1890: I'm in Hextech Brawl in America

Chapter 3: When I, Hextech, turn the tables!

Ye Lang lowered his voice and whispered in Fang Jianqiu's ear:

"Brother Fang, this is great! We don't have to stay in this godforsaken place anymore. When we get to the industrial park, the work will be tough, but I heard that as long as you're willing to work hard, you can earn a lot of money. Once I've saved enough, I can go back to my hometown and continue my studies at the private school."

Fang Jianqiu turned his head and glanced at the boy beside him.

Having spent so long in this dark and smelly room, the boy's face was covered in grime, but his eyes still shone brightly.

Fang Jianqiu had only seen this kind of radiance when Ye Lang mentioned his hometown of Foshan earlier.

He couldn't bear to expose the boy, so he could only say:

"Hehe, maybe."

Without asking further, it's clear that this young man was also tricked into coming here.

These days, Ye Lang is not the first, nor will he be the last, Chinese who are sold overseas like pigs while still dreaming of getting rich.

Fang Jianqiu was somewhat puzzled.

Judging from Ye Lang's words and actions, he is obviously educated and his family should be well-off. How could he have ended up in this situation of leaving his hometown?

However, now is not the time to explore this.

With a creaking sound, the heavy wooden door opened completely.

The intense sunlight from outside suddenly crashed into the room.

As people adjusted to the darkness, they instinctively raised their hands to shield their eyes, and many were so dazzled that tears streamed down their faces.

"Get moving! What are you dawdling for!"

Amidst the shouts, the people inside the room began to move.

Fang Jianqiu reached out and gently grabbed Ye Lang's arm, pulling him to his side, and slowly blended into the crowd.

Manager Chen's shrill voice boomed at the door:

"Line up properly! One by one! Stand up straight, don't embarrass me in front of that old man and make a fool of yourself!"

The crowd, like a dead snake, slowly crawled out of the foul-smelling cage.

Fang Jianqiu stepped out of the threshold, his feet landing on solid ground, and took a deep breath.

Although the air was still filled with the smells of the sea and horse manure, it was at least a hundred times better than the smell inside the house.

He raised his head and scanned his surroundings.

This is Honolulu's Chinatown in 1890.

The streets were not wide, and the road surface was a bumpy dirt road, with two-story wooden lofts on both sides.

These buildings have a strange architectural style; they are clearly Western-style wooden houses, yet they have Chinese characters hanging on the lintels.

"Guangheyuan", "Tongxinglou", "Yongantang"...

The black sign with gold paint looked somewhat mottled in the sunlight.

The streets were bustling with people, mostly Chinese with long braids and wearing short cloth clothes. They carried loads on shoulder poles or pushed wheelbarrows, looking hurried.

Occasionally, you can see a few indigenous women wearing brightly colored long dresses, with flower crowns on their heads, walking by barefoot.

Several rickshaws were parked at the street corner, and the drivers were wiping their sweat with towels hanging around their necks.

At the far end of the alley, you could even see several foreigners in suits and top hats pointing at the group and chatting happily.

This place feels like a Qing Dynasty market that has been forcibly transplanted to a tropical island; it's familiar yet strangely incongruous.

Fang Jianqiu only glanced at the old world scenery briefly before looking away.

No matter how beautiful the scenery is, it has nothing to do with his current situation.

His attention was entirely focused on the open space not far away.

There were two huge oxcarts parked there, and the strong oxen pulling them were idly chewing on hay.

Beside the oxcart, a tall, chestnut-colored horse stood proudly.

A typical white man was sitting on horseback.

The man had a neatly trimmed golden-brown beard, deep-set eyes with light blue pupils, a wide-brimmed cowboy hat, and casually toyed with a long black leather whip in his hand, with a revolver tucked into his waistband.

What Fang Jianqiu cared about most were the six guards standing beside the oxcart.

These six people weren't wearing any uniforms.

Three of them were very tall and dark-skinned, with thick turbans wrapped around their heads. They carried old-fashioned single-shot rifles and had curved knives at their waists.

Another one looked like a local Hawaiian native, with bronze skin, holding a double-barreled shotgun with a shortened barrel, and carrying another one on his back.

The remaining two were white men, wearing dusty denim vests. They looked more relaxed than the others, chatting and laughing as they stood by the oxcart. A heavy revolver hung from their belts, and a Winchester lever rifle was in their hands.

Fang Jianqiu glanced at the equipment and configuration, and the little thought he had left in his mind about forcing his way out was instantly extinguished.

Although he has a cheat code, his current physical body is still mortal.

He likes to use Graves' shotgun to blast people in the game, but he definitely doesn't want to be riddled with bullets by that thing in real life.

"It seems we have no choice but to accept our fate and move forward. Besides, there have been quite a few cases in the past where Chinese people entered the park and then escaped."

Fang Jianqiu calmly adjusted his breathing:

"The most important thing now is to figure out how to gain rune experience. Only by activating the runes can we have a chance to turn the tide."

"Especially the Bright Sword rune, the life steal it grants is my greatest margin for error in escaping!"

While Fang Jianqiu was making plans in his mind, Manager Chen came over carrying a stack of wooden plaques that had been used for who knows how many years.

He walked to the front of the line and began handing out name tags.

"Take it! Hang it around your neck!"

Manager Chen acted roughly, stuffing the wooden signs with ropes through them into the piglets' hands one by one.

These wooden signs are only the size of a palm, with numbers written on them in black paint, and the edges are worn smooth and patina-like.

This isn't some kind of identification; it's just a license plate for livestock.

When it was Fang Jianqiu's turn, Steward Chen stopped in his tracks.

He raised his eyelids and looked at Fang Jianqiu's figure, which was a head taller than him, and his straight spine even though he was dressed in tattered clothes. He felt a surge of displeasure.

"Here you go! You damn bastard."

Manager Chen slammed the wooden sign down on Fang Jianqiu's chest and said in a sarcastic tone:

"You stand up straight, though. Anyone who didn't know better would think you're some young master. But once you get to the plantation, a place where people are treated like cattle, I'd like to see if you can still stand up straight after a few days of being whipped."

Fang Jianqiu took the wooden plaque, glanced at the number "47" on it, and without saying a word, calmly hung the plaque around his neck.

Seeing that Fang Jianqiu wasn't responding, Manager Chen got bored, snorted, and immediately changed his attitude.

He trotted all the way to the tall horse, bending so low he almost touched his head to the ground.

"Grandpa, everything is ready. This batch of goods is quite good. Please take a look."

Manager Chen tilted his head back, his face plastered with a fawning smile.

The white overseer didn't even look at him directly, but simply used the handle of his whip to adjust the brim of his hat, his gaze sweeping across the crowd as if picking through rotten cabbages.

Then, the white man waved his hand.

Several guards immediately stepped forward, roughly divided the crowd into two groups, and drove them toward the two oxcarts.

Just as Fang Jianqiu was following the group past the horse, the white overseer's gaze suddenly froze.

His eyes lit up as he stared at Fang Jianqiu's broad shoulders and exposed, muscular arms.

"Look at this one."

(Look at this one.)

The white overseer pointed his whip at Fang Jianqiu, then turned to the guard beside him and shouted, making no attempt to conceal his voice:

"Good muscle, strong legs. A perfect animal for the heavy work."

(Nice muscles, strong legs. A perfect beast of burden for heavy work.)

Fang Jianqiu's English was quite good before he transmigrated, and he heard these sentences clearly.

These words, spoken as if they were mere commodities, were truly grating to the ear.

Fang Jianqiu lowered his eyes to hide the coldness in them, but his steps did not falter as he obediently walked towards the oxcart.

The current forbearance is for the sake of future explosion.

Manager Chen, who was standing to the side, actually only had a mediocre grasp of English, but he understood "Good" and "Strong" and also understood the white gentleman's expression.

He felt this was a good opportunity to flatter him.

So Manager Chen quickly stepped forward and chimed in with his broken pidgin English:

"Yes, yes! Sir! This one very good! Very strong coolie! I pick him for you!"

(Yes, yes, sir! This is excellent! A very strong laborer! I chose this especially for you!)

Manager Chen smiled broadly, thinking he could please him.

Unexpectedly, the white overseer's face darkened instantly upon hearing the harsh accent.

He suddenly pulled on the reins, and the horse's hooves pounded nervously twice, startling Steward Chen into retreating repeatedly.

"Shut up! You filthy yellow monkey!"

(Shut up! You filthy yellow-skinned monkey!)

The white supervisor looked disgusted, as if he had seen something dirty.

"Who gave you permission to speak my language? Get out of my face!"

(Who gave you permission to speak in my language? Get out of here!)

Manager Chen's face, which had been smiling, instantly turned a deep liver color.

But he dared not show the slightest dissatisfaction. Instead, he bent his back even lower, repeatedly saying "Sorry," and retreated to the side like a dog whose spine had been broken.

Then, he vented his anger on the Chinese people who were getting on the bus:

"What are you looking at! Get in the car now! Do you want a beating if you dawdle like this?!"

The two oxcarts looked quite big, but to fit dozens of people in them was simply a pipe dream.

But the white overseers and guards didn't care about any of that.

In their eyes, this is just about transporting goods; whether or not they can sit comfortably is not a consideration at all.

One word: blocked.

"Get on! Squeeze in!"

The guards used their rifle butts and boots to forcefully push the man into the truck bed.

"Ouch! Stop pushing! Your leg's going to break!"

"You stepped on my hand!"

Painful groans and curses echoed from inside the oxcart, where people were packed tightly together, and the stench of sweat instantly became overwhelming.

Fang Jianqiu, relying on his strong body and brute force, managed to carve out a small space at the back of the car.

He pulled the thin Ye Lang up with one hand, and the two of them leaned against the carriage wall, barely managing to sit still.

Although their legs were still bent over, compared to those trapped in the middle and unable to move, it was already like being in first class.

Once everyone was crammed into the cart, the entire cart creaked under the strain.

Ye Lang, panting heavily, looked around at his compatriots who were huddled together, still shaken.

"Brother Fang, thank you so much. If it weren't for you, my body would probably have been crushed to pieces."

Ye Lang thanked him earnestly, but then glanced at the person next to him who was being jostled and wincing, and said somewhat uneasily:

"But...aren't we being a bit too domineering by taking up such a large area?"

Fang Jianqiu adjusted his posture, making sure the sharp wooden board avoided his spine.

He said calmly:

"No need to thank me, this is just a small reward for speaking up for me earlier."

"As for being domineering?"

Fang Jianqiu pointed to the group of men with braids around him, their heads covered in sweat and their eyes glazed over:

"Look at these people. They're being treated like this, and has anyone complained?"

Ye Lang looked in the direction the finger was pointing.

indeed.

Although everyone was in pain, with some having their feet stepped on and their stomachs squeezed, most people kept their heads down and looked lifeless, except for a few instinctive groans.

Their eyes were empty, devoid of anger, only filled with a numb resignation.

Even though Fang Jianqiu occupied a slightly larger space, they didn't react at all, but simply shrank back to the side silently.

"They have become accustomed to obedience and to being oppressed."

Fang Jianqiu's voice was soft, yet grating:

"Here, so-called humility and politeness are worthless. If you don't fight for yourself, you won't even have a place to kneel."

Fang Jianqiu's words seemed to have another meaning.

Ye Lang opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but he couldn't get the words out.

In this sudden silence...

"Snapped!"

A crisp crack of a whip.

The white overseer in front spurred his horse on.

The old ox let out a low growl and began to stride forward with heavy hooves.

The wooden wheel made a crunching sound as it rolled over the uneven, muddy ground.

Two truckloads of Chinese piglets were thus driven, bumping along, toward the plantation where sugar was refined and people were hardened.