Chapter 3: Sudden Calamity from the Heavens

Perhaps because it was still early, there were few vehicles on the road. Many cars were parked in front of the houses nearby, indicating it was likely a residential area. Most of the houses were wooden. Although the architectural styles varied, the majority were detached homes with garages and lawns, separated by wooden fences. Several rooftops fluttered with American flags. Yes, this must be the United States. Judging by the surroundings, it wasn’t a slum, but certainly not a wealthy neighborhood either. In affluent areas, vagrants like him wouldn’t be allowed to pitch tents and sleep outdoors nearby.

There were no tall buildings or towering chimneys in sight, suggesting the area was far from industrial zones. It could be reasonably assumed that this was a middle-class district on the outskirts of a city.

As Yang Liansheng walked, he assessed his environment with some basic judgments. In this entirely new setting, so different from the life he had known for nearly thirty years, a sense of insecurity filled his mind. If he remembered correctly, social security in America wasn’t very good. Guns were everywhere, and if someone were to shoot him unexpectedly, it would be disastrous. He had never experienced anything like this before in over twenty years.

The gas station was about five to six hundred meters from where he had been staying, just a few minutes’ walk. He scanned the area. The gas station was a Chevron with two rows of four pumps each. No cars were refueling at the moment, and no one was outside. Inside the station, there was an auto repair shop and a convenience store. He didn’t see any restroom signs, so it was probably inside the store. The convenience store door bore an “open” sign, so he could probably use the restroom there.

While walking, Yang Liansheng muttered softly to familiarize himself with the language. His English was fluent—thankfully, his mind was still sharp enough that he didn’t need to translate from Chinese to English before speaking. As someone who had only a high school education and had been a poor student, having to relearn English now would be a tragedy—he might starve before mastering it. Apart from English, he could still speak Chinese, though his intonation was off; he would need some practice to regain his native-level fluency.

Yang Liansheng reached the convenience store door and pushed it open. The bell chimed. Behind the counter stood a white man with a thick, bushy beard, streaked with gray, who was looking up at the television.

“Hi, may I use the restroom?” Yang Liansheng greeted.

The man pointed toward the back corner without taking his eyes off the screen, which seemed to be a movie or TV show.

“Thank you.”

Yang Liansheng entered the restroom to take care of personal matters, then washed his face. Looking into the mirror, he saw a thin young Asian man with messy short hair—probably uncut for a month or two. His appearance matched the photo on his ID; his identity was intact. He then changed into a fresh set of clothes from his backpack, looking a bit more refreshed.

After tidying his backpack, he reached the restroom door but suddenly stopped. He gently left the door ajar and peered out through the narrow crack.

A masked man was pointing a gun at the convenience store clerk, demanding the cash from the register. Wow, this was intense—just after crossing over, he’d encountered a convenience store robbery. He had never witnessed such a scene before.

The robber was a Black man with a chaotic mop of small dreadlocks, holding a black handgun of an unknown make.

Yang Liansheng’s legs felt weak. This was his first time seeing something like this. Fortunately, the robber hadn’t noticed him. Staying hidden was the safest option. This was no time to play the hero; it was far too dangerous.

The clerk raised his left hand and opened the cash register with his right, placing the money on the counter. The robber grabbed the cash, stuffed it into his pocket, then backed up while aiming the gun at the clerk. He pushed open the door, ran to a nearby motorcycle, jumped on, and sped away.

“Are you okay? Do you want to call the police?” Yang Liansheng asked after the robber left, slowly opening the door and approaching the clerk.

“Damn! Of course not okay—I just got robbed,” the clerk said bitterly, spitting, then grabbed the phone and dialed 911. “I want to report a robbery. My convenience store at 1106 Fairpark Avenue, inside the gas station... It was a young Black man wearing a brown hoodie and jeans. He had a gun and fled north on a motorcycle. I’m safe now. Okay, I’ll wait here for the police.”

After hanging up, the clerk looked at Yang Liansheng sharply. “Anything else you need?”

“No! No! I’m leaving now. Thanks for letting me use the restroom. Goodbye.”

Yang Liansheng hurriedly pushed open the door and left. When the police arrived, it would probably become a big mess. He still didn’t understand his identity or past life, and being questioned by the police would almost certainly cause trouble.

He walked away from the gas station for a while, then suddenly realized he had been too focused on avoiding trouble and forgot to check the map or newspapers inside the convenience store. He still hadn’t confirmed exactly where he was.

“Brain dead,” he muttered. “Where else could I look?”

He glanced around. The area was full of residences; a few hundred meters north, there was a building with a Red Cross sign—probably a hospital—the most distinctive institution nearby. But going to the hospital meant passing by the gas station again. He didn’t know if the police had arrived yet, and if unlucky, he might run straight into them—another big problem.

After much hesitation, Yang Liansheng decided to head to the hospital. There would likely be more people there and he could ask around. Everything had happened so suddenly; he not only forgot to confirm the date and location, but he also hadn’t bought water or food. He hadn’t eaten since waking up that morning. If the police hadn’t arrived by then, he would stop by the gas station to buy something.

Turning back toward the gas station, he suddenly heard sirens. A police car sped past him and pulled into the gas station. Yang Liansheng looked at the emblem on the car door: Pulaski County Police Department. He didn’t recognize it; it didn’t seem to be one of the 51 U.S. states. He’d have to look into it later.

Lowering his head a bit, Yang Liansheng began walking along the outside of the gas station toward the city hospital. But Murphy’s Law was not to be avoided.

“Hey, stop! Pulaski County Police.”

“Damn,” Yang Liansheng thought. He had planned to stop but turned to face the officer who had just come out of the convenience store.

“Take off your hat,” the officer ordered, right hand on his holster, left hand gesturing.

Yang Liansheng pulled the hood off his hoodie. The officer visibly relaxed upon seeing his Asian face, loosening his grip on the gun.

“Sorry, brother. Just confirming you’re not the guy who robbed the place. Have you seen a Black man on a motorcycle wearing a brown hoodie?”

“No, I didn’t see anyone. I’m just passing through. Anything else?”

“Okay, no further questions.” The officer waved and turned back to the patrol car, speaking into his radio to report the situation.

Watching the police, Yang Liansheng felt relieved. Since there was no problem, he turned and headed back to the convenience store. There was no need to go all the way to the hospital now; he could look around inside the store instead.