it in his mouth with satisfaction, saying, "Indians have integrated into American society better than immigrants from most countries, so I really hate them."

"Why?" Gwen asked, puzzled. "Why hate them if they're doing well?"

"I said they did a great job, but that 'great' was fake."

"How is it fake?" Gwen wasn't angry that Peter was talking about such unromantic topics during their date.

On the contrary, as a science whiz, she and Peter were actually very compatible in their thinking, and talking to Peter about many unromantic topics was not a boring thing for her.

"Do you know how they did it? The first Indian immigrants were truly highly skilled people—engineers, doctors, scientists. They worked hard and established themselves in the United States through their own abilities. Then they started recruiting."

"Recruit people?"

"Bring in your own people," Peter said. "Not people of equal ability. Bring in relatives, fellow countrymen, compatriots of the same caste. Regardless of their ability, their English, or whether they can handle the job, as long as they're 'one of us,' we'll squeeze them in. One Indian executive can turn an entire department into an Indian-dominated space. One Indian project manager can get all the outsourcing contracts signed with local Indian companies."

He paused, looking into Gwen's eyes.

"That's nepotism. It's not because they're united, it's because they know that only when they have more of their own people can their positions be secure."

Gwen didn't speak; she listened carefully.

"And then," Peter continued, "many of these people who were crammed in were completely unqualified. Their coding was a mess, their project management was a disaster, and their customer service was perfunctory. But they weren't afraid. Because they had connections. As long as their 'own people' were still in those positions, they wouldn't be fired."

Gwen finished the rest of the pudding: "It's not just Indians, Jewish people, Italians, and Irish people do it too, don't they?"

"Yes, every group has people like that, but the Indian community has taken this mechanism to the extreme. If one Indian gets promoted, he can bring a hundred Indians up. Of those hundred, maybe ten are qualified, twenty are barely qualified, but the rest are completely unqualified."

Gwen picked up her water glass, took a sip, and put it down. It was a bit too bland. For the next date, she wanted milk tea.

Peter continued, "Silicon Valley, finance, manufacturing. An Indian executive parachutes in, and within three months the entire team becomes Indian. Then efficiency starts to decline, quality starts to drop, but the financial statements still look good—because they're so good at 'reporting'."

Peter finished his food, leaned back in his chair, and tapped his fingers lightly twice on the table.

"After they gained a foothold, they began to 'export in reverse.' But not their culture; they exported 'hierarchy.' What Indians brought to America wasn't just curry and yoga, but also caste. That ridiculous hierarchical concept. Outwardly, they bowed and scraped to white people; inwardly, they were arrogant and condescending towards the lower classes among their own people."

An Indian executive, who was extremely respectful to his superiors at work, suddenly became enraged in the parking lot because a fellow countryman from a "lower caste" didn't move out of his way.

Gwen picked up a napkin and reached out to wipe the curry sauce from the corner of Peter's mouth.

She put down the tissue, covered her mouth, and laughed, "Since you hate them so much, what are you planning to do?"

Peter buttoned up the button he'd unbuttoned during the meal: "Standing at the pinnacle of power in this country,"

Gwen didn't laugh. She stared into his eyes for five seconds, as if to make sure he was serious.

"are you serious."

"Um."

"Running for president?"

"The president is just an employee," Peter said. "I want to be the one who pays the president's salary."

Gwen leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "And then you're going to use the power you have to drive those people out of our country?"

Peter nodded: "Yes, I will crush every single parasite that feeds on this social system. Of course, that could also be one of our own people."

Gwen chuckled, speechless. "Is that such a double standard?"

Peter proudly stated, "That's how double standards we have."

Gwen leaned forward, one hand resting on the table, the other gently covering Peter's cheek: "This road won't be easy. You'll encounter many, many opponents who will try every means to kill you along the way."

Peter rested his face against Gwen's palm, feeling the warmth of her hand.

He said fearlessly, "Let them come."

Peter has seen far too many examples of superheroes saving the world only to be ripped off by the government.

With such a bunch of scoundrels around, how can politics be done well?

If someone is truly determined to stand in his way, then—forget the beginning, forget the middle, forget the end. In short, let America burn!