"Son, the world is much bigger than China. And there are many enemies who envy our greatness," President Shijin Ping said, his voice calm but firm as he gazed out at the vast landscape of Beijing from his high palace window.

Xiao Chian, heir to the great Chinabawan dynasty—or so he liked to think of himself—sat across from his father, barely listening. He was more interested in admiring his own reflection in the polished table, absentmindedly adjusting his hair. Shijin Ping's warning about external threats and the complexities of geopolitics felt like nothing more than background noise to Xiao Chian.

"Father, please. Enemies? Of China?" Xiao Chian scoffed, barely able to contain his laughter. "You worry too much. The great China, with its superior bloodline—mixed with the brilliance of Mongol warriors and the diligence of our ancient farmers—has nothing to fear. Just look at us! Almost 1.5 billion strong! And what about the Americans?" He waved his hand dismissively. "Barely a third of our population, and with their ridiculous mix of races. They're like a badly cooked hotpot. Weak and disorganized."

Shijin Ping, having heard this nationalist rant too many times to count, sighed deeply. He looked at his son, wondering if there was any way to make him understand the world outside the bubble of his extreme beliefs. But Xiao Chian was oblivious to his father's concern, shaking his head at the very notion that America—or any country for that matter—could hold a candle to the great Chinabawan empire.

"Father," Xiao Chian said, with an air of superiority that only a pampered princeling could muster, "I understand you are getting old. Maybe your mind is tired. But let me assure you, China has nothing to worry about. We are the smartest race, thanks to our Mongol ancestors. And we are the hardest-working, thanks to the ancient Chinese farmers. There is no nation on Earth that can rival us."

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Shijin Ping leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing as he studied his son. For a moment, he felt helpless, seeing the sheer delusion in Xiao Chian's eyes. But after a long, contemplative pause, he made a decision.

"You think you know the world, Xiao Chian, but you've seen only one part of it. I am sending you to the United States."

Xiao Chian blinked, utterly confused. "What?"

"I said, you will go to America. You need to experience life beyond China. You need to see how other countries work. Broaden your perspective."

For a brief moment, Xiao Chian stared at his father, stunned into silence. Then, disbelief and anger flickered across his face. "You want me—the future emperor of Chinabawan—to go to America? This... this is insanity! How can you send me to that backward place? You expect me to lower myself to their level?"

Shijin Ping, tired of his son's arrogance, simply shrugged. "You leave tomorrow."

And just like that, Xiao Chian found himself the next day standing in California, surrounded by people who didn't seem to notice or care that the future emperor of Chinabawan had arrived in their country.

The smell of American fast food assaulted his senses as he stepped out of the airport, making him wrinkle his nose in disgust. California was warm, the air filled with the sounds of distant traffic and voices speaking languages he didn't care to understand. He pulled out his phone, intent on calling someone to complain about the insult of being sent here.

"This... this place," Xiao Chian muttered, surveying his surroundings. "How dare my father send me here! The land of barbarians."